"Because of you. Because of my friend's--baby girl."
"How?"
"The child's name was Joan. Joan Rest is the daughter of Charles Stanmore--the man I am accused of murdering. This afternoon I advised her to have some one to live with her--a relative. She is sending for the only one she has. It is her aunt, Stanmore's housekeeper--the woman I insulted past forgiveness."
Not for an instant did Buck's expression change.
"Why did you advise--that?" he asked.
The Padre's eyes suddenly lit with a subdued fire, and his answer came with a passion such as Buck had never witnessed in him before.
"Why? Why? Because you love this little Joan, daughter of my greatest friend. Because I owe it to you--to her--to face my accusers and prove my innocence."
The two men looked long and earnestly into each other's eyes. Then the Padre's voice, sharp and strident, sounded through the little room.
"Well?"
Buck rose from his seat.
"Let's eat, Padre," he said calmly. "I'm mighty hungry." Then he came a step nearer and gripped the elder man's hand. "I'm right with you, when things--get busy."