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 • •• ■ ■ .. It -■' "r. . .•••- 
 
 
 The youko lady who stood waiting for Mn. Tum.i.y was 
 
 STRIKINGLY BANUSOMF. 
 
A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 . . . Take her hand. Her heart has long been youm. 
 
 True love in trouble all the mere endure* I 
 
 She'll cling the closer for the risk she braved 
 
 And cheriHb all the more the li'e ahe laved. 
 
 There's nought a loving woman will not do. 
 
 Wheu ouco she (eeU her lover's heart U true. 
 
 —Oriirut, 
 
 EDMUND E. SHEPPARD, 
 
 Author of "Dully," " Farm Sketcheii," " Wutoufr Jonet," "The Dance at 
 Deadman'e Crotsinu," etc., tte. 
 
 n 
 
 Eiitered aocordini; to Art of the Parliament of Canada, In the year one thousand eight 
 hundred and eiglily-tiinc, )>y TiiR Siiritard ruuLiHiiiNu Cuutant (UMlted), in the 
 olHue of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
 TORONTO : 
 THE SHEPPARD PUBLISHING COMPANY (Limited). 
 
 1889. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CBAPruk Pmb. 
 
 I. The Late John Kino . • • • .1 
 
 II. Tells Us Sometuino More About Stephen Toli.y 5 
 
 III. In Mourning, but Not in Despair . . .10 
 
 IV. Introduces bt Mr. Jambs J. Killick, Barrister 14 
 V. About the People We are to Meet . . 19 
 
 VL C!oRA Burnham's Hold on Tully . , 25 
 
 VII. An Inturvikw With Mrs. Burnham , . 30 
 
 VIIL "LovK, Truly Lovest Thou Mb Bbbt". . 36 
 
 IX. In Private Conference . . . , .44 
 
 X. In Wiiicn Miss Burnham Dkfines Her Position 50 
 
 XI. Uisci.osKs Onk of Mr. Killu-k's "Schemes" . 58 
 
 XII. A SoMiownAT Uxi;kutain IIkkormation. . 65 
 
 XIII. TiiK UrTTi:u-SwEi:T of Notouiktv . . .73 
 
 XIV. IlKSUI.TS IN FUUTHKIl CoMI'LICATlONS . . 80 
 
 XV. \Vk Makk TIIK Acquaintance of Mrs. Chandler 88 
 
 XVI. ]'m;ai)in(j in Vain ..... 95 
 
 XVH. TnK UiiTniN ok a Matuuk Prodiqal . . 102 
 
 XVIII. THI; SllAlJOWS OK C()M!N(i KVKNTS. « . 108 
 
 XIX. A Very Diffcui.t Position . , , ,115 
 
 XX. Tkmptation and Dkcki-tion ... 122 
 
 XXI. At Ckoss-Puuposks . . , . ,131 
 
 XXII. In the Natukk ok a Citisis . . .139 
 
 XXIII. Almost I'kksitadko . . . . .146 
 
 XXIV. Social and Uklkiious I'onvkntionalitieh . 154 
 
 XXV. TUK BlCtJINNINO OK THE ENI) . . , .159 
 
 XXVI. TiiKiii Troubles ahij not Yi;t Over . . 165 
 
 XXVII. Killick's Death. . . . . . .171 
 
 XXVin. The Test of Her Love .... 180 
 
 XXIX. The Hour Bkfork the Dawn . . , .188 
 
 XXX. A Scene From a Kuinbo Lifb . • • 196 
 
A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THK LATK JOHN KINO. 
 
 Tbe cloaad shutters and the long folds of crape pendant from 
 the door-knob intimated to the pasaer-by that someone was dead at 
 No. 25 Mowburn Street. The someone was John King. In the 
 handsome drawing-room, amid the trappings and millinery of 
 death, as provided by a fashionable undertaker, John King lay^ln 
 state in the most expensive cofQn his weeping widow could procure. 
 John King had left his widow and ten-year-old son with fortune 
 enougii to keep them in comfort, but when his eyes closed in death 
 there was no agony in their gray depths except tbe fear that his 
 wife was unable to take care of herself and her boy. With his lart 
 effort he had turned and grasped his little boy's hand and faintly 
 whispered, " Be good to her. Jack." The little fellow sprang from 
 the slunder girl who held him, and with his freckled hands clasping 
 his father's face, kissed passionately the stiffening lips. The weep- 
 ing girl bent over the dying man to remove the child, and heard— 
 "and you, Dell— good to her." His eyes again sought his wife's 
 face, God lifted the cloud of fear and John King died with a happy 
 look on his stern face triat death could not chill from the firm lips 
 and sunken jaw, over which swept the long, reddish-blonde mous- 
 tache which in life had scarcely ever wreathed a smile. 
 
 Light enough, that late summer afternoon, crept through the 
 shutters to show the rugged but intellectual beauty of the dead 
 man's face, with its smile of peaceful content. Leaning with his 
 elbow on the mantelpiece, an animate man stood gazing calmly at 
 the dead. " The old fellow looks happy, doesn't hef " he said, think- 
 ing in half audible communion witli himself ; " really more so than 
 when lie was alive. He ev idently prefers being dead to practising 
 law in the day-time and teaching mission-school at night. Nerer 
 had any leisure or pleasure. Poor old chap, he's having a rest now 
 
2 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 that will last him i Wonder if 1q the other Jurisdiction he'll And • 
 chance to make up for the fun he mib ed here? Duty 1 Duty I Duty I 
 Always 'Duty ' ; no time to sing a son^ or take a drink, or join the 
 rest of us in some sport I Poor fellow, a sense of duty and lung 
 disease spoiled a brilliant career 1" The speaker yawned, as if 
 wearied by the idea, stroked his moustache, straightened himself 
 np and with his hands in his pockets strolled towards the window, 
 stopping for a moment to look more closely at the white face in che 
 coffin. 
 
 " Cane be much consolation to the widow to see John looking 
 so happy to get away from her, can it 1 They seemed happy enough 
 and she's a deuced fine-looking woman too 1 Don't suppose he ever 
 noticed her looks ; too busy hunting for some fad." These thoughts 
 followed him to the window where he turned the slats in the blind 
 and looked out on the quiet street. "'King & TuUy, Barristers 1' 
 Yes, 1 must have that changed into 'Stephen TuUy, Barrister, 
 Solicitor, etc'l Big thing for me coming into the whole practice 1— 
 if I can hold it." This last thought troubled him for a moment— 
 "I'll have to go slow if I want to keep that church crowd's busi- 
 ness ; they evore by King,"- after a pause—" If they swore at all, 
 and I suppose everybody swears either aloud or to themselves." 
 
 "Who are you?" demanded a sharp voice behind him. 
 
 The lawyer turned slowly from the window— Stephen TuUy 
 never moved rapidly or without dignity— and surveyed the owner 
 of the voice. "Ah, Master John, I didn't hear you come in. Come 
 over and shake hands with me." 
 
 "I won't," Master John responded fiercely. "I don't like you. 
 My papa is dead. Go away, and never come here again." 
 
 A boy of ten is never very dangerous except as a tell-tale, but 
 this boy, with freckled, tear-stained face, swollen lips and eyes 
 red with weeping, impressed Mr. Tully as very absurd. The little 
 fellow clenched his bands and advanced threateningly, and this 
 made Mr. Tully laugh. 
 
 "How dare you laugh when my papa is deadt Yoa bad manl 
 I struck Jane this morning because she laughed, and I'll strike 
 you," he added, after a choking sob and the comprehension of his 
 own weakness, "with a rock if you laugh when I'll never see my 
 papa again." 
 
 Stephen Tully was decidedly a handsome man and of impos- 
 ing appearance. His voice was pleasant, and his face, expres- 
 sionless in repose, was bright and captivating when animated. 
 He comprehended the boy, and determined to comfort and win 
 him. "You startled me, my little friend, and the surprise made 
 ^e smile, buc do not think I was laughing at your grief. X, too, 
 
THE LATE JOHN KINO 
 
 have reason to weep for him— he was my l)CHt friend." Mr. Tally's 
 Toice Rank to a c>iok<ng whisper, and as he turned towards the 
 ooiiVn he put bis handkerchief to his eyes, as if in tears. 
 
 "Then what made you laugh?" demanded the boy, with sullen 
 ot>stinacy of unbelief. 
 
 The door opened and a slender figure robed in black entered the 
 room and laid a gentle hand on the irate; boy. "Oh, Auntiu Dell," 
 he Rol)l)cd against the arm which had Ik-cii thrown al>out him, 
 "that nasty man laughed at me and said I was a little fool 1" 
 
 " I iHif; your pardon, but I did nothing of tlio kind, Miss Drown- 
 ing. I sniiied in surprise at his fierce demand that I should in- 
 stantly quit the premises, but I did not call iiiin a 'little foci' or 
 spi-ak unkindly to him," Mr. Tully explained with the nearest 
 approach to embarrassment Miss Browning had ever seen him 
 betray. 
 
 "He laughed, Auntie Dell," persisted the boy, "and bis eyes 
 said— said the nasty words." 
 
 "Aha! my little man; you go too fast, and might have made 
 Miss Drowning think me rude and unfeeling to the son of my old 
 friend and partner. But you wouldn't have l>elieved it of me, would 
 you. Miss Dell." 
 
 "Of course I would have l)elieved it if Jack had said so," she 
 answered softly, while she stroked the boy's soft red-brown hair. 
 
 " What makes you let liim call you that," demanded Jack, 
 sharply pushing her hand from his head. 
 
 "Call me what. Jack?" 
 
 "Why 'MiHS Dell'l You ain't his Auntie Dell-only mine. 
 You don't like him, do your (Interrogatory pause.) "Say, do you. 
 Auntie Dell? Ihateliiml' 
 
 Jack threw out the last idea as a suggestion of the answer he 
 desired her to make, bul Auntie Dell refused to concur. 
 
 " You should not talk so loud or seem so cross, Jack. What 
 would your poor papa say if he could hear you?" She spoke in 
 gciille reproof, but in an instant she saw her mistake, the boy, 
 lem'nded of his Ijereavement, sprang from her side and threw him- 
 selt upon the pulseless breast of bis father, with wild protestations 
 of love. " Nobody loves Jack now I Everylxxiy hates him I " be 
 Hob!>ed hysterically. 
 
 Mr. Tully looked displeased, even disgusted. Dell Browning 
 tried to comfort the wailing child, but Jack refused to quit his 
 place beside the dead or cease his outcries. At this moment the 
 door again opened, almost concealing Mr. Tully, who stood behind it. 
 
 "Oh, Dell, take him out, or he'll scream himself to death. How 
 could you be so thoughtless as to let him come here, when you knew 
 
"IVT^" 
 
 A BAD MAirS SWEETHEART 
 
 how excited he Is, and I bo low that I can hardly walkt" These 
 words gasped out with querulous intonation, as if the speaker were 
 taint and ill-natured, came from Mrs. King, who in dishabille loaned 
 against the door and made Mr. Tully's position untenable. As he 
 stepped out of the shadow Mrs. King started violently, and exclaim- 
 ing " I had no idea there were others here I " seized Jack and 
 hurriedly left the room. Jack rcHisted at first, but an appealing 
 look from his friend made him consent, though at the door he 
 asked, "You'll come and read to me before dinner, won't you, 
 Auntie Dcill" 
 
 " Yes, dear, yofs soon," she answerod, and the door closed, leav- 
 ing her alone with Stephen Tully and the dead. For a moment 
 neither spolce, and then with a (|uiut smile Mr. Tully invited Dell 
 to be seated by him on the cusliioned recess of the window. She 
 looked curiously at him as she sat down, and he answered her by 
 gazing in her face for a moment and saying : 
 
 " Your repose and restful face arc pleasant after the exhibition 
 we've just had of that demented Imy and IiIh dishevelled mother. 
 What a friglit the widow looked I One could scarce imagine grief 
 to liave such a disastrous effect on l)eauty. But, perhaps it was 
 because she hadn't her hair combed and had forgotten to put on 
 part of iier dress I ** He spoke banteringly, and Dell watched his 
 face with the same curious look with which she almost always 
 regarded him. 
 
 "You forget, Mr. Tully, that both grief and neglect of dress are 
 excusable in Mrs. King under the circumstances." 
 
 "No, I don't, Miss Reproof, and when Mrs. King discovered my 
 presence she didn't forget her lack of comeliness any more than I 
 did. But you always look W3ll and cool. I really believe a tired 
 man could stand on one foot for an hour in tiie hot sun and rest 
 himself and grow cool and comfortable, simply by gazing on you. 
 I do Indeed, though yon observe me with that ' wondcr-if-I-can- 
 believe-him' look." 
 
 "Please don't talk to heedlessly I ** exclaimed Dell, drawing 
 further away from him. "You frighten me with your lack of re- 
 gard for what ordinarily restrains people. How can you joke and 
 carry on over the corpse of a man who was your partner and friend 
 —and more, Stephen TuUv— your benefactor?" 
 
 " My dear Miss Browning, I am not joking, and I am not ' carry- 
 ing-on,' except in the sense of trying to carry on a conversation, 
 which you desire to be conducted on • funeral basis while I am 
 endeavoring, by ordinary good humor, to prevent both of us from 
 bursting into tears. Just one more word from you and my lach- 
 rymal fountains will gush forth and you will have as much trouble 
 
SO.VKT/frXG MCRE AIUWT STE) HEN TULLY 6 
 
 comforting me as you had with Master Jacti. Are you prepared 
 to take the rink f" 
 
 " Yea; I am ready to take the risk of your Bbowing any sign of 
 ordinary sympathy with sorrow or berebvement. Life seems a Joke 
 to you, and even death appears to have no terrors to your torpid con- 
 science. Nothing but your good temper, and what some people 
 may think your good looks save you from being a monster." 
 
 " I'm glad something saves me from it, my sweet Asphodel," 
 he cried gaily, rrying to seize her hand. She sprang up angrily. 
 
 "This is no time or place for gallantries, Mr. Tully. I believe I 
 am included in Mr. King's will as one of the executors. I will see 
 you after the funeral to morro*^, when you and Mr. Stryde will be 
 expeotcd to call at, say, four o'clock. Good afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Tully showed no signs of being crushed, but took his dis- 
 missal with good-humored alacrity, which disarmed further reproof. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 TELLS CS SOUETHING MORE ABOUT STEPHEN TULLY. 
 
 After Stephen Tully left the house on Mowburn Street he glanced 
 at his watch and walked rapidly towards the park. Aa he fastened 
 his gloves and smoothed out the front of his coat and carefully 
 buttoned it, he a^iked himself, "IIow is it that Dell Browning has 
 Huch influence over me \ Here I have been hanging around tiiat 
 house communing with the departed and inhaling the perfume of 
 c\'epe and funeral flowers for an hour, just to get a glimpse of her, 
 and then am sat upon and sent about my business with a lecture 
 for my pains. What a young fury that Jack is ; I thought he would 
 scratch my eyes out. Whoever marries the widow will have a cash 
 job training the boy. Likely enough I will have to marry the widow 
 and orphan myself if Dell won't have me or \i Mrs. King shows a 
 disposition to let anyboily else manage her property." 
 
 "Hullo, Tully!" cried a friend accosting him. "Been over to 
 King's, I suppose. When is the funeral!" 
 
 "Tomorrow at two. I suppose you'll be around," answered 
 Stephen cheerfully. " We want to give the old fellow a good 
 scndoff." 
 
 "There's no fear about the size of the funeral. Every lawyer 
 in the city will turn out. Everyliody liked John King— and his 
 partner, of course. By the w.iy. I saw that pretty typewriter girl 
 of yours in the park just now. Seemed to be waiting for some 
 one ; you probably," laughed his friend with a knowing look. 
 
 " It can't be me, old fellow. Probably one of the boys in the 
 
A BAD MAN'S SWEKTIIKART 
 
 of?-:e. They are all havinK a real today, you know, and the entire 
 statFare apparently captives at her feet." 
 
 "Oh, no, it couldn't be you. No one could seriously suspect 
 you of making appointments with young ladies in the park," said 
 his friend, slowly closing one eya. "You should give her some 
 fatherly advice. She is too pretty to be out in the evening without 
 hor ma. Hood bye." 
 
