afterwards used so mercilessly—­had been stolen from your workshop.  The next morning Durgin put the tool back in its place, not knowing what other disposition to make of it, and it was then that the idea of shouldering the crime upon you entered his wicked heart.  According to Torrini, Durgin did not intend to harm the old gentleman, but simply to rob him.  The unfortunate man was awakened by the noise Durgin made in breaking open the safe, and rushed in to his doom.  Having then no fear of interruption, Durgin leisurely ransacked the house.  How he came across the will, and destroyed it with the idea that he was putting the estate out of your possession—­this and other details I shall give you by and by.”

Father O’Meara paused a moment.  “After the accident at the mill and the conviction that he was not to recover, Torrini’s conscience began to prick him.  When he reflected on Miss Slocum’s kindness to his family during the strike, when he now saw her saving his wife and children from absolute starvation, he was nearly ready to break the oath with which he had bound himself to William Durgin.  Curiously enough, this man, so reckless in many things, held his pledged word sacred.  Meanwhile his wavering condition became apparent to Durgin, who grew alarmed, and demanded the stolen property.  Torrini refused to give it up; even his own bitter necessities had not tempted him to touch a penny of it.  For the last three days he was in deadly terror lest Durgin should wrest the money from him by force.  The poor woman, here, knows nothing of all this.  It was her presence, however, which probably prevented Durgin from proceeding to extremities with Torrini, who took care never to be left alone.”

“I recollect,” said Richard, “the night I watched with him he was constantly expecting some one.  I supposed him to be wandering in his mind.”

“He was expecting Durgin, though Torrini had every reason for believing that he had fled.”

Mr. Taggett leaned forward, and asked, “When did he go,—­and where?”

“He was too cunning to confide his plans to Torrini.  Three nights ago Durgin came here and begged for a portion of the bank-note; previously he had reclaimed the whole sum; he said the place was growing too warm for him, and that he had made up his mind to leave.  But Torrini held on to the money, having resolved that it should be restored intact to you.  He promised Durgin, however, to keep his flight secret for three or four days, at the end of which time Torrini meant to reveal all to me at confession.  The night you sat with him, Mr. Shackford, he was near breaking his promise; your kindness was coals of fire on his head.  His agony, lest he should die or lose his senses before he could make known the full depth of Durgin’s villainy, must have been something terrible.  This is the substance of what the poor creature begged me to say to you with his dying regrets.  The money is hidden somewhere under the mattress, I believe.  A better man than Torrini would have spent some of it,” added Father O’Meara, waving a sort of benediction in the direction of the bed.