And it hadn't been truth.

He had battled for Joan with misinterpretation and cruelty; he had practiced the truth with the telling of untruth.

And the proud old man who veiled his poverty with pretense, had listened, listened inscrutably and laughed, ready to thrust from the grave itself.
Ah! Fate was forever flinging down her gauntlet.
"To Kennicott O'Neill, my friend, my signet ring." His friend! In spite of the practice hour--his friend.

Kenny's eyes smarted.
"Oh, Adam, Adam!" he said, sick at heart, "I beg your pardon." The snow crunched steadily under Nellie's feet.

Kenny stared sadly at the road ahead.