 "Don't judge everyone by yourself, Chandler, you old rascal. 
 Good night!" retorted Tully, and then, as he resumed his walk, 
 "Confound that fellow, ho is a worse gossip than his wife, and she 
 ought to be indicted as a public nuisance. What put the idea in 
 Ms head that I was going to meet Cora? I'll have to drop her if 
 people are beginning to talk about it. We have never been "cn 
 together- that's one coisiforting fact— and I should not have made 
 this appointment to-night if she hadn't insisted. There she is now ; 
 someone bowing to her! Yus, and he must turn around and size 
 me up. This affair will have to end right here." 
 
 The young lady who stood waiting for Mr. Tully was strikingly 
 handsome. Daric, self -possessed and graceful, her handsome and 
 well-made garments displayed a figure of unusual symmetry. No 
 one observing her haughty carriage would have guessed that she 
 kept the books and operated a typewriter in the law oUice of King & 
 Tully, Barrister!?, on the limited salary of ten dollars a week, and, 
 had they been so informed, they might have wondered how she 
 found means to buy fashionable dresses. Cruel and unjust remarks 
 had indeed neen excited by her stylish costumes, but those who 
 knew her were aware that her mother was a dressmaker, and that 
 the proud Cora did not disdain to sew for herself. 
 
 " How late you are," she exclaimed, as she Joined Mr. Tully in 
 his walk. " I have been waiting nearly half an hour for you." 
 
 "And enjoying it apparently," answered Stephen, somewhat 
 crustily. "You seem to be quite the centre of attraction." 
 
 " Oh, you mean that fellow who oowed. He doesa't live here, so 
 you needn't be afraid our meetmg will be talked about." 
 
 "I think, Cora, you might have made yourself a little less con 
 spicuous— worn a veil or something. I met Chandler just now ; he 
 told me you were waiting for me here." 
 
 " Told you I was waiting for you 1 He couldn't have known 
 that. And why should I try to disguise myself?" 
 
 " WeU, he saw you waiting, and guessed the rest. It'll be all 
 over town before morning. I suppose it won't matter for once, 
 but we'll have to take care that it doesn't happen again." With 
 this Stephen endeavored to resume hia good-nature, and tucked 
 her hand under his arm. 
 
SUMETHINO MORE ABOUT STEPHEN FULLY 
 
 "See that what doesn't happen again t" shs inquired, her dark 
 eyes fixed full on hid face. 
 
 "Our beinK seen together." 
 
 " And why not?" Hhe demanded. 
 
 "Because it will be tallied aLoul." 
 
 "And what if it is ?" 
 
 "It will injure me, that's what,' retorted Stephen considerablj 
 nettled. 
 
 "How?" she insisted. 
 
 " You linow hou\ every howt Now that i^ing is dead it will take 
 me all my time to hold our business togetlier. He Iiad all the 
 respecfability and social position of the firm, and if it is said that I 
 am— am— er— er too thick with a young lady clerk in our oflice, my 
 high-toned clients will suddenly take their business elsewhere.' 
 
 "And how about me?" she insisted haskiiy. 
 
 "Oh, I won't forget you, my pretty Cora. I'll look p/fer you, but 
 you had t)etter get a situation in some other office, and I'll slip 
 around and sec you in tlie evenings, if your mamma won't object." 
 
 She ha*i been leaning somewhat heavily on his arm, and her 
 trembling moved him to pity, for Stephen Tully was a kind-hearted 
 man He would carry a lame dog for blocks, nurse it like a sick 
 child and turn it loose when well, with the remark that it was now 
 able to live on the public as he did, and would have to take its 
 chances. 
 
 Ho never intentionally gave pain to anyone, and the humblest 
 employe in his office always h"'l a cheery greeting from Mr. Tully 
 when he entered in the morning. Mrs. McCalTrey, the old apple 
 woman ; Kitty, the flower girl ; old Dennis, who brought the even- 
 ing papers, and the boot-black who made his headquarters in the 
 hall below, all considered Stephen Tully the ideal gentleman and 
 generous patron. Who, indeed, took up a subscription for Mrs. 
 McCalTrey when she was sick, uiul paid old Dennis' rent when ho got 
 his leg broke, but Mr. Stephen Tully ? Who bought Kitty's floivers 
 and had her pin them on the coats of his friends when in the even- 
 ing of a dull day she found him at the club f When Sorrel Top 
 gambled olf his Ijootblack's kit who }-'ave him half a dollar to start 
 him in business again? Who, indeed, but Mr. Stephen Tully? He 
 never taught in mission schools nor secretly gave thousands of dol- 
 lars to feed the poor as his partner did, but he was more popular with 
 the boys, and some went so far as to say that he was even a kinder 
 hearted man than John King, only he took a ditTerent way of show- 
 ing it. He belonged to all the clubs, subscribed liberally when the 
 boys got up regattas or games of any sort, and no dinner party was 
 complete without Stephen Tully to start "For he's a jo.'ly good 
 
8 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 fellow!" and sing his inimitable comic songs. True enough, staid 
 papas, who were glad to have him at masculine dinners, were often 
 slow to invite him to meet mamma and the girls, for he was sus- 
 pected of being a trifle "fast." The handsome Mr. Tully did not 
 mind this, for he managed introductions somehow, and invitations 
 in plenty were regu!arly coaxed out of mamma by the yoiing ladies 
 themselves, who never could believe anything bad about the bril- 
 liant young lawyer who was credited with an inco iie of eight or ten 
 thousand a year. 
 
 Stephen Tully s easy-going nature could not resist the emotion 
 his abrupt announcement had caused, and yielding ,'o his habit of 
 temporizing with difliculties, he determined to defer his '* break up" 
 with Cora Burnham until a more convenient season, while he, in 
 the meantime, would treat her more coldly and get her accustomed 
 to the idea of looking elsewhere for employment and a lover. 
 
 " Don't feel badly about it, my sweet Cora," said he, putting his 
 arm around her affectionately. " It won't be right away, you know, 
 and in the end it will be for the best." 
 
 " I don't care for the situat ion ; I won't starve if I lose it ; but I 
 thought you loved me ! " she sobbed. 
 
 "I do love you, Cora, and I would not ask you to make the 
 sacrifice even for a little while, if I did not believe you love me and 
 would not like to injure my prospects." 
 
 "When shall I have to go?" she asked, after a struggle to control 
 her voice. 
 
 "Oh, not for a month or more, till we get our accounts straight- 
 ened out, and not then if I can get a good partner who can hold 
 King's business and keep solid with the church crowd, who had so 
 much confidence in the deceased and so little in me I " 
 
 Cora Burnham was too clever a girl not to know that Mr. Tully 
 was trying to deceive her, but in time she felt sure she could make 
 herself indispensable, and gain a power over him which would result 
 in her becoming Mrs. Tully. Already she was possessed of knowl- 
 edge which, had Mr. King been alive, would have made her u 
 dangerous enemy. Now that Mr. King was no more, certain irregu 
 larities of which Mr. Tully had been guilty could be charged to the 
 dead, and instinctively she felt that the favor she had done the 
 junior partner in cv/iicealing the matter in the firm's books was to 
 be forgotten, and the tie which had drawn them together was now 
 to be relaxed and soon to be severed. As she walked by his side in 
 the deepening twilight her brain was busy. How much could she 
 depend upon his gratitude, and how long would she have in which 
 to gain some fresh claim upon his confidence, if not upon his fear. 
 It he had used money belonging tu clients when it was guarded by 
 
SOMETHING MORE ABOUT STEPHEN TULLY 
 
 9 
 
 that vigilant and upright man who now lay dead, would not he be 
 likely to be still more reckless when alone and less careful of 
 immediate consequences. She knew liim well, and while he was 
 thinking how nicely he was getting out of his entanglement she had 
 determined on the course she would pursue. 
 
 " I suppose it will be for the best, and I won't care as long as I 
 know that you love nie, Steve 1 " she whimpered, pressing her face 
 against his shoulder and looking up at him confidingly. "Have 
 you thought of any one for a partner?" 
 
 "No; I can't say I have. Killick mentioned the matter to me 
 the other day, when the doctors gave King up. and told me to come 
 'round and see him after the funeral." 
 
 " You wouldn't think of it for a minute, would you ?" exclaimed 
 Cora, stopping in astonishment. 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Tully, who really had not thought twice 
 of the matter, "he is middle-aged and impressive; is a great tem- 
 perance worker and church man, and has a big practice of his own. 
 I think he is as good a man as 1 can get to hold King's business ! " 
 
 "There isn't a more thoroughly bad old scoundrel in Toronto 
 than James J. Killick, and you know it, Steve Tully!" gasped Cora 
 in astonishment. "He knows about that other thing, tool" 
 
 "Well, what if he does? He car't use it now that King is 
 gone," snapped Mr, Tully, who, not relishing the reference to his 
 past offences, thought it would be advisable to remind Miss Cora 
 Burnham that she no longer had any hold upon him. "If he has all 
 the influence of being considered good and lacks the inconvenient 
 scruples which used to make King such a nuisance, it will be all 
 the better." 
 
 " Oh, Steve, you can't be serious," pleaded Cora. " It is a sin 
 to mention him and poot '. . King in the same breath I If yon 
 want respectability get some one else, for people will be sure to find 
 liim out, and no one is so detested as a sneak and hypocrite \/ho 
 trades on religion and morality, and uses them to hide his wick- 
 edness. Get some really good man, Steve! There are plenty of 
 t'.iem who are prominent and good as Mr. King was. J. J. Killick 
 means you no good or after knowing what ho does he would not 
 offer to go into partnership with you. lie intends to get hold of 
 your business and tangle you up and disgrace you, Steve, I know it 
 as certainly as if he had told me." 
 
 If Mr. Tully's Ire had not been aroused by the excited girl's 
 appeal he would have seen the force of her reasoning; but he was 
 angry and unreasonable. "Don't talk to me as if I were a fool. 
 I guess I have taken care of myself so far, and J, J. Killick isn't 
 smart enough to do niu up." 
 
10 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " ni say no more." sighed Cora, who felt that she had gone too 
 far. " I worked in liis oflice for a month and he insulted me, some- 
 thing no one e. a ever didl" 
 
 "There you see, it is nothing but a personal dislike," laughed 
 Mr. Tully, "though, really, a man of his age and standing should be 
 ashamed to make eyes at the young ladies in his oflice— he should 
 leave that sort of thing to young fellows like me. You are home 
 now, so good night, my liery Cora." 
 
 "Good-nipht, Steve! You are not angry, are you? I only spoke 
 as I did because I love you so much, not because— because I wanted 
 to remind you of that other thing," she whispered, still clinging to 
 his arm. 
 
 " That's all right, Cora. I know you meant welll it made me a 
 little hot to hbar it, but here's forgiveness," and stooping down he 
 kissed her good night. 
 
 CHArTKR III. 
 
 IN MOUnNINfi 1!UT NOT I'i DKSPATR. 
 
 "Order the carriage, Dell, and take Jack out for a drive. I shall 
 go crazy if I see you two moping about another minute. Dear 
 knows, I have enough to bear without seeing you leading him 
 around the house and wliisperinp and crying together as if you were 
 the only ones who feel bad because poor .John is " 
 
 At this point Mrs. King burst into tears, as she had done half- 
 a-dozen times since she had been conveyed to her room in a half- 
 fainting condition the day before, when she had taken the last look 
 at her dead husband. She had scarcely left it since, and no doubt 
 believed herself to be sorely stricken with grief; but twice when 
 little Jack had crept into her room hft found her sleeping. When 
 she was telling Dell that she had not slept a wink all night and was 
 afraid she would go mad with grief, she could not understand the 
 queer look in her little son's eyes ; probably had she been able to 
 interpret it she might have realized, as he did, that she was indulg- 
 ing her inclination for corsetless and half-buttoned dressing gowns 
 and unkempt hair rather than indulging her sorrow. 
 
 "I am sorry, Madge, if I have l)een disturbing you. I was trying 
 to quiet Jack, he is feeling so badly, poor little fellow, and insists 
 on going from one room to another and talking about his papa 
 and continually pointing out where he used to sit and what he said 
 to him and how he looked^—" 
 
 " How can you talk to me in that thoughtless way, Dell, as if I 
 
IN MOURNISG HUT XOT 7.V DESPAIR 
 
 11 
 
 did not feel It a thousand times worse than Jack does?" sobbed 
 Mrs. King, burying her face in the pillows. 
 
 " Madge, dear, you are unreasonable. I had no such meaning. 
 I know you are suffering. How could it be otherwise? But Jack 
 is such a little fellow and appreciates his loss so keenly that it is 
 heart-breaking to hear him talk." 
 
 "It is because you encourage him in it I What can a ten- 
 year-old boy understand about death? You humor him and put 
 Huch notions in his head that he thinks he ought to " take on " like a 
 Krown person. He never acts in that way when he is with me." 
 
 " You do Jack an injustice," retorted Miss Browning, much more 
 sharply than was her wont. " He is not only too young, but too 
 sincere to be suspected of iffcctation. Last night I looker into Iiis 
 room after everyone in the house was asleep, and found tiiat he had 
 moved his bed to the window so that he could see out. There the 
 poor little fellow lay with his eyes wide open, looking up at the 
 skies. I went in and sat beside him, and he held my hand till nearly 
 daylight, when he dropped asleep. He asked me if I thought his 
 papa could see him and know that his little Jack was thinking 
 about him." 
 
 Tears filled the mother's eyes as she listened, but a pang of jeal- 
 ousy brought back her querulous mood. 
 
 " You are thoroughly spoiling him, Dell," she complained, and 
 then as if to excuse her neglect in not seeking to comfort hint she 
 added, "Why didn't he come to me? I thought he was asleep, or I 
 would have gone to his room myself." 
 
 " He did come to you, Madge, but he said you were asleep and he 
 didn't like to woken you," answered Dell, who in her eager defence 
 of Jack felt justified in permitting her friend to know how much 
 of the sleepless-night fiction slie had believed. Mrs. King's face 
 flushed as she answered, "He must have been mistaken. I am 
 positive I didn't close my eyes all night. Take him out for a drive, 
 and tell the cook that Mr. Tully and Mr. Stryde will be here for 
 dinner." 
 
 After Miss Browning had gone, Mrs. King busied herself with 
 her toilet. She was a handsome woman of the full-blooded blonde 
 type, and the thirty-five years through which she had idled left her 
 almost as youthful in appearance as when, twelve years ago, she 
 became the wife of a man nearly twice her age. She had a look 
 of smiling innocence which increased her girlish appearance, and 
 this with a happy knack— when she thought it worth while— of 
 making people feel at ease, made her very popular with the younger 
 »!!»n>l»er8 of the circle in which she moved. Dell Browning was only 
 sixteen when, two years before, at the death of her father, who had 
 
12 
 
 A BAD MAXS SWEETHEART 
 
 been John King's boHom friend, siie hail come to live witl* her 
 guardian, yet but few, unaware of the existence of Jack, would 
 have guessed that there was such a difference in the ages of the 
 two women. Miss Browning's imperturbable self-possession and 
 quiet dignity gave her an appearance of maturity, while her wealth 
 and social position, coupled with the nameless charm which belongs 
 to the woman who, from childhood, has been assured that the world 
 will hasten to give her a cordial reception, lent her an air of aristo- 
 cratic hauteur, to wliich her companions showed unquestioning 
 fleference. Mrs. King knew herself to be morally weak, and, while 
 recognizing Miss Browning's strength, felt irritated by the compari 
 son. In the Kiner household Miss Browning was the established 
 authority on everj thing before she had Ikjcu domiciled therein a 
 fortnight. The cook looked to her for instructions, and the coach- 
 man often glanced at Miss Browning fur a suggestion when Mrs. 
 King was giving her orders. Jack had at once instituted an ardent 
 friendship with the new arrival, and the head of the house, the 
 stern, great-hearted .John King, who had placed everything at the 
 disposal of his friend's daughter, learned to talk to her of matters 
 which he never thought of njeiitioning to his wife, and found in 
 her advice and companionship a pleasure which in his home life 
 had heretofore been denied him. Nothing could surpass Mrs. King's 
 tart and she seemed invariably at ease ; yet it was always a com- 
 forting thnig for her to know what DhH Browning thought. Many 
 a pang of jealousy had been excited by Dell's unsought supremacy, 
 but her presence made her life considerably pleasanter, and anything 
 that lifted a care from her mind was welcomed by the easy going 
 woman who neither delighted to remain up very late at night nor to 
 rise very early in the morning, nor to spend her waking hours in 
 planning for the morrow. She had sometimes ventured to coj"- 
 plain to her husbaiid that he paid more respect to his ward tii..n 
 he did to his wife, but she never cared to repeat the experiment. 
 John King had been an indulgent husband, but sometimes was a 
 very candid one. 
 
 "Mrs, Flambert, ma'am," announced the maid, as Mrs. King 
 was putting the finishing (ouches to her toilet. 
 
 The greeting in the reception room was extremely efTusive. 
 Mrs. Flambert embraced Mrs. Kin', and Mrs. King wept; and 
 then Mrs. Flambert took Mrs. Kin^ s hand and murmured words 
 of comfort which were so efTective that Mrs. B'lambert was 
 encouraged, whispered a few more sad but congratulatory sen- 
 tences on the immensity of the funeral and the evidences of the late 
 Mr. Kinpi'i; popularity, adding some conventional assurances with 
 regard to his spiritual preparedness for death. 
 
7^ MOUPNTNG HUT NOT IN I^K^fMIt 
 
 13 
 
 After & few further tears on Mra. King's part Mrs. Flambert 
 felt juatifled in referring to the circumstances which should 
 partially assuage the widow's arrief : she had been left comfort- 
 ably provided for, whicli of course made the liereavement much 
 less terrible than if she had been left in want. 
 
 Mrs. King could not but admit the force of this statement, 
 and later on confessed that she did not feel quite so bad in her 
 loneliness as if she had lieen left with a largo family on her 
 hands. Before she left, with an arch smile full of insincerity and 
 false teeth, Mrs. Flambert had intimated that Mrs. King's life and 
 perhaps happiness were still in the future rather than in the past. 
 
 Mrs, King had assured Mrs. Fliiinbert that she never expected 
 to smile again, though this forecast lost much of its meaning 
 when Mrs. King, in an ungual dcd moment received with a sur- 
 prised smile Mrs. Flambert's conddential communication of her 
 friend Mrs. Holly's prediction, that the firm of King & Tully 
 would never be <iissolved. 
 
 "How could that woman say such a thing. I am old enough 
 to be Steve Tully's mother," exclaimed '^''^rs. King, with an ail'ec- 
 tation of astonishment and disgust. 
 
 "Now Madge, you know better. A woman is only as old as 
 slie looks, and you don't look a day over twenty ; besides, Mr. 
 Tully must be fully as old as you arc by the almanac." 
 
 Mrs. Flaml)ert was a dark woman, tall, largo, and exceedingly 
 unconvenUonal. Rumor whispen-d rhat she once kept a boarding 
 house in which she had met Mr. Flambert, who had formerly 
 driven a dray, though as a railway contractor he had since made 
 a large amount of money. 
 
 "I don't thank Mrs. Holly for suggesting the possibility of my 
 marrying again," sighed Mrs. King. "I loved poor John too well 
 ever to be untrue to his memory, and even if it were not for that, 
 I could never think of giving .lack a step fallier. " 
 
 Thereupon Mis. King's tears welled forth afresh. 
 
 Mrs. Flambert embraced her and said farewell. 
 
 Whatever was the cause, when Dell Browning and Jack 
 returned, they found Mrs. Kings tears had become showery 
 rather than continuous, and in the fair spells she was abso- 
 lutely cheerfuL 
 
14 
 
 A BAD MAN'S tiWEETUEART 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 INTRODTTCES MH. JAMES J. KILLICK, BAURISTKR. 
 
 The offices were large, din^y and comfortless as well as carpet- 
 less. Partitions of pine board painted a light drab divided the 
 rooms of Mr. Killick and his chief clerk from the apartment in 
 which the underlings were at work at rickety and ink-stained 
 tables. Mr. Stephen Tully, faultlessly attired and with a bow(|Uct 
 In his button-hole, gave each one a cheerful good -morning liefore 
 he knocked at the door on which was a little tin si^n, "Mr. 
 Killick, private." 
 
 The man who looked up from his work as Mr. Tully entered 
 would have repelled the confidence of any passable judge of 
 human nature. Physiognomists believe tiial when a rascal is 
 born his Creator stamps his character on his face that no one 
 need be misled. They could not have found a better example of, 
 or a greater necessity for, such precaution than in the case of Mr. 
 James J. Killick, yet he had succeeded in ingratiatinK himself in 
 the favor of moral and religious societies which, had they knuwii 
 his true character, would have cast him out with the utmost loath- 
 ing. His square forehead was supported by a large square nose, 
 half Roman, half Jewish, with a hump on a level with the lower 
 line of his eyes, which made him look as if, when he were put 
 together, it had l>een a question which end of the ncse was 
 intended for the upper elevation. His hair, sprinkled with i^ray, 
 was sandy and bristling, and his grizzled eye brows sparse and 
 straggling. But it was in his light eyes and the large mouth with 
 its hyena-like smile, that the danger signals were chielly loc-ited. 
 The warts on his nose, on the side of his face and the back of his 
 neck, were not pretty, but they were beauty spots in comparison 
 with his mouth. If a man who knew the a, b, c's, of character 
 reading followed his instinct, the moment he saw the face of .T. 
 J. Killick, he would turn on his heel and leave the oflice, but if he 
 remained the lawyer's insinuating acquiescence, well placed com- 
 pliments and thorough understanding of the questions before him, 
 would Invite confidence and excite respect if not admiration. 
 James Joseph Killick was a clever man. 
 
 " A»., Mr. Tully, delighted to see you. Hope you are feeling as 
 well as you look, my dear fellow. Come Into my private room." 
 exclaimed Mr. Killick as he turned the key in the lock, grasped 
 
INTRODUCES MR. JAMHS J. KILLICK 
 
 15 
 
 Tally's hand and led him to the large vault door, which when 
 opened disclosed the fact that the rear wall had been cut through 
 and the aperture led into a private arartment which had no con- 
 nection with the other odlces, and where the fear of eavesdroppers 
 need not disturb the most confldential interview. 
 
 The luxuriance of the private room contrasted strangely with 
 the shabby office in which the clerks were at work. Heavy por- 
 tieres hung over the door and crimson plush covered the couch 
 and easy chairs. A cabinet and sideboard suggested creature 
 comforts which the temperance reformer was generally considered 
 to despise, and the pictures on tlie wall were certainly not of the 
 class of which J. J. Killick was supposed to be fond. A peculiar 
 feature of the room was displayed win-n the curtain at the entrance 
 was pushed back to admit them: i .ore was no casing round the 
 door, the brick wall apparently having been broken through and 
 left untinished. 
 
 Stephen TuUy glanced curiously at the aperture and Mr. Killick 
 explained : 
 
 "Looks queer, doesn't it? This room belonged to Theodore 
 Kahn, the diamond dealer, who defrauded the banks and forged 
 a lot of paper last year. You remember I managed the case against 
 him, and one day he came into my office to see if he could settle 
 with my clients, and saw the vault that we came through and 
 guessed I kept my papers there — in fact saw me take some of 
 them from there. Next night, he or a friend broke through the 
 wall and abstracted every scrap of evidence I had against him, 
 and then disappeared. No. There was nothing in the papers 
 about it; no use, you know, telling the public everything. We 
 took possession of his stufT, and I now use the vault over there 
 where he was supposed to have stored his diamonds." 
 
 Stephen Tully glanced somewliat incredulously at Mr. Killick. 
 The abandonment of the prosecution of Kalin had been much 
 talked about, and some of the more cynical of the profession had 
 hinted that none but J. J. Killick could explain the mystery. 
 Tully felt sure the explanation he had jus^ heard was not the 
 whole truth nor necessarily a part of it, but he made no remark. 
 He was i)uzzled to know why he had been shown so much, for 
 Killick was not given to these conlldential outbursts. Nor was 
 it probable that many people were admitted to this singular apart- 
 ment. 
 
 "These are a few papers Mr. Henn, the brol<er, gave me the 
 other day," continued Mr. Killick, taking a large envelope from 
 the vault. " They show that you are indebted to him to the 
 amount of ninety odd thousand dollars. He is willing to make a 
 
16 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 reasonable settlement, and as you are now in a much improved 
 position I thought I would be neglecting my client's interest if 
 I did not talk the matter over with you." 
 
 "That deal was settled six mouths ago," gasped TuUy, his 
 face whitening ; " you know to what lengths I went to get the 
 cash. Why is it reopened now?" 
 
 " Well, you see Henn thought he was getting all he ever would, 
 but since King died he feels you are in altogether a different 
 shape and should settle the balance." 
 
 "But I hold his discharge of the liahilit.." interjected Tully, 
 who, nevertheless, felt that the rope was well fixed about his 
 neck, or Killick would not venture to confront him with the 
 papers. 
 
 " No doubt you had a discharge, but it is not wide enough to 
 cover everything— particularly the deals you have been in since, 
 so he thinks he had bettor sue for all the amounts together, and 
 you can put in your receipt as a contra." 
 
 .Tames Killick's voice was soft and his smile was never larger 
 nor more carniverous than then. His protuberant eyes were 
 fastened on TuUy's face as he gently smoothed out the papers 
 with his hairy hand. 
 
 "I can see your scheme, Killick, and know that I might as well 
 leave town as stan i the publicity of a suit," snapped Tully, 
 bitterly. " A man might better sell himself to Satan at once 
 rather than get into your clutches, and I tell you now that you 
 can go ahead and go to the devil. I'm pumped dry and won't 
 try to raise another cent." 
 
 " Don't get excited, and particularly don't become profane, for 
 I dislike violent language, and am acting in this matter more 
 as your friend than as Mr. Henn's legal adviser." J. J. Killick 
 was blander than ever, and the movement of his hand in smooth- 
 ing out the papers had become almost caressing. 
 
 " Don't give me any gutt". Killick ; it sickens me. If you have 
 a proposal to make, make it, and let me go ! " 
 
 "Stephen," said Mr, Killick reprovingly, "avoid the use of 
 slang, it weakens your address, and, worse still, it suggests 
 improper acquaintances. You laugh! Don't do it in that tone, 
 it betrays your uneasines-s " 
 
 "Let up, Killick, on your lecture and on that grin of yours. 
 If my laugh betrays my discomfiture your smile suggests a damn- 
 able desire to fasten your teeth in my neck. Go on with your 
 proposition, but don't fancy I'm frightened of you; I'm more 
 than half-tired of trying to be respectable, and if you push this 
 thing I'm going to quit." 
 
INTRO DUCKS AfR. JAMES J. KTLLICK 
 
 17 
 
 Stephen Tully wan no coward, and as be spoke he rose from 
 his chair and stretched himHelf with a yawn, which plainly inti- 
 mated that his patience was nearly exhausted. The sideboard 
 caught ills eye, and he stooped and opened the polished door. 
 WellflUed decanters and cut glass goblets were at his hand, and 
 with an ironically elaborate bow he filled a glass, and as he 
 inhalod the bouquet of the brandy he expressed the opinion 
 that brother Killick's co-workers in the temperance cause were 
 probably never invited to this sanctum snnrfunim. 
 
 "The sideljoard is just as Kahn left it," answered Killick 
 sharjjly. 
 
 " Make your story short, old man," cautioned Tully, smacking his 
 lips incredulously and feeling the advantage of having Killick on 
 the defensive, "or Kuhii's brandy won't last till we're through." 
 
 "What I propose is this," said Killick, wisely deciding to get 
 down to business before the brandy got into Tully 's head— "and 
 remember I am acting as a friend in this matter a d as one who 
 believes in your abilily, and that you will have a bright future if 
 proper restraints are thrown around you. I am willing to accept 
 your note for twenty thousand dollars and pay that amount to H«nn 
 as a full settlement of his claim and enter into a partnership with 
 you on even terms which will enable you to live well and return 
 me the loan inside a couple of years. What do you say ? " 
 
 " 1 say you are a damned old scoundrel, and decline to accept," 
 retorted Tully, burying his hands deep in his pockets. " Now what 
 are you going to do about it?" 
 
 "Don't be rash, Tully," argued Killick, "1 can bring as much 
 business into the partnership as you have brought, and quite as 
 much ability. Why do you object?" 
 
 " Because I know that Henn will tak« less tlian half you ask 
 for his claim which didn't cost him a cent, and because I don't pro- 
 pose to let you lead me around by a halter." 
 
 "licad you around with a halter?" echoed Killick. " What do j'ou 
 mean by that?" 
 
 " I mean that you have something behind this ; you would not 
 be anxious, crooked as you are, to have for a partner a man who 
 has embezzled the trust funds of a client, if you had not a sinister 
 purpose. You want me to do your dirty work, J' aes Judas Killick, 
 and I won't," vociferated Tully, striking the table violently. "If 
 I have made a couple of mistakes I intend to make no more, even if 
 I have to leave Toronto and start afresh." 
 
 "You mistake my moaning, Tully;" — interposed Killick earn- 
 e»!tly. "That I have a purpose in wanting to go into partnership 
 with you 1 do not deny, but it is not directed against \ou or your 
 
 R 
 
18 
 
 A BAD MA.ys f^WEETHEART 
 
 interestH. King had some cllentR— rich clients whom for yean I 
 confess I have been t^yin^' to get and have been on the verge of 
 getting ; if wo go into busineHs together I feel sure they will stay 
 with us. There are two corjjorations wliich King had, worth five 
 thousand a year eaclt if tliey vvt-re handled as 1 could handle them, 
 and last of all thbru is an estate which, if I can ^et, will make 
 more difference to me than (ill the rest put together. I don't care if 
 you never do a tap of work for the lirni. I am willing to go halves 
 with you tor ten years if you will throw in your offlce business 
 with mine. Don't bo hasty, Tully, it will mean twelve or tifteen 
 thousand a year to you and no responsibility. What say you ?" 
 
 The earnestness and evident sincerity of the warty and repulsive 
 old lawyer convinced Stephen Tully, but he did not see fit to yield 
 at once. 
 
 " I won't shoulder any debt on the start off, so you may as well 
 drop that out or quit the sut>ject. Burn that batch of papers and 
 give me a clear release as far as Henn is concerned, and I may 
 entertain your proposition." 
 
 Without another word Killick began to write the articles of 
 agreement, and ten minutes later the papers over whicli Tully had 
 hastily glanced were burning in the grate and the signature of 
 Stephen Tully was on the indenture. 
 
 *' Say nothing about this room to any one ; it may be handy for 
 you as well as for me— and by the way, your ofHces being in the next 
 building on the same fiat, we can put a door through, and I can 
 keep my old quarters." 
 
 "All right, answered Tully, complacently, wiping his moustache 
 after another glass of Kalni's brandy, " tix it as you like. I guess 
 I'll ffet out through the side door and not go through your oftice !" 
 " My dear fellow, !io, none of my clerks are aware of the exist- 
 ence of this room, and they would wonder how you got out." 
 
 " Where the deuce do they think you've gone then, all this 
 time ? " 
 
 " Discipline, my boy! Discipline! Before I came in, I turned 
 the card in the door—' Enga.i^ed '—and it would be instant dismii^sal 
 if a clerk even rapped when that sign is out." Killick held the 
 curtain in his hand, as bespoke, and the light in his eyes declared 
 to Tully that any violation of the secret on bis part would be a 
 dangerous experiment. 
 
 " I'll keep it darlc, my esteemed friend ana partner, never fear, 
 but I'd like to know how you manage to get it cleaned up ? Do it 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," snapped Killick. " Don't be so inquisitive." 
 
 Tully was gone, but " Engaged " was still the legend on James 
 
Annur the pkupj.e we mie to meet 
 
 19 
 
 JoHcph Killick's door. Inside the private office the lawyer sat lean 
 inp; his head heavily upon the table. "Now," he muttered, "every- 
 thing is in my hand ! I am near the end of the hunt and anothei 
 month will tell the tale ! " 
 
 The warty skin was ashen and the hairy handH trembled as 
 he hastily drank a glass of " Kahn's" bramly, hut when he bustled 
 out of his utiice there was no sign on his ugly face that he had 
 prepared ruin and humiliation for half a score. 
 
 Oh, Thou, who keepest our eyes from tears, our souls from fear 
 and our feet from tailing, preserve Thou us and those dear to us 
 from such birds of prey 1 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MOItK AHODT THE PEOPLE WK ARK TO MKET. 
 
 "I am afraid I am over punctual," murmured Mr. John Stryde 
 'with some eml)arrassmetit as he rose to greet Miss Browning in 
 Mrs. King's reception room the day after the funeral. 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Stryde," answered Miss Browning with a smile- 
 "How can you suspect yourself of being over punctual when you 
 liave come at the time appointed ?" 
 
 " But you sec. Miss Browning, I know so little of the ways of the 
 social world that I can't ever tell whether people are expected at the 
 appointed time or an hour or two later. I never go anywhere 
 without being the tirst one to arrive, and yet so many years of 
 business life, in which punctuality has been one of the first rules, 
 have made it impossible for me to be ten minutes behind time, even 
 when I am quite positive I ought to l>e an hour late." 
 
 "1 wish everyone were as punctual as you are," answered Miss 
 Browning, who was exceedingly exact in her outgoings and incom< 
 ings, but who, nevertheless, found Mr. Stryde's exactness somewhat 
 trying. She had never expressed a wish in his presence which 
 he had not fulfilled, and every word uttered in his hearing seemed 
 to have been carefully stored away to be reproduced in subsequent 
 interviews. She had never Known a man so intensely in earnest as 
 Mr. Stryde or so literal in his interpretation of what was said to 
 him. If in a joke she had invited him to call at six o'clock 
 in the morning she felt sure at that hour she would hear Mr. 
 Stryde's step and his nervous pull at the door bell. He was of 
 medium height, rather heavily built, ari his strong, plain face and 
 light brown hair began to show signs that his thirty-eight years had 
 not passed over him without leaving traces of the constant and 
 
20 
 
 A BAD MAWS SWEETHEART 
 
 wearing; toil of bis buHinesH. He was maiiagur o' a banl< and no one 
 in flnancial circle» was more trusted than he. A clever Judge of 
 human nature, Arm and yet liindly in bis manner, upright and 
 thoroughly buainesH-lilio in hiH methods, the directors of the institu- 
 tion of which he was principal were content to leave everythinfc in 
 his charge. Mr. John Stryde was a religious man and bis only 
 moments of apparent entliusiasm were those when, in the religious 
 meetings in which he toolc considera))le part, be prayed or sansc. 
 His one charm was his voice, and no one could hear its irresistible 
 sweetness and fervor witliout believing in his sincere piety. Mr. 
 Stryde for several years had been the constant companion of John 
 King in his benevolent and religious undertakings, and when, 
 previous to the lattcr's death the banker had stood at tbe bedside 
 of his friend, he liad been implored to watch over her who was 
 about to be widowed as if be bad received her as a charge from 
 heaven. Six months before, John Kine had informed his ward that 
 his friend Stryde loved her. Nothing bad been further from Dell 
 Browning's mind and in her surprise she said some Inconsiderate 
 thintrs which John King was careful not to repeat to his sensitive 
 friend. Since that time their meetings had been less frequent and 
 tbe old bachelor had always been much embarrassed in her presence. 
 
 After a somewhat awkward pause during which Mr. Stryde had 
 looked at his watch and was nervously winding tbe chain around 
 bis forefinger. Miss Browning observed that over-punctuality was 
 certainly not one of Mr. Tully's faults. 
 
 "No, I suppose not," assented Mr. Stryde who now bad bis 
 watch chain rolled up in a tight knot. "Law's delays and the 
 tardiness of lawyers are proverbial but," with the charitable impulse 
 which was never absent from Mr. Stryde when speaking of other 
 people, "he is, perlmp^i, loath to meet Mrs. King and witness th^ 
 grief which she must feel over the loss of her husband. Do you 
 know, I felt almost inclined to suggest that this interview be 
 deferred for a few days until she had recovered from the first terrible 
 shock of her grief." 
 
 " She is t)earing her trial very well, though of course," added Miss 
 Browning parertibetically* lest her words might convey the idea 
 that Mrs. King did not appreciate her loss, "she is very much 
 overcome." 
 
 "Indeed she must be," exclaimed Mr. Stryde earnestly, as he 
 released bis finger from bis watch chain and clasped his hands 
 over his knee. " It must be dreadful to lose one that we love. 
 I thought 60 much of him, too," he added slowly, his blue eyes fill- 
 ing with tears, "that I can sympathize with her, and yet I know if I 
 try to say so I will break down. You tell her for me after I go away." 
 
 
ABOUT THE PKOPLE WE ARE TO MEET 
 
 21 
 
 At this moment Mrs. KiiiK entered the door, her blonde hair 
 arranged as carefully as if she were going to a ball. She loolted 
 extremely well in black, and somehow Mr. Strydc wan imprensed 
 with the fact that she know it, bub the tours which started from 
 her eyes as ho lield her hand banished the improH^ion, and he 
 endeavored to speak some comforting wordn, but his voice grew 
 so husky that he had to seize his watch chain with his thumb 
 while he reached for his handkerchief willi his other hand. The 
 little cambric tritle with wliich Mrs. Iving dried her eyes looked 
 very pretty, and she accomplished the task with a graceful ease 
 '.v))ich in his embarrassment escaped his notice. 
 
 Having drawn his handkerchief hastily across his eyes and 
 engaged his forefinger in the benumbing entanglement, Mr. Stryde 
 was able to observe that the weather continued warm, though it 
 licgnn to look considerably like fall. 
 
 Imagining that conversation with regard to her late husband 
 was as awkward and distasteful to him as to her, Mrs. King 
 continued to speak of the weather and inciuired whether Mr. 
 Stryde intended to take any holidays and where be proposed to 
 spend tliem. 
 
 "O, I'm quite well, thank you. 1 don't need any rest, and these 
 are rather trying times, you know, and I have to look pretty 
 sharply after business." 
 
 "Yes, Stryde, always lookinK after business," cried Mr. Tully 
 cheerfully, as he entered and shook hands with Mrs. King and 
 Miss Browning. "Always looking after business. You'll be like 
 poor King, taken away while you're looking after business. You 
 ought to he like me," continued Tully, as he reclined comfortably 
 in an easy chair and ignored Mrs. King's preparations to shed a 
 few tears. "Never let business interfere with your pleasure. We 
 are all going through the world for the last time. We ought to 
 make the most of it. Isn't that so, Miss Browning? Our last 
 trip, you know." 
 
 Mr. Tully felt that the occasion called for some reference to 
 the uncertainty of life and departure from it, and his careless 
 words were as near as he could get to something that he felt 
 would tte appropriate without being too funereal. 
 
 Mr. Stryde glanced at him in wonder, and Miss Browning 
 neither raised her eyes nor spoke. 
 
 " That la what I often told poor John," sighed Mrs. King tremu- 
 lously as she prepared her handkerchief for the reception of the 
 expected tear, 
 
 " Yes, and I often told him that, too," continued Tully airily, 
 "but then he never paid much attention to Junior counsel in any- 
 
22 
 
 A BAD AfA.Y'S SWEETHEART 
 
 thing. Nobody needs to warn me about hard work. I was born 
 with a warning in my system, and I listen tc it with a good deal 
 more readiness than I do to my conscience, I rucss." 
 
 " Yes, I believe you do, Mr. Tully," assented Miss Browning, icily, 
 •'or I am sure you would have worked yourself tg death before this." 
 
 "You see, Stryde, Miss Browning doesn't believe in the existence 
 of my conscience," laughed Tully stretching out his limbs compla- 
 cently. "Cruel, isn't she?" 
 
 Mr. Stryde had never entertained a very high opinion of Stephen 
 Tullgr and this flippant conversation jarred discordantly on his 
 sense of propriety. 
 
 "Ladies are permitted to express their opinion of us with a good 
 deal of candor, Tully, and I suppose quite often they get very near 
 the truth." 
 
 "Doubtless I doubtlessl " assented the unruflled Mr. Tully, 
 "Candor is one of Miss Browning's many charms, and when I 
 feei that I am rapidly approaching perfection I find it very bene- 
 ficial to obtain Miss Browning's opinion, as it never fails to bring 
 me back to a proper state of humility." 
 
 "I am surprised, Mr. Tully, that with your trained judgment 
 you could ever imagine yourelf approaching perfection," observed 
 Miss Browning, whose good nature had been ruffled by the con- 
 straint of the occasion. 
 
 "You wouldn't have made a good judge, Miss Browning. 
 Really, I don't know of anyone, in spite of your intellectual attain- 
 ments and undoubted honesty, who would be such a coiiipletu 
 failure on the bench as yourself. You look at things in such an 
 intensely partisan way— can't ever see anything but one side— 
 can't even for^^ive me while acting as counsel for myself for saying 
 a few complimentary things about my client. Unlike Stryde here, 
 you know, I wasn't born good, and it is awfully hard to get that 
 way after having once made the error of coming into the world 
 all wound up ready to run m tne other direction. As I came up 
 the street I saw some little girls wilh a mechanical toy, and when 
 they wound it up the little tin man would run along as merrily 
 as if he were flesh and blood. I thought when I saw it," and as 
 Tully spoke his face saddened and he pushed his hands deep into his 
 pockets, as was his habit in his rare moments of earnestness, 
 "that, mankind are a good deal like that toy. 1 know I am. I 
 determine to go in a certain direction and lift up my feet to start, 
 and away I go in the old path, at right angles to the point I had 
 calculated to steer for." As he paused the bitter recollect ion filled 
 his mind of his first great mistake and of his interview that morn- 
 ing with Killick. 
 
ABOUT THE PEOPLE WE ARE TO MEET 
 
 23 
 
 Dell Browniug had never before heard the slif^htest tone of 
 earnestness in Tully's voice, and it surprised and softened her. 
 
 "Surely you do not compare yourself," she inquired, "to a 
 mechanical contrivance, wound up to run without regard to your 
 own brain and the varying impulses Heaven has given youl" 
 
 " Yes, Miss Browning, I do. I regret to be so heterodox in such 
 orthodox company, but there is scarcely a thing I do that I could 
 refrain from doing. I may vary it a little from my original intention, 
 but yet I can't help the varying of it. Just as when we are sailing 
 our yacht we may dodge around and tack with the wind, yet we can 
 never sail against the wind Heaven has given us, neither can I sail 
 against the impulses Heaven has given ine." 
 
 " Perhaps you never try," suggested Miss Browning. 
 
 " Now it is a remark like that which causes me to state," laughed 
 TuUy, resuming his careless manner, "that you are entirely unfitted 
 fo' a judicial position. ' Never try 1 ' Why, there is no man but 
 tries if for nothing save an experiment. I have experimented on 
 pretty nearly everything. Try I Why, all the excitement of life is 
 in trying, but then you know we never try anything we don't like, 
 though occasionally we think we like things foi' the simple reason 
 that we -\ever tried them. I have never liked anything I have tried. 
 The me. ■> fact of having to try it spoils it for me, leaving no 
 pleasure in it but the winning of it." 
 
 "Isn't that rather queer doctrine, Tully," interposed Stryde, who, 
 as the conversation drifted from the topic he feared, began to feel 
 more at h jme. " I always imagined that men like best those things 
 which they havti to struggle for." 
 
 "Well tiien, you always thought wrongly, my dear Mr, Stryde. 
 A man never has to struggle to make his mother like him, and yet he 
 is a brute if he doesn't ajppreclAte her affection. Neither you nor 
 I have a wife and I don't imagine we ever will have one until some 
 woman likes us because she is so foolish that she can't help it. I 
 certainly wouklu't like to set myself the task of makings a woman 
 like me beuuuse even if I thought I had achieved it I would always 
 be expecting her later on to develop some spontaneous attachment 
 which would leave me out." 
 
 "I am afraid, Mr. Tully, you are less fitted for the bench than I 
 am. You seem to forget that all women are not alike, and because 
 you appear to know that class which can give no reason for their 
 attachments, you presume that none of us are guided by anything 
 more than romantic sentiment." 
 
 "No, Miss Browning, I did not make that mistake," smiled 
 Mr. Tully as he rose and stretched himself as If desirous of changing 
 the subject. "I do not believe all women fasten their aP'ections 
 
Z4 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 on ft man for the same reason, nor for t^ie best reason, nor, indeed, 
 for any reason, but when they do make a selection they do it with 
 both hands, as it were, and all their might, and when I am selected 
 I want to be selected just that way." 
 
 "I should think, Mr. Tully, you would think yourself extreniely 
 fortunate if you were selected in any way," retorted Dell, who 
 resented Mr. TuUy's very direct address to herself. 
 
 Mrs. King had considered it wise to refrain from taking any 
 part in the conversation, believing no doubt that everyone present 
 imagined that she should be too grief-stricken to take the slightest 
 interest in anything except the grave. She was the exact opposite 
 of Mr. Tully. He cared little or nothing for public opinion. She 
 guided her every word and act and tear to suit the ideas of society. 
 
 When Mr. Stryde proposed that they should now proceed with 
 the business which had been rendered so unfortunately necessary 
 by the death of his friend, Mrs. King, much interested in Mr. TulJy"^ 
 views of matrimony had been about to Join in the conversation, 
 but found it requisite instead to burst into tears. 
 
 The will was read, and Mrs. King concealed behind her hand- 
 kerchief and innocent face the pleasure she felt when she found 
 that half of the property had been left unconditionally to her, 
 while she was to have the use of all of it until her son attained his 
 majority. In preparing his will King had apparently endeavored to 
 show his confidence in his wife by making no stipulation except 
 that the sum of a thousand dollars a year was to be set apart by the 
 executors for Jack's education, while all the funds were to be 
 invested by the executors who were instructed that nothing but the 
 interest should be paid to the widow. Mr. Tully had witnessed 
 the will, and, of course, was aware of its contents and had already 
 in a careless way considered the financial advantages which would 
 accrue to the man who could succeed in being Mrs. King's second 
 husband, but as he looked at the beautiful girl whose fortune was 
 quite as large as Mrs. King's, he wished he had been good enough to 
 excite her respect and love, and in spite of his assertion that he 
 wanted no woman whose affection did not seek him, he agt>'n 
 resolved to woo and win her, and as he watched her lovely face and 
 comprehended the glorious loyalty of r heart, he wondered if 
 there might not be some way of influencing her sense of duty in 
 favor of his suit. 
 
CORA BUBNHAM'S HOLD ON MB. TULLY 
 
 2S 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CORA BURNHAM'S HOLD ON MR. TTTIXT. 
 
 "Mrs. Burnham, Fashionable Milliner and Dressmaker," in 
 sotnevvhat damaged gilt letters adorned tiie window of a small 
 King Street store, over which, in two not uncomfortable flats, 
 Mrs. Burnham and her daughter resided. While the buaineBs was 
 not very profitable, it more than provided for the widow's wants, 
 and every week a small sum, together with a portion of Cora's 
 Ralary, were deposited in the savings bank. Mrs. Burnham believed 
 that her daughter had been born to be a lady, and had been 
 unremitting in her efforts to save enough money to give Cora an 
 opportunity of some day posing as a young woman of means and 
 refined leisure, believing that no young person in employment 
 could hope to make an advantageous marriage. Cora had scarcely 
 put on short frocks before her mother began to think of the wed- 
 ding which was some day to be ; the natural result, of course, was 
 that Cora grew to believe that a woman's great and only aim was 
 to marry as early and brilliantly as possible. That a score and 
 two years had passed without this consummation so devoutly 
 hoped for, was not Mrs. Burnham's fault. While she sat basting 
 on tucks and frills and fastening the draperies of dresses, she had 
 woven romances in which Cora had in succession married nearly 
 all the eligible young men in the city. She, too, had made plans 
 to capture them for her daughter, but they were such poor, feeble 
 plans and as Mrs. Burnham was only an uninfluential dressmaker, 
 they all had failed even before she tried to put them In practice. 
 What could she do to get her daughter into society? True. Cora 
 was much handsomer and better educated than some of Mrs. 
 Burnham's wealthiest customers who were numbered amongst 
 tlie upper ten, but this made no did'erence, for there is no com- 
 petitive examination for entrance to the charmed circle. 
 
 Before Cora was fifteen she and her mother had often sat in 
 the little back parlor for hours of an evening discussing the best 
 means of making money and obtaining social rank, always arriv- 
 ing at the same conclusion— that her only hope was in marrying 
 a professional man, who, with the assistance of an ambitious wife, 
 they imagined might be able to achieve a distinguished position, 
 even though his commencement might be somewhat lowly. When 
 Cora was but sixteen her mother decided that, as she had to keep a 
 
26 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 (<irl to do the bcusework, she miKht as well let her front room to a 
 couple of gentlemen lodgers, and she and Cora both hoped in this 
 way they might entertain a social angel unawares, and thereby 
 lay the foundation of the matrimonial alliance ever uppermost in 
 their minds. Nor was it strange that these things should have 
 so possessed them. Mrs. Burnham knew nothing of the world 
 outside of her shop, and in it she heard nothing but the talk of 
 the fashionable women who came to be measured and fitted, echoed 
 in a still smaller but more persistent way by the half-dozen sewing 
 girls in the back room, whose busy tongues dwelt on nothing but 
 beaux, and their longings w.re for nothing more ennobling than a 
 chance to marry and quit sewing. 
 
 After various experiments with young gentlemen lodgers, some 
 of whom came home tipsy and others went away without paying 
 the rent, Mr. Stephen TuUy engaged the apartment He had 
 recently been called to the bar, and was working hard at a prac- 
 tice which, though it had brought him already into prominence, 
 had made him but little money. Mrs. Burnham at once decided 
 that Mr. Tully would exactly suit Uora, who was immediately taken 
 from school to act as amanuensis for a young lawyer. It was hardly 
 a month before Mr. Tully obtained a partnership with John King, 
 and, his future being assured, lie sought more fashionable quar- 
 ters. Then a legacy left him liy an English uncle, and much 
 exaggerated in amount by the newspaper items which announced 
 it, suddenly made Mr. Tully quite a lion in the social world, and 
 Cora Burnham saw nothing more of the handsome lawyer for 
 several years. 
 
 She and her mother, however, did not despair, and it was 
 decided that she should learn stenography, just tlien becoming a 
 favorite employment for young women, and endeavor to get a 
 situation in Mr. TuUy's ollice. Son\eDinie8 in the law offices where 
 she was employed she «a\v Mr. Tully, who always chatted with her 
 in his jolly way, and her long-nursed liking grew into love. Two 
 years before this story opened she became bookkeeper for Messrs. 
 King & Tully, and joy began to brighten Mrs. Burnham's back 
 parlor, for the mother and daughter saw their plans at last nearing 
 fruition, and every evening Cora would tell her mother what Mr. 
 Tully had said during the day, and how he had looked at her and 
 praised her work, and how much confidence Mr. King was placing 
 in her. Sometimes the dread would come upon them that Mr, 
 Tully was too proud to marry his bookkeeper, but they would 
 comfort themselves by deciding that as soon as Cora obtained a firm 
 hold upon him she would leave the office, and make it possible for 
 them to be married without gossip or loss of caste ou his part. 
 
CORA tilTRNHAM'S HOLD OX MR. TULL7 
 
 27 
 
 When the speculative wave swept over the city there was no 
 bolder operator than Stephen Tully. His reputed wealth made it 
 possible for him to engage in large deals on a very small margin, 
 and when the reaction came no one was deeper in the pit than he. 
 Fortunately it was not known that he had not confined himself to 
 the use of his own capital but bad invested a large amount be- 
 longing to a client, who fondly supposed that his money had been 
 put into a mortgage. The circumstances were rather peculiar. 
 The client had called to advise with his solicitor about the invest- 
 ment of $20,000 and Mr. Tully, who managed all his business and 
 was the custodian of all his papers, assured him that he could 
 place the amount with absolute safety in a half-a-dozen properties 
 upon which other clients were an::iou3 to obtain loans. The 
 client reposed entir« faith in the lawyer, and gave the firm a check 
 for the amount. Being in very great need of funds, and believing 
 that in a few days the tide would turn, Tully used the money to 
 protect some property upon which he must lose his margin if the 
 amount were not immediately forthcoming. A couple ot weeks 
 later on he assured his client, in answer to a casual question, that 
 the titles of the borrowers were being investigated, and in this 
 way kept the matter standing for a month. Matters were becom- 
 ing still more serious, and in his desperation Tully consulted Mr. 
 Henn, a well-known broker, and was assured that a couple of thou- 
 sands put on a wheat margin would be sure to realize a little 
 fortune, as it was absolutely positive that the market would Jump 
 up within a week. This time office money was used, and to avoid 
 detection Tully asked Miss Burnham not to enter the check in 
 the cash book for a few days, as a point of law in the matter in 
 which he was acting made it necessary for the entry to be delayed, 
 as their books might possibly be brought into court. Four years in 
 a law otlice had made Cora Burnham much more astute than 
 Stephen Tully thouglit her, and when he cautioned her that 
 nothing be said to Mr. King, as it was necessary that he as a 
 probable witness should not be aware of the transaction, she at 
 once suspected that somcihing was wrong. To make matters still 
 worse, the owner o^ the $20,000 having discovered what he con- 
 sidered a magnificent opportunity of purchasing a property under 
 foreclosure called on Mr. Tully and asked him if the mortgages 
 had been accepted. Mr. Tully told him they had not, as the title 
 had not yet been made entirely satisfactory, but that he had no 
 doubt the papers would all be signed the next day. The client 
 expressed a desire to get his money back, and instructed Mr. Tully 
 to finally object to the titles, and charge him with what expensen 
 had been incurred. While he was talking Tully was quietly writ- 
 
28 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 ing on a slip of paper, and, sprineing from his chair, he said: "I 
 will be able to fix that all right, but I had better ask the book- 
 keeper whether any of the transactions have been closed." The 
 little slip of paper was dropped unobserved by the client before 
 Miss Burnhain's eyes, and she read the hurried lines, while the 
 lawyer enquired at some length if the moneys had yet been paid 
 out. Her hand trembled as she brought the cash book into the 
 private office, turned over the leaves and announced that the 
 mortgages had all been accepted and the money r'vid. Mr. Tully's 
 client remarked that it was not material, as the mortgages 
 would no doubt be accepted in lieu of cash. Tully promised to 
 see to the matter, and thus gained a day's respite. Troubles 
 came thicker and faster. Wheat did not advance, but Broker 
 Henn assured him that the change had to come, and vigorously 
 advised him to make his margins good. Tully told him to keep 
 up the margins and charge the amount to him, giving him a note 
 for a large amount as security. By disposing of a very large block 
 of property at a ruinous «acri(ice Tully obtained his client's money, 
 and assured him that be had been able to cancel the transactions 
 by the payment of a small discount. This forced Tully to still 
 further make a confidante of his fair bookkeeper, and loss after 
 loss having been made, and wheat continuing to go down instead 
 of up, Mr. Tully was still unable to make good the check which 
 Miss Burnham had been assured would be returned in a few days. 
 The gambling spirit finds its easiest victim in the nian who has 
 been made reckless by impending ruin. The less a man can afford 
 to lose, the more apt he is to take desperate risks. Having once 
 begun operations as a grain and stock speculator, Tully continued 
 to supply broker Henn with his notes of hand until his indebtedness 
 had reached a very large amount, and the broker consulted with 
 Killick, his solicitor, as to the solvency of his creditor. Killick 
 sent for Tully, and the latter, with professional and financial ruin 
 staring him in the face, was forced to make over the remainder of 
 his property to avoid exposure and consequent disgrace. This did 
 not cancel his debt to Henn, only quieting him. The original two 
 thousand dollars Tully had used of tlie firm's money had still to be 
 found, and he was about to ask JNIr. King for a loan of that amount, 
 even though he knew it would ntatcrially damage him in the 
 eyes of his partner, when relief cai le from an unexpected quarter. 
 Cora Burnham had become thoroughly frightened by tlie condition of 
 affairs, particularly by her own share of the guilt, and in consulting 
 with her mother as to the beat way out of it they had decided to take 
 from their savings an amount, sufiicicnt to cover the deficit, and 
 oflPer it to the handsome Mr. Tully as a loan. That this would 
 
CORA BURNHAM'S HOLD ON MR. TULLY 
 
 29 
 
 certainly be a favor which Mr. Tully could not forget aud would 
 probably reward by a proposal of marriage, strengthened them in 
 their resolve to act the part of frieud-in-nced even thouf?h it took 
 half of their savings to do it. 
 
 Next morning Stei)hen Tully came into the office looking dejected 
 aii<l miserable. A late night at the club where he had been drown- 
 in^r his sorrow in too coi)ious libations left sinister lines on his 
 liimdsome face. A? ho passed his bookkeeper he inquired if Mr. 
 King were down yet. ilis face almost frightened her as he turned 
 and entered his private room. The door had scarcely been closed 
 when, with a bundle of papers in her hand, she gently tapped for 
 adiiiiUance. llis surly "Come in" was unlike the cheerful tones 
 of the ;^ay young baclulor ,vlio was such a general favorite, and as 
 she closed the door IkIiIiuI her he glanced sullenly up to see who 
 it was, giving a very perceptible start and demanding nervously, 
 " What is Uie matt-r ?" 
 
 "Nothing," she answered tremulously, "but mother and I were 
 talking over your difliculties last night, and as we have a little 
 money saved, and - and— and as you have been so kind to us, 1— we 
 —we thougiit if jou would not be oIl'tMufed we would ofl'er you 
 this check which will be enoogii to make your account all right." 
 
 Tully picked up the check which Cora had laid on the table, 
 glanced at the amount, and then swinging around in his chair 
 stared for a moment at his bookkeeper as if he could scarcely 
 comprehend the impulse which had prompted the loan. The girl's 
 blushing face and downcast eyes revealed to him in an instant — 
 what he had perhaps suspected— that airection had led her to act 
 as his confederate and she was now ottering the sacrifice of her little 
 fortune to save him. Spiinuinir to his feet he seized her hands 
 and his words of gratitude were quickly followed by those of love. 
 She confessed that she liked him better than everything and every- 
 body else in the world put together, and trembling with happiness 
 not unmixed wiin triumph she felt that her fortune was at last 
 made. Until released by the noon hour she sat in her little glass 
 partitioned room gazing at the columns of figures in the cash 
 book, tliinking how proud her mother would be when she heard 
 the news, and how, when she— Cora Uurnham— was Mrs. Tully 
 she would take good care that her husl)and made no more reck- 
 less ventures and comiiromising mistakes. 
 
 After the check had bec.i cashed, the rioney returned and the 
 danger past, Mr. Siephen Tully with his door locked, lay back ia 
 his chair, his feet high on the dusk before him, thinking as he pulled 
 steadily at his cigar, that he had lieen far too impulsive and had 
 gotten out of one dilliculty by getting into another. 
 
30 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " Confound it," he thought. "I might have shown my gratitude 
 without making an asa of myself. A man doesn't need to marry 
 everybody who lends him a couple of thousand. It will knock the 
 town cold when they hear I am going to marry the bookkeeper in 
 my office— and that vulgar, scheming old mother, she'll damn me 
 socially even if I could work Cora into good society." 
 
 The longer be thought of it the more gratitude gave way to 
 selfishness, and when he put on his hat and resolved to go out and 
 brace his nerves with a brandy and soda, he bad decided not to be in 
 any hurry in marrying the lovely Cora, and by-and-bye he might 
 get out of it altogether. In the meantime he would caution her to 
 say nothing about their engagement, which he did as he passed 
 her desk. 
 
 " Be sure and don't mention that matter we were speaking about, 
 Miss Biiruham," he said in a formal half whisper as he bent over 
 her book. " Of course you understand it would be injudicious.'" 
 
 This was the first blow to her new-found happiness, and her 
 castles were not quite so lofty nor so pliiiuly in sight when she 
 went home to her luncheon, as *.hey had been in the morning. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN INTKRVIKW WITn MRS. BUUNIIAM. 
 
 It was still early in the evening when Mr. Stryde, who had a 
 church engagement, found it necessary to say good night to Mrs. 
 King and Miss Browning, and Tully was quietly given to under- 
 stand by the latter that nothing would be more appropriate than 
 his departure at the same time. As they walked down the street 
 together Mr. Tully remarked that Mrs. King's grief evidently did 
 not affect her appetite. Mr. Stryde inquired what he meant. 
 
 "Oh, nothing particular, only I noticed that for a heart broken 
 woman she relished her dinner a little more than might have been 
 expected." 
 
 ''• iTou are very observant," replied Mr. Stryde, coldly. 
 
 " Perhaps," assented Tully. " What do you think of Miss 
 Browning?" 
 
 " Bo kind enough not to make any remarks about her, Tully. 
 She is my ideal of a good and beautiful woman." 
 
 " Why, you surprise me, Stryde. You betray more enthusiasm 
 than I ever saw you display outside of a prayer meeting. Strange, 
 isn't it, that men so difTerent as you and I should realize our 
 ideal in the same woman." 
 
AN INTERVIEW WITH MRS. BURXHAM 
 
 31 
 
 "There is nothing to wonder at. No man could know Miss 
 Browning witJioufe sincerely admiring her." 
 
 " Why Stryde, old fellow, you have got it bad, as men always 
 do when fhey get it late in life. I hope the er—er— admiration is 
 mutual." 
 
 "Really, Tully, I don't think I am under cross-examination," 
 answered Stryde very pointedly as they stood on the corner where 
 they were to separate, " but lest she might be misunderstood I 
 will say that the admiration is all on my side." 
 
 "That is my case, too," smiled Tully as he extended his hand 
 with great cordiality. " We're both in the same boat again 1 I 
 guess we'll have to look elsewhere for our ideal woman. Good 
 night.' 
 
 Though he never liked Cora Burnham less than when he had 
 just left Miss Browning, Tully always felt as many better men 
 have done, a strong desire after he had been repulsed by the 
 woman he cared for, to seek consolation in the society of one who 
 cared for him. When the cold Miss Browning wounded hit vanity 
 the warm Miss Burnham healed it by her flattering devotion, even 
 though the comparison between the hauteur of the one and the 
 subserviency of the other further excited his preference for the 
 former and a greater distaste for tlie latter. 
 
 After glancing up the street to see that he was unobserved he 
 tried Mrs. Burnham's shop door, found it unlocked, and guided by 
 the light which shone through the entrance to the rear apartment, 
 he made his way into the presence of the dressmaker and her 
 daughter. Aroused by his footsteps, Cora who had been lying on 
 a sofa with a shawl around her shoulders, sat up and began hastily 
 to smooth her hair. 
 
 "Bless me, was that store door unlocked?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Burnham, who was a thin and very bilious looking woman. 
 
 "It was indeed, my dear madam. You have never furnished 
 me with a key, and I assure you I didn't come in through the 
 window," answered Tully in a tone which was not intended to 
 1)0 conciliatory. " You had better go and put up the bars or some- 
 one will get in and steal you, first thing you know." 
 
 "That wouldn't be s6 serious, Mr. Tully, as to have someone 
 come in and steal my daughter's happiness," she retorted, with an 
 effort to be overpoweringly stern. 
 
 "It wouldn't, for a fact, my dear madam, though I would miss 
 you awfully." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham invariably aroused the most disagreeable part of 
 Tully's nature, and he found it almost impossible to treat her even 
 with a pretence of politeness. "But to guard against both it 
 
32 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 would be prudent to lock the door, and if you would be kind 
 enough to take about fifteen or twenty minutes to do it I would 
 be delighted to have a little chat with Cora." 
 
 Mrs. Burnhain marched out of the room with the light of a 
 stern resolve in her faded eyes, and no sooner had the bolts been 
 pushed into their places than she marched back again and 
 "planted" herself in the rocking-chair, bolt upright. 
 
 "Now, my dear madam," begnn TuUy, banteringly, "don't 
 begin one of your lectures. Wait till I have half a day to spare 
 and I will come around, consult with you as to my frailties and 
 obtain your opinion all at once. It is very unsatisfactory to hear 
 it in such a fragmentary manner, and with due respect to your 
 exalted virtues I confess to having become slightly weary of hear, 
 ing you dilate on the absence of the same beautiful attributes 
 in myself." 
 
 "It is a long while since I have had a chance to say anything to 
 you, Mr. TuUy," began Mrs. Burnham, with unabated vigor. 
 
 " Yes, my dear madam, and it will be longer still before you 
 have the next chance if I see you first. One doesn't need to go 
 about hunting for trouble nowadays. It is less formal than 
 society, and will make its calls regardless of Introduction or merit. 
 I have enough of it without coming to hear one of your orations, 
 and If you will be kind enough to let your absence take the chair 
 I will really feel everlastingly grateful." 
 
 "You think of no one but yourself, Stephen Tully," snapped 
 Mrs. Burnham, hotly. " You are utterly selfish " 
 
 " With the accent on the 'utterly,' my dear," interpolated Mr. 
 Tully, with sarcastic truthfulness. 
 
 "Yes, with the accent on everything bad. The way you have 
 used Cora is simply shameful— outrageous. What you said to 
 her the night before last in the park fairly made my blood boil." 
 
 " Now really, Mrs. Burnham, do you intend to convey the idea 
 that you have blood, and that it actually boils? Your brunette 
 appearance indicates that your veins are filled with molasses or 
 unaltered fluid from the storm-tOBsed bay." 
 
 With a gesture of despairing heart-break Mrs. Burnham fell 
 back in her chair, her hands uplifted and fingers outspread, as if 
 to conceal from her gaze the sneering face of the young lawyer. 
 
 "O, Steve, how could you say such a thing to mother?" ejacu- 
 lated Cora. 
 
 "I do not know anything I couldn't say to her; she aggravates 
 me beyond endurance. I came here to-night to have a pleasant 
 chat with you —one of our good old times, such as we had before 
 your mother began insisting on buying the marriage license and 
 
AN INTEllVIEW WITH MRS. BVRNHAM 
 
 33 
 
 having the wedding come off before I leave— but instead of giving 
 me a chance to act in the way that I ahvaya endeavor to conduct 
 myself with other people, she begins her nagging and prepares me 
 for almost anything, not excepting manslaughter." 
 
 Tully knew how to influence Cora, and could always detach her 
 support from her mother by intimating that the old lady was the 
 only bar which separated them. Cora looked reproachfully at the 
 angry woman who, in great agitation, was swaying to and fro in 
 the rocking-chair, and Mrs. Rurnham delected the unfllial glance. 
 She stopped rocking, and grasping an arm of the chair with each 
 hand, she leaned forward and hissed in Tully's face : 
 
 "I understand your tricks, Steve Tully. You are trying to get 
 Cora to turn against me, even after you treating her like a dog. 
 Now you want to discard her and make her hate her mother as 
 the cause of your desertion. I know you. you embezzler, you 
 
 thieving " Cora sprang forward and covered her mother's thin • 
 
 and trembling lips with her hand, and as she pushed the enraged 
 woman back into the chair she exclaimed hoarsely : 
 
 "Mother, you promised never to say that again. It is enough 
 without anything else to drive Steve away forever." 
 
 "I don't care if it is," cried Mrs. Burnham, who, grasping both 
 her daughter's wrists had released herself from restraint. " When 
 he was on the verge of ruin we saved him, and if what you have 
 done for him won't keep him to his promise, nothing will. If I 
 thought I was in the road," and as she spoke Mrs. Burnham 
 buried her face in her daughter's arms, to which she still clung, and 
 sobbed, " I would go away and never see either of you again." 
 
 Cora was really an affectionate daughter, and in endeavoring to 
 console her mother she softly stroked the tightly plaited hair which 
 was so rapidly turning gray. 
 
 " Do not speak of that, mamma, only please don't quarrel with 
 Steve." 
 
 "Quarrel with him. Coral I didn't quarrel with him until I 
 could see that I wasn't the stumbling block. He doesn't love you, 
 child, and never did. His seldshness and pride are more to him than 
 gratitude or honor or the love of a thousand girls as good as you." 
 
 As the mother spoke, her uplift«d face, sallow and unhandsome 
 though It was, shone with the glorious light of maternal love, 
 and the tears on her cheeks softened the hard face so that Stephen 
 Tully, callous as he was, could not resist the appeal. 
 
 " You are wrong, Mrs. Burnham. I do love Cora, and when 
 you act like an affectionate mother as you are doing now,? and 
 not as the designing old mc.tch-maker as you generally do, I can 
 even endure you." 
 
34 
 
 A HAD MAy'S SWEETHEART 
 
 Cora naw her advantiRu, and, sitting on the broad arm of the 
 rocking chair, iier arm thrown tenderly around her mother's 
 shoulders, she aslied : 
 
 "What do you really mean to do, Steve? Bo honest for once, 
 that we may know wliat to expect. I say vi\ because for twenty 
 years mother has had no one but me to love and think about, 
 and her very life is bound up in my happiness. If you are deter- 
 mined to break our engagement, do it now- 1 think I can sur- 
 vive it," she added trenmlously, but the very thought of Icsin^ 
 him upset her selfpoHsession, and springing from the arm of the 
 chair she threw herself on her knees at Tuliy's feet crying, " O 
 Steve, Steve, remember how I love you." 
 
 He bent down and lifted her up, and thvugh he had been through 
 several scenes similar to this he could noc resist the flood of pity 
 which carried away with it the resolution with which he had armed 
 himself when he entered. 
 
 "Come now, Cora, don't be silly," he whispered kindly as he 
 placed her in the chair in which he had Ijceu sitting. " Don't be 
 frightened at your mother's ghost stories. You two sit in this 
 back room talking things over until you work yourselves into a 
 regular pmic. I told you the other night the reasons why our 
 marriage is utterly imposHible at present and if, Cora," ho con- 
 tinned giving her an affectionate caress for which she raised her 
 face in alTcctionate thankfulness, "you trusted me half as much 
 as you do your mother you wouldn't lie awake nights imagining 
 all sorts of direful possibilities." 
 
 "I do trust you, Stev«," whispered Cora, seizing his hand and 
 pressing it against her fuci , "but it lias been so long, with always 
 something in the road, nnd now it seems further away than ever." 
 
 "I don't know about tliat, little one. It may be nearer tb'»u you 
 think. By the way I went into partnership with Killick to-day." 
 
 "What?" cried Cora in a voice of genuine horror. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham simply sat upright and, as was her habit, 
 uplifted her hands in astonishment. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? You seem as startled as if I had 
 told you I had gone into partnership with the devil himself." 
 
 "You might almost as well," gasped Mrs. Bun. ham, foldin;? 
 her hands and continuing to stare blankly at her daughter. 
 
 " You don't mean to say Steve that the papers are signed," 
 inquired Cora faintly. 
 
 " Yes, I do," snapped Tully. " Now be kind enough to tell rae 
 why you look upon it in the liglit of such a terrible catastrophe." 
 
 "The old villain," gasped Mr.s. Burnham. 
 
 "Do you refer to me," demanded Tully. 
 
AN ISTERVIEW WITH MRS. liURNHAM 
 
 35 
 
 " You know Hhc means Killick. I told you why I dislike him, 
 Steve, and I can't understand how you endure him for a minute 
 after the way he treated you." 
 
 ' Well, it is all over now. I will have to make the best of 
 it, and you must do the same. He has the pull on me again, and 
 you will have to watch the books pretty sharply, Cora, to see that 
 he doesn't get away with what little I have left." 
 
 " Is he coming into your oflice or are you going into his," 
 inquired Ck>ra who was clever enough to understand that no good 
 would result from a further discussion of tl)e inevitable. 
 
 " Neither. We are going to cut a hole in the wall and unite 
 the I wo Hats." 
 
 " I'liite the tlat and the sharp," snorted Mrs. Burnham who 
 now tliat she felt that Tully was getting into trouble was inclined 
 to assume a more dictatorial air, 
 
 Tully was insulted, and he retorted angrily, "Don't imagine, 
 Mr-. Burnliam, that because you have worked me for a tlat every- 
 Olio c;in." 
 
 ".Motlier!" cried Cora warningly, and Mrs. Burnham taking 
 the hint fell back in her chair uud began rocking with most 
 tantalizing vehemence. 
 
 " I sec the storm gathering again," said Tully, as he arose and 
 flxtd his hat jauntily on his head, "and I had better leave before 
 it lircaks. Send me word, Cora, when your mother gets over her 
 bU'dus attack and I will drop in again and give you some points 
 on wati'iiing James Judas Killick, bub remember one thing, you 
 can be of no use to me in the oHicc if you appear devoted to my 
 interests. Get solid with old Killick and report progress whenever 
 you find anything out." 
 
 "But Steve, I can't bear him. He gives me the creeps every 
 timo he comes near," 
 
 " Well, you will just have to get over the creeps. I wouldn't 
 have gone in uules* 1 knew I could work him through you. Now 
 be kind enouijh to keep your seat, Mrs. Burnham. Don't risa 
 and let your indlg-iation get the better of you. I know exactly 
 what you are al)out to say. I know you object to your daughter 
 ijciiig made the object of Mr. Killiek's very wt-xty attsncions, but 
 l)e kind enough to remoinber that I will be there to keep him 
 within 1 ounds. Good night, Cora," whispered the gallant Tully, 
 as in liis most devoted tone, and with all the charm of his most 
 fascinating manner he kissed her good-night. "Don't let it fret 
 you if I treat you as a stranger. I will come and see you oftener 
 and make anionds when my esteemed partner and the mau in the 
 moon are not looking." . . 
 
36 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 As the clever Mr. TuUy hurried up the street he felt he had done 
 a very smart piece of work and would now be able to inaugurate 
 the period of frigidity which would at last relieve him of the too 
 devoted Cora. As a matter of fact ho had indeed set a timely 
 watch, though he did not know that the loyalty which he despised 
 would yet have another onj)ortunity to save him from disgrace. 
 
 CIIA.PTER VIII. 
 
 " Love, truly lovest thou me heHt?" ask'd he. 
 " I love !iiin best who best love? me," said she. 
 
 "Mamma, do you like Mr. Tully?" inquired little Jack as they 
 uat at dinner. 
 
 The quesHon was unexpected and very pointed. Jack had laid 
 down his knife and fork, and with his elbow on the table and his 
 chin in his hand he gazed steadfastly at his mother, waiting for 
 an answer. There had been sonic rliHciission regarding Mr. Stryde 
 and Mr. Tully during the afternoon, and the subject liad cropped 
 up again at dinner. Master King had the proverbially large ears 
 of a small boy, and his retentive memory and seriousness of 
 manner combined to make him a very disagreeable inquisitor. 
 
 "Why, of course I respect Mr. Tully. Why shouldn't I?" replied 
 Mrs. King, busying herself with a piece of chicken and, as Jack 
 thought, rather avoiding hia gaze. 
 
 "Why shonld you like him, mamma? I don't. He is always 
 making fnn of people. I would like to kick liim." 
 
 "Jackl" cried his mother, sternly, "you siiould be whipped 
 Tor saying such naughty things— and about your poor dead papa's 
 partner, too ! " 
 
 Jack's eyes filled, his food seemed to choke him for a moment, 
 but after a struggle he recovered his composure. "I didn't like 
 him when papa was alive, and I don't believe papa did." 
 
 "You are mistaken. Jack. Your i)apa placed eroat confld.:r;ce 
 in Mr. Tully. Even if ho didn't you should speak well of him 
 for Aunty Dell's sake ; ho is her friend." 
 
 Jack's quick eye sought Miss Browning's fnce and detected the 
 angry glance which was her only reply to Mrs. King's frivolous 
 evasion of the facts. 
 
 "That is not so, is it Aunty Dell?" demanded Jack. "You 
 hate that fellow Tully, don't youl" 
 
 " Jack, dear, you surprise me. Whore did you learn to speak 
 of a gentleman who comes to your mother's house as ' that fellow't" 
 
LOVE, TRULY LOVEST TIlOU ME liESTt 
 
 87 
 
 '?" explained Jack, 
 . ; I love you, Jack, 
 
 asked Miss Browning severely, half-conacious of an ellort to turn 
 the subject. 
 
 "But you don't like him, do you?" persisted the boy. 
 
 " It isn't pretty for you to ask so many questions, Jack. Hasn't 
 your tutor told you never to inquire coucerning the preferences 
 of your friends? It is not nice, and some day if you persist in it 
 you will get some very unpleasant answers." 
 
 "But say, Aunty Di'll, you don't like him, do you?" continued 
 Jack, determined to have his answer before he left his question. 
 
 " Ijike is a very indefinite word " 
 
 'I moan do you like him as you like 
 his chin still supported by his hand. 
 
 " Of course not. Jack. I like you ver- 
 dear." 
 
 "But you don't love him, do you?" 
 
 "Certainly not," retorted Miss Browning somewhat sharply, 
 for the questioning Lad grown a little wearisome, nor had it 
 been made more pleasant Dy her knowledge that Mrs. King was 
 watching her sharply and betraying as much, if not more, interest 
 than her son in her replies. 
 
 "Then, you like me better than anybody?" again demanded 
 Jack, who seemed determined to have a complete and unequivocal 
 utterance beforo he would be salislled. 
 
 "Certainly, Jack, except your " 
 
 " O, don't except me, Dell," began Mrs. King, peevishly pushing 
 her chair from the table. " I thoroughly understand that you 
 have supplanted me in Jack's afTcctions, and I sha'n't quarrel 
 with you." 
 
 While .lack was taking a little after-dinner stroll in the garden 
 with Miss Browning, he stopped her to inquire still again, "Do 
 vou think mamma likes Mr. Tully better than she does me. Aunty 
 bell?" 
 
 "Why, certainly not, Jack. It is very rude and wicked of you 
 to ask such a question. Your mamma likes you better than 
 anyone else in the world." 
 
 " Say, Aunty Dell, I like you better than anybody in the world." 
 
 The tone, more than the words of Jack's protest of love, seemed 
 to indicate his doubt of his mother's preference for him. She had 
 always let him take care of himself, excepting that she had pro- 
 vided a nurse and then a governess to look after him. He had 
 rtuson for suspecting that he absorbed but little of her thought, 
 SIS he knew lie had a very small share of her attention. 
 
 Tho evening was warm, and before they left the piazza Mrs. 
 ITlambert drupped in to cluor Mrs. King up a bit. As she extended 
 
38 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 herself in a big red rocking-chair and prepared to impart and 
 receive news on the shortest notice, she exclaimed : 
 
 •' Why, do you linow, I never heard such a thing in my life. 
 The very idea t To think that Stephen Tully would go into 
 partnership with old Killick. Everybody is talking about it, and 
 I don't wonder either." 
 
 " Wny, he is your husband's lawyer, isn't he?" inquired Miss 
 Browning, who had frequently lieard legal affairs dis-usse' in 
 the household. 
 
 "Yes, I know, of course, one can do business with p^.. ,,!?, u.vj 
 wouldn't want to be in partnership with, but I have always 
 opposed Flam, having even that much to do with old Killick." 
 
 Mrs. Flambert in her confidential and playful moods frequently 
 referred to her better half as "Flam," and he with equal playful- 
 ness and a fine sense of humor completed the word by calling her 
 " Bert. 
 
 "Why, what do you see so disagreeable in Killick?" inquired 
 Mrs. King. "He is said to be one of tho cleverest lawyers in 
 the city." 
 
 " He looks like a warty old toad and I always want to rub my 
 fingers with my handkerchief after 1 shake hands with him. I 
 really think he is the nastiest man I ever saw, I feel crawly all 
 over whenever he conies near. Did you ever shake hands with 
 him, Dell?" 
 
 "No," replied Miss Browning coldly, "and I never want to." 
 
 "Did you ever get your hand imprisoned in that claw of his, 
 Madge?" cont nued Mis. Flambert vivaciously, mimicking the per- 
 formance she was de8cril)ing. 
 
 "No; at least I can't remember anything particular about it 
 if I did.' 
 
 " O, it's lovely I He begins to squeeze so gradually, he pushes 
 youi hand down as if he were trying to hold it under water, 
 clutching more convulsively every second until It is enough to 
 burst the fingers out of one's gloves, and while he presses and clings 
 he gazes at you out of those bulging, mtiaty eyes till I want some 
 lonesome place to be seasick in. Ughl It turns all one side of 
 me Into goose-flesh to think of it." 
 
 "Why, ho must have been making love to you, Mrs. Flambert 
 observed Miss Browning, with a look of disgust. 
 
 " Making love to nie," cried Mrs. Flambert, clasping \\v:. 
 hands. "Why the old animal was never left alone with a woman 
 a minute without making love to her, and the worst of the warty 
 reprobate is ho won't even wait until there f"-e \o eye-witnesses. 
 A couple of times I have met tvlm jur anil fsfl has followed nie 
 
 W 
 
 €J 
 
LOVE, TRULY LOV^ST THOU ME BEST? 
 
 39 
 
 I 
 
 % 
 
 around the room with those big flabby oyster eyes till I felt he 
 either had to take them off me or I would scream. I told Flam, 
 about it too! He said I flattered myself; Killick wouldn't look 
 at a woman long enough to know the color of her hair unless he 
 got paid for it, but I know better." 
 
 Mrs. Flambert was an exceedingly good story-teller and though 
 her recitals were not always delicate or timely they were invariably 
 amusing, for as she spoke her face ai d her feet and every part of 
 her seemed to be in sympathy with the narrative and were all used 
 to impart full dramatic effect. Mrs. King could not refrain from 
 joining in the little ripple of merriment though she suppressed her 
 laughter immediately. 
 
 "And has Mr. Tully gone into partnership with such a man 
 as you describe?" inquired Miss Browning. 
 
 " He certainly has. Killick told Flam, this very afternoon and 
 the old silly seemed to think it was a good thing for Tully too, but I 
 don't. Flam, you know, thinks a man is in luck if he is in the way of 
 making a dollar, no matter what sort of people he has to live with." 
 " I think you must be painting Mr. Killick blacker than he is," 
 interposed Dell. " He is a religious man and is quite prominent in 
 a number of societies." 
 
 " Prominent 1 Yes, Killick will be promii.;at anywhere he is. 
 Nothing but assassination would keep him out of prominent places. 
 But you will know him better now he is associated with Mr. 
 Tully. He will And an opportunity to get better acquainvCd with 
 you both ; as Mrs. Killiclc number two is in poor health, it is 
 highly probable that he is already looking about for her successor. 
 But to think of Tully, a smart, good-iooking fellow as he is, being 
 iiarnessed up to an old gorilla like that, it makes me shiver." 
 
 " I am obliged to you for the compliment, Mrs. Flambert," laughed 
 Tully, at her elbow, as he loaned over the railing of the piazza and 
 »;allantly raised her hand to iiis lips. " I am really inexpressibly 
 i\ ' '^hted to know that you think I am 'a smart, good looking 
 fellow." To have you think so and say so is really to have one's 
 fortune made, but I am dying of curiosity to know tlio identity 
 if the 'old gorilla' to whom I am harnessed. Surely you haven't 
 lieard that I was married to your friend Miss Beecher?" 
 
 "Poor old Miss Beecher," exclaimed Mrs. Flambert laughing 
 i;n moderately. " You never forget anything. If I had known you 
 were so near I wouldn't have said pretty things about you. I am 
 glad you came just when you did or maybe I might have passed on 
 to things not quite so pretty." 
 
 "But who is the 'gorilla,' Mrs. Flambert?" 
 
 "Old Killick to be sure, llow on earth could you do such a thing, 
 
40 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 and poor King scarcely buried. It is as great a scandal as if Madge 
 here had married him. Tou ought to he ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " You forget this is purely a business matter, Mrs. Flambert. 
 There is nothing sentimental about law," replied Tuliy gravely. 
 'Business has been collecting on our hands and it is impossible to 
 
 g '^h it with our present staff, and as there is a limit even to 
 
 lav. ys, something had to be don^?. I do not think it is a 
 
 matte r surprise or complaint that I should have gone into 
 partnership with one of the cleverest men in our profession." 
 
 " O, but the looks of the creature are enough to drive business 
 away from a boneyard." 
 
 " Everyone has not the good fortune to be born l)eautiful as 
 you all are," answered Mr. Tally, with a smile and a bow to the 
 three ladies. " His recommendation is utility rather than beauty." 
 
 "I suppose you will take him out calling with you, won't you, 
 TuUy. Your friends will be so delighted to see him, and he is a 
 most charming conversationalist." 
 
 "You are too hard on him, Mrs. Flambert," laughed Tally, 
 "Have you met him. Miss Browning?" 
 
 " Yes, a few times ; and I can't say that I was favorably im- 
 pressed ; but then many homely people are much nicer than hand- 
 some ones when you get to know them." 
 
 "That is a drive at you, Mr. Tuliy," remarked Mrs. Flambert. 
 
 " O, is it ? " he answered. " Compliments seem all to be coming 
 my way to-night, though that one seems to be in the direction ef 
 exalting my good looks at the expense of those charms which are 
 only developed by intimate acquaintance. You know, Mrs. Flam- 
 bert, Miss Browning is always taking pains to bring to my attention 
 certain shortcomings of which she imagines I am guilty. I think 
 it is really cruel of her, and a very poor return for the homage I 
 pay her when she is near, and the praises 1 am never tired of sing- 
 ing when I am absent from her charming presence." 
 
 "You ought to feel flattered, Mr. Tuliy, if Lady Indifference 
 takes enough interest in you even to point out your faults. It is a 
 most encouraging sign," replied Mrs. Flambert puckering her mouth 
 and looking knowingly at Miss Browning. 
 
 Little Jack was leaning over Miss Browning's chair, and when 
 he heard these bantering remarks he dropped his hand? from the 
 shoulder of his goddess and turned angrily to re-enter the door. 
 Dell caught his arm as he passed, but he Jerked.it pettishly from 
 her and would not be detained. Mrs. Flambert noticed the boy's 
 clouded face and angry movements. 
 
 " Why, Tuliy, I believe little .Jack is Jealous of you," she cried. 
 "Things are getting serious." 
 
LOVE, TRULY LOVEST THOU ME BESTf 
 
 41 
 
 Remeiiibtiring Jack's persistent inquiries at the dinner-table, 
 Dell's face tlushed and annoyance was distinctly perceptible in her 
 tone as she retorted, " I should think, Mrs. Flambert, you would be 
 more judicious than to make such remarks before children." 
 
 Tally smiled. "I am glad," said he, "there is some one besides 
 myself lacking in a tine sense of propriety. I was beginning to 
 think I was the only one who violated Miss Browning's rules of 
 decorum." 
 
 Mrs. Flambert only laughed the louder. " I can see that my guess - 
 is not far astray or you wouldn't get angry about it, Dell. Do you 
 know Mr. Tully, Dell is not like other women. She whom she loveth 
 alie chastiseth " 
 
 " Mrs. Flambert, be kind enough to drop the subject," said Dell, 
 with quiet voice but flashing eyes, " I think you are quite as lacking 
 in a sense of propriety as Mr. Tully himself. I am not fond of being 
 the subject of discussion, particularly when the topic is ill-timed 
 and in bad taste." 
 
 Mrs. Flambert's merriment did not abate. "Dell, you are really 
 betraying yourself. I actually didn't think you took any interest 
 in Mr. Tully until now— and a very handsome couple you would 
 make, too. Tully here, tall, gallant, waving mustache, elegant of 
 dress and a rising man in his profession, and you," continued Mrs. 
 Flambert, motioning gracefully in the direction of the angry girl, 
 " beautiful, intellectual and wealthy. Don't forget the latter, Tully. 
 A dowry is a splendid thing to get with a bride." 
 
 " Yes, and a.splendid thing to get with a husband," added Tully, 
 who to do him justice was endeavoring to put a stop to Mrs. Flam- 
 bert's jesting, and yet pretending to enjoy the whole thing as an 
 excellent joke, 
 
 "Good night, Mrs. Flambert. Good evening, Mr. Tully. I think 
 I will leave you to finish the discussion." 
 
 " Why, Dell 1 " cried Mrs. King, apologetically. 
 
 "Hadn't you better come in, too, Madge? It is quite chilly out 
 here." But without waiting for a reply Dell Browning stepped 
 through the French window and disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. King who could no longer pursue' her policy of saying noth- 
 ing and looking sad, as she felt tiic recently bereaved widow should, 
 was forced to enter into conversation. 
 
 "Dell never likes to be Joked," she explained, "and yet when she 
 gets going she is the greatest tease one could imagine." 
 
 "O, well, that is always the way. Jokers never like to be joked," 
 smiled Tully, who was still entirely ?>- his ease. 
 
 "So you linvu really taken Mr. Killick into the firm?" Mrs. King 
 inquired. 
 
42 
 
 A HAD MAN'S SWEKTHEAltT 
 
 "Yes, the arrangement was concluded to-day," replied Tully, 
 brietly. 
 
 "I might as well mention it now," said Mrs. King, "Mr. Killick 
 aiul Dell's father once had some business dealings or something 
 which resulted in a very bitter quarrel between them. Poor John 
 mentioned the matter to me with the warning, no matter what I 
 heard about it, never to speak of the matter to Dell. It was years 
 ago, and I never really understood what it was all about. All I 
 know is that Dell knows nothing of it, and I speak of it now because 
 I suppose it would be wise to continue to conceal it from her. Poor 
 .John hated concealment of any kind, and he wouldn't have spoken 
 unless the matter was important." 
 
 Tully sat on the railing of the verandah, his eyes half closed as if 
 he were seeking to discover the meaning of Mrs. King's words. He 
 remembered Killick's explanation of his desire to obtain the man- 
 agement of some estates which had been entrusted to the firm of 
 King & Tully, and wondered it the old quarrel had any bearing on 
 Killick's consuming desire to force him into a partnership. 
 
 *' Had you heard anything about it, Mr. Tully, inquired Mrs. 
 King. 
 
 " Not a word," he replied. *' If I had known of any such dis- 
 agreement I would have hesitated before taking Mr. KiUick as a 
 partner. However, Miss Browning need never know of the old 
 trouble, whatever it was. Mrs. Flambert, we can rely on your dis- 
 cretion?" 
 
 Mrs. Flambert had fine eyes, and this implied doubt of her ability 
 to keep a secret made them flash as she looked up at Mr. Tully. 
 •' I have long known more about the matter," said she sharply, 
 " than either of you and I can give you a word of warning, my smart 
 and good-looking Mr. Tully, that Mr. Killick not only remembers 
 the grudge, but imagines that Dell knows all about it and that the 
 feud between him and her father was the cause of her very icy and 
 disdainful reception when he was introduced to her last winter. 
 And more than that, I would advise you to personally manage her 
 business, for Killick is as slimy as a snake and revengeful as an 
 Indian, and I would be sorry for anyone he dislikes if he or she 
 were at his mercy." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Mrs. Flambert, you do Killick an injustice. There 
 is no beauty in him that anyone should desire him, but that is his 
 misfortune. He is a much better man than he looks." 
 
 " I don't believe it, Tully. I believe he is a worse man than 
 anybody imagines, and 1 have told Flam, a dozen times that he will 
 be a poor man yet if he lets Killick manage his business." 
 
 Tully began to be alarmed though he succeeded in concealing 
 
LOVE, TRULY LOVEST THOU ME BEST? 
 
 M 
 
 hia disquiet. "You can both be sure," said he, "even if the worst 
 be true of him, that none of our old clients will lie injured ; I shall 
 personally supervise all the estates we had in charge. I hope, Mrs. 
 King, you do not feel as suspicious of poor Killick as Mrs. Flam 
 bert does. Your business and Miss Browning's, you may be sure, 
 will receive my most careful attention." 
 
 Even Mrs. Flambert's presence did not prevent Mrs. King froni 
 being a trifle gushing as she replied, "Don't mention su< h a thing, 
 Mr. Tully. You know I have entire confidence in you." 
 
 " Well, that is more than I would say about any man,*' remarked 
 Mrs. Flambert, with a sagacious shake of her head in the direction 
 of Mr. Tully. 
 
 "Come now, Mrs. Flambert, don't take up Miss Browning's role 
 of the cynic. If you are going home I will go with you and see that 
 the spooks don't get you." 
 
 "Come along," she laughed. "I am much safer under your 
 escort than if I were younger and prettier." 
 
 As they walked slowly down the street. Mrs. Flambert stopped 
 in her chatter with the exclamation, " What is this I hear about 
 you, Tully, and that type-writer girl in your oflice?" 
 
 "Well, I am sure I can't say until you tell nx*" what you heard." 
 "O, you naughty man, you must be more ili creet than this or 
 you will never win Dell Browning." 
 
 "I am aware that the air of injured innocence never sits well 
 on me," answered Tully with a somewhat uneasy laugn, " but I 
 should like to know what you mean." 
 
 " Why, you met her the other night in the park, and that doesn't 
 look very well, Mr. Tully." 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Flambert, I know who told you that. It was that 
 female nuisance, Mrs. Chandler. Wasn't it now ?" 
 " Yes, it was," she admitted. 
 
 "Chandler happened to meet me as I was goinj? towards the 
 park, and he had seen the young lady in question wiiiiing for some 
 one, and at once guessed it was for me. It didn't happen to be the 
 fact, but I knew the story would be all over town inside of forty- 
 eight hours, and I find my conjecture correct." 
 
 "O, of course I accept your apology, but let me advise you, 
 young man. never to do it again." 
 
44 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IV PRIVATIC t'UN'I'KUKNCE. 
 
 The firm of Killiok & Tully had been in existence for six weeks. 
 Ihe door connecting the two olHces had been opened, the duties of 
 the clerks re adjusted, and Tully was surprised to see how the work 
 had been systematized. Never before had he known a man who 
 could accomplish so much in so short a time as Killick. His head 
 clerk, Caleb Dooley, though himself a barrister, had been reduced 
 to the condition of a machine, and was approaching the meridian 
 of life without ever having dared to try anything unsupported by 
 the advice and instructions of the astute Killick. Little details 
 which Tully had been hitherto forced to personally supervise were 
 quickly transferred to Dooley, and though Tully could scarcely per- 
 ceive the change he felt that his entire routine duties had been 
 transferred to the bald-headed clerk who never left the office, no 
 matter how late it was, without first knocking at the door of Mr. 
 Killick's room, and then at TuUy's, to inquire if there was anything 
 else they would like to have done. Ac first Tully was rather pleaaed 
 by the change. It gave him more time to talk politics at the club, 
 and more leisure to pursue his counsel business. At the end of a 
 fortnight, however, when he realized how much of the important 
 business of the old firm had drifted entirely away from him, he 
 began to feel uneasy and made petulant demands of Dooley as ;o 
 why such and such papers had been removed. The clerk never 
 entered into discussion, but went at once and brought them back 
 saying he had presumed Mr. Tully would not care to trouble himself 
 with such small matters ; Mr. Killick never did. 
 
 "Damn Killick," roared Tully one day; "he is not my model. 
 Don't quote him to me all the time ; you make me tired." 
 
 " Certainly not," murmured Dooley apoloiretically, as he walked 
 slowly backwards towards the door. " Shall I keep a note of these 
 papers in my diary, or will you look after them ? " 
 
 " Keep a note of them, of course, and remind me when there is 
 anything to be done. J'or that matter you may as well take them 
 away with you," added Tully, feeling half-ashamed of his exhibition 
 of temper, "but don't take any more of the papers you find here 
 into the other ofl^ce without first speaking to me about them." 
 
 " But you know, sir, the duties of the clerk who kept your diary 
 have been added to mine, and unless you make ft note of these 
 
IN PRIVATE CONFERENCE 
 
 45 
 
 matters the rents, interest, insurance and that sort of thing won't 
 be looked after as promptly as they should be." 
 
 Tally hated to look after details, and the interview ended by his 
 instructing Dooley to go through all the papers and make entries in 
 the diary. 
 
 The next day the bustling Dooley was at his elbow with a 
 number of documents referring to Miiis Browning's affairs, and very 
 obsequiously reminded him of a neglected duty in the matter of 
 Mrs. King's estate. The thought that he was neglecting even these 
 important matters again angered him, but he was exceedingly busy 
 with some important cases in the courts and was obliged to dele- 
 gate his duty to the tireless Dooley. 
 
 "He is a great worker, isn't he, Tully," remarked Killick one 
 day, "I never knew his equal." 
 
 " Yes, he is t he liest ollice man I ever saw. IIow much are we 
 paying him?" 
 
 " Only a thousand," whispered Killick confidentially, with a 
 triumphant poke of the finger at his partner. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that fellow works as he does for a thou- 
 sand dollars a year instead of practising for himself?" 
 
 "Well, hardly," answered Killick with some reticence of manner. 
 " He sees after all my private business and I allow him something 
 for that." 
 
 "How much," demaiulcd Tully. 
 
 " ^Vell, I do not kn jw that that is material. He certainly earns 
 all we give him, but I admit that I pay him nearly as much more. 
 Couldn't keep him if 1 didn't." 
 
 "Oh," answered Tully meditatively, the suspicion passing 
 through his mind that Doolv-'y was the instrument by which Killick 
 meant to seize hold upon the alVairs of the old firm. 
 
 "By the way, Tally," ob^'crved Killick, "you have been so busy 
 at the Hall I haven't liad a cliance to speak to you for a week. Some 
 investments made by the executors of Miss B^o•.^ ning have matured, 
 and there will have to be a reinvestment. Of course, as you are 
 one of King's executors you will succeed him as manager of the 
 Browning estate. It must lie worth nine or ten hundred a year. 
 You might as well have it as anyljody. and it falls naturally to you 
 instead of ' j Strjde or Miss Browning herself." 
 
 "I will see a'jout it," answered Tully, somewhat suspiciously. 
 
 "Of course," explained Killick, "I do not expect it to be a firm 
 matter you know. Whatever you get will be your own." 
 
 " Of course," assented Tully, " but I am very doubtful that Miss 
 Browning or Stryde will let me have it all in my own hands as 
 King had it in his." 
 
46 
 
 A BAD MAX'S SU'KKTHEART 
 
 " You can mana..;e it, Tully, if you work it aright," continued 
 Killiik, eagerly. "Don't let a thing like that slip away from you. 
 Dooley can do all the work and keep you from being worried about 
 It. If you think there is any chance of someone else getting it I'll 
 help you with a scheme to keep it. Yon know, Tully, it is little 
 things like these which determine the suctcss of a man. If you oact- 
 get your hands on a good thing never let go, even if you have to do 
 a little pulling to keep it." 
 
 Tully was watching curiously the eager and hungry eyes of his 
 pri/ tuer as he spoke. 
 
 " You needn't be afraid, Killick, that I'll let it go if I can keep it, 
 but Miss Browning has n^ver exhibited any great confidence in me. 
 On the contrary she seems to think me devoid of conscience and is 
 always watching to catch me tripping." 
 
 "It is a good sign, Tully, splendid sign," cried Killick slapping 
 Tully on the knee. "She wants to believe in you or slie wouldn't 
 take the trouble. Depend upon it, man, she is interested in you, in 
 love with you likely enough, and is only trying to conceal it. Now 
 don't be afraid of me. It I can give you any advice or help, come to 
 me just as you would to your father. I am an older man than 
 you are and I understand men and women about as well as the next 
 one. She Is rich, beautiful, accomplished I Why shouldn't you 
 marry her, Tully? A man like you can marry anybody you want to. 
 You would be a fool to marry poverty when there is wealth waiting 
 for you." 
 
 Very few men, even if they are naturally secretive, are unwill 
 ing to talk with a business associate or intimate friend over their 
 matrimonial projects. Almost before he knew it Tully had con- 
 fided the fact that he would like to marry Miss Dell Browning, 
 but that his chances were apparently poor. 
 
 " Quiet down for a spell, Tully. Teach in her Sunday School ; go 
 around and visit the poor with her. You needn't keep it up, you 
 know, after you once get solid, though of course it wouldn't hurt 
 you if you did. Show her that you are willing to do anything she 
 wants you to do. That will catch her, sure." 
 
 There was genuine contempt in Tully's eyes as he regarded the 
 animated but repulsive face of his partner. 
 
 "I'm, no angel, Killick, but I am too much of a man to play the 
 hypocrite and hang around churches and Sunday Schools to catch 
 an heiress." 
 
 "Yet you do the same sort of thing in court to catch a jury 
 and think it is all right," smiled Killick, blandly, leaning back in 
 his chair and uniting the tips of the tlngers of both hands in a 
 little pyramid in front of him. 
 
IX PRIVATE COXFERENCB 
 
 47 
 
 "Yes, but that : cciiis a \.\vt of liusiueas. It isn't like going to 
 a nacied place and playing the sneak." 
 
 Killick laughed softly. " Your ideas of morality and what is 
 manly, are positively amusing. I know you are having a drive 
 at ine in what you say, but my feelin>;s are not near my skin at 
 all— it is pretty hard to hurt them. Xow, then, in the score of 
 lo^^e airairs you are credited with, how often have vou had to play 
 the hypocrite, and not only make false vows but swear to them?" 
 
 " That is a dillerent thing, Killick, IhouKh I deny having liad 
 as numberless attai-liirents as you siiKgest. I, at least, can foel 
 as if I were telling the truth at the mouient, though perhaps I pro- 
 tested a little more tlian was absolutely justifiable. Everything 
 is fair in love and war." 
 
 "That is exactly it, Tully, and what doesn't come under the 
 head of love, can be easily classed under the caption of war. 
 Business is all war ; getting money is war ; keeping it is war : 
 c-etting a position, either professionally or in society, is war. 
 Your own rule legitimizes everything that I suggest, and as to 
 making one's self feel that one really believes what one is saying or 
 is justified in wliat one is doing, religion generally is ahead of love- 
 making, for the enthusiasm of the moment is unfailing and adds 
 to the sincerity of one's sayings and doings. I am just as well 
 aware as you are that I am not au exemplary character, out while 
 I am in church or engaged in church work I feel good, and it isn't 
 aa much to make oilier people believe that I am not all bad as it is 
 to retain a good opinion of myself which impels me to a Christian 
 life." 
 
 Tlie very perceptible grin on Tully's face, caused by the last 
 few words, led Killick to add, with an explanatory wave of his 
 hand : 
 
 " Outwardly, at least, and I think it is much liettf even to 
 assume a virtue which we have not, than to take pride iu declaring 
 to the world that we are without it." 
 
 "I admire your candor in confessing that you are lacking in some 
 of the virtues you assume, and I suppose I ought to thank you for 
 the delicate compliment contained in the hint that I am in the same 
 condition, but without sense enough to conceal it." 
 
 Killick had his face turned up to the ceiling, his head leaning ovei' 
 tlie back of his chair, his siiort pudgy legs extended and the warty 
 bands vtith glistening red hairs on the back of them were folded 
 complacently on his capacious vest. He continued to look at the 
 ceiling rather than at Tully as he answered, " I think it is a mis- 
 take to formulate truths so bluntly. Smart sayings of that kind 
 are very uncomfortable when they get into the mouth of some- 
 
48 
 
 A HAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 body eiRP, but I niuat confeaH that your Htatoment of the case ia very 
 neat, and contains many elements of truth." 
 
 Suddenly Htraightening liimself up he shook his freckled fore- 
 finger at Tully, pursed up his lips and remarked, " There is one 
 thing I suppose we might as well understand, that there are no 
 pretences necessary between us. You understand me— I under- 
 stand you ! This mutual appreciation of one another makes any 
 moral lecture unnecessary, in fact it makes any morality itself 
 unnecessary except in our relations to one another. Everyone 
 else is fair game, eh?" 
 
 "Aren't you afraid that this system of considering everyone fair 
 game may after a while be applied to one another," inquired Tul' 
 
 "No, I'm not. Each one will need the other to protect him 
 man can't get along alone. For a long time I have relied on Do( 
 but he is not presentable. lie can't carry out any big scheme. Vou 
 are handsome and dashing, and can accomplish things I dare not 
 undertake without your assistance. I am the schemer to prepare 
 the plans— to make the bullets, as it were, for you to shoot. You 
 could no^ get along very well without me. There is plenty for 
 us both. Don't be suspicious of me, Tully I" 
 
 Tully made no answer. With his hands deep in his pockets he 
 stood medi atisely j^azing in his partner's face. It made Kiilick feel 
 uneasy. A silent scrutiny has that elTect on the majority of false 
 and crafty men. They seem to imagine it necessary, in order to 
 comply with the rule that an honest man can always look you in the 
 face, to return a stare with interest. It is a diflicult and unpleasant 
 thing for one man to look another in the eyes ; there is usually 
 no reason why he should ; it is much easier and more self-respectiiig 
 to avert one's face from an impertinent stare. The false man dare 
 not let his eyes shift, but endeavors to get over the disagreeable posi- 
 tion by adorning his face with a smile which more than anything 
 else declares the embarrassment of his position and the deception 
 in his heart. But if he does not desire to be pleasing, the stare with 
 which he answers the scrutiny of another is accompanied by a frown 
 era fierce demand as to what his inquisitor is looking at. Kiilick 
 was trying to be pleasing and insinuating. His projecting teeth 
 were garlanded by his coarse lips into what was intended to be 
 a soft smile, but which more resembled the yearning grin of a 
 hungry tiger enjoying the reminiscence of a long digested meal. 
 
 "Come into the other room, Tully, and try some of Kahn's 
 brandy. The day's work is over and I'll join you in a little nip." 
 
 Tully followed him through the vault door observing Killick's 
 uneasiness with a half-contemptuous smile. 
 
 As the old lawyer filled a goblet with the liquor he remarked, " I 
 
IN FBIVATE CONFERENCE 
 
 49 
 
 think this Is pretty pcood proof of my confldence in you. I am doiiiK 
 something which no other man has seen me do iu twenty yearH." 
 
 " Indeed," sneered TuUy, " I am doing what the world is welcome 
 to see me do at any t ime." 
 
 ** Ah, Tully, but it doesn't taste as sweet to you as it does to me. 
 Stolen Bwcet» you knowl Let us drink to the firm of Killick & 
 Tully. • 
 
 " Hero Koes," answered Tully, his eyes opening with astonish- 
 ment to see his senior swallow a tumbler of neat brandy at a gulp. 
 " You seem to drink that as if you were used to it." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I am," replied the older man, passing the back of 
 his hand over his lips. "I cannot take > loufih of it to affect me. 
 I could drink a bottleful, eat a couple of candies, go out on the 
 street, and no one would suspect me of having taken a drop. Have 
 some more." 
 
 Tully took another glass and Killick again filled his tumbler. 
 
 "In ten years," said he, "you ought to be a rich man if you look 
 after half the chances I'll throw in your way. I have got nearly 
 enough now. It isn't money I am after as much as it used to be. 
 It is ambition." 
 
 " What is your ambition, Killick ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you some other time. Let us pull together and there 
 is nothing in this city that we can't divide between us." 
 
 " You are a good divider, Killick. I know that by experience. 
 You very successfully divided up everything I ever had. I hope 
 after this that you will get a new system of division in which you 
 won't be the divisor and I the dividend." 
 
 '' Don't make any reference to the past, Tully. I had to do it to 
 get you Into line. Now we are working together there won't be 
 any more of that." 
 
 As Tully strolled thoughtfully homeward he tried to solve the 
 problem of Killick's intentions. " The old schemer could have no 
 designs on Dell Browning's little fortune or he would not have sug- 
 gested the advisability of my marrying her. Perhaps he thinks he 
 could rob her more easily if she were my wife and I had control of 
 her money," thought Tully, with a bitter smile. "I hope he may 
 have the chance. I'll win her even if I have to take his advice and 
 play the hypocrite to do it. But why play the hypocrite? Isn't it 
 possible for me to sincerely interest myself in her pursuits ? I have 
 had enough of this infernal deception and recklessness." 
 
 It was raw and gusty and the rain was beginning to fall. He 
 buttoned up his coat tightly, raised bis umbrella and was hurrying 
 along the darkening street full of his new resolution. He had 
 determined to forsake his old habit of dropping into the club on his 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 way home to dinner, and was just opposite the door with the 
 umbrella held close before his face when he collided with Miss Cora 
 Burnham. 
 
 " Why, Steve," she exclaimed, "how late you were in leaving the 
 ofPce. I have been watching to get a word with you before you go 
 home." 
 
 Tully frowned ominously : " This is no time or place for a 
 meeting, Cora." 
 
 "Then come up to-night, it is important. Something about 
 Killick I " 
 
 "All right, about nine," he replied curtly, turning sharply into 
 the club, and feeling justified in drinking a couple of brandies and 
 sodas to take the chill out of his blood. Later he joined a party of 
 friends and decided to have his dinner down town, mentally excus- 
 ing himself for his early departure from his resolution by the 
 thought that it was pretty hard for a man to do right when he was 
 in partnership with a rogue like Killick and tangled up with a girl 
 like Cora. 
 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN WlirCII MISS HUHNHAM DKFINIIS HER POhll'ION. 
 
 The rain was pouring in torrerts as Stephen Tully, c'o'-ely 
 buttoned in a mackintosh, walked rapidly towardf, Mrs. Burnh.nn's 
 little shop. He was not sorry that the night was stormy, for it 
 gave him an excuse for the upturned collar of his coat and tlie 
 downturned rim of his hat which would eflectually prevent anyoiie 
 from identifying him. His interview with Killick in the afternoon 
 had disuurbed him. The disregard of his good resolutions made 
 him more or less the objeci. of his own contempt, and these things, 
 together with the heaviness caused by too much drink and thr, 
 inclemency of the weather, combined to put him in a very un 
 pleasant temper. If it had not been for the fear that Killick wa^s 
 plotting against him ho would have disregarded his appointment, 
 for he was by no means anxious to be the actor in another scene 
 with Cora and her mother. 
 
 There was no light in the shop, and the door was fastened. 
 Without waiting to ring he entered the narrow hall at the side, 
 climbed the stairs, and in the pretty little parlor before a minor 
 he found Cora gazing with unconcealed admiration at the figure 
 rellected there. She was arrayed in a decoUette ball dress of 
 white, which displayed her flue arms and shapely shoulders to 
 
MISS BURNHAM DEFINES HER POSITION 
 
 51 
 
 much advantage. Her motlier was rearranging some of the dra- 
 peries and making considerable pretence of discovering places where 
 alterations were neces^ia^y. 
 
 "So this is what I was brought here to see, is It?" demanded 
 Tully crossly. 
 
 " Well, isn't it worth the trouble?" asked Cora, his cold reception 
 driving some of the brightness from her face. 
 
 " Well, I can't say that I would have walked as far as I have 
 through this horrid storm even to see your fine figure, Cora. 
 What are you going to do with the dross?" 
 
 "I am just trying it on for mamma. I might have waited till 
 after you were gone, yet I thouglit, may be, you would like to see 
 me with a nice dress on," answered Cora wearily ; "but I see you 
 don't care how I look." 
 
 " I am glad it isn't anything more serious. I was afraid that your 
 mother had got you ready for the wedding, had the license in her 
 pocket and the preacher hid in the cupboard," said Tully teasingly, 
 peering behind the piano to see if anyone were hidden there. 
 
 " I suppose you want to drive me out of the room, Mr. Tully," 
 snapped Mrs. Burnham. "You needn't take so much pains to be 
 insulting, for I'm sure I don't want to stay in the room wiih you, 
 but I think it is a very mean return for the trouble Cora has taken 
 for you." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Burnham, you underestimate the amount of 
 pleasure I find in your society, but as you insist on leaving the 
 apartment, permit me at this safe distance to wish you a fond and 
 teirful farewell, and if you are not unwilling to increase the number 
 of favors with which you liave already overburdened me, you might 
 take this hat and coat and hang them where their wetness will do 
 no damage. Ah, thank you. What is home without a mother-in- 
 law?" 
 
 A^ Mrs. Burnham took flie dripping g'anents she gave the 
 handsome Mr. Tully a look which was a' thing but friendly, and 
 made her exit with the remark: "Be careful to keep your nmddy 
 boots away from that dress, Mr. Smart Aleck. ' 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself, my dear madam, I have been in the 
 noisihborhood of ball dresses before, and am not in the habit of 
 wrapping my feet up In a train ; however, to calm your professional 
 fears I will remove my rubl)ers. If I had time to stay I would 
 borrow a pair of your slippers and spend the evening family style." 
 
 Without further noticing the angry look Mrs. Burnham gave him 
 as she left the room, Tully turned to Cora who was sitting on the 
 pimo stool, the bright expectancy in her face having given place to 
 aadueas and disappointment. Tully saw the change, but resisted 
 
52 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 
 ! i 
 
 thp impulse to cheer her by compliments and caresses. Sitting 
 astride of a chair with his elliows on the back of it, be examined 
 her critically and remarked, "You are looking exceedingly well in 
 your borrowed plumage, Cora, but as you sent for me on important 
 business, you will