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344 films away the assumed expression of good nature, honesty, straightforwardness, and unmasks the evil inner man. The touch of pain had not improved the expression of Cruel Coppinger. It cannot, however, with justice be said that the gentler aspect of the man, which Judith had at one time seen, was an assumption. He was a man in whom there was a certain element of good, but it was mixed up with headlong wilfulness, utter selfishness, and resolution to have his own way at any cost.

Judith could see, now that his face was pain-struck, how much of evil there was in the soul that had been disguised by a certain dash of masculine overbearing and brusqueness.

"What are you looking at?" asked Coppinger, glancing up.

"I was thinking," answered Judith.

"Of what?"

"Of you—of Wyvill, of the wreck on Doom Bar, of the jewels of Lady Knighton, and last of all of Jamie's maltreatment."

"And what of all that?" he said in irritable scorn.

"That I need not say. I have drawn my own conclusions."

"You torment me, you—when I am ill? They call me Cruel, but it is you who are cruel."

Judith did not wish to be drawn into discussion that must be fruitless. She said, quietly, in altered tone, "Can I get you anything to comfort you?"

"No—go your way. This will pass. Besides, it is naught to you. Go; I would be left alone."

Judith obeyed, but she was uneasy. She had never seen Coppinger look as he looked now. It was other, altogether, after he had broken his arm. Other, also, when for a day he was crippled with bruises, after the wreck. She looked into the hall several times during the day. In the afternoon he was easier, and went out; his mouth had been parched and burning, and he had been drinking milk. The empty glass was on the table. He would eat nothing at mid-day. He turned from food, and left the room for his own chamber.

Judith was anxious. She more than once endeavored to draw Coppinger into conversation relative to himself, but he would not speak of what affected him. He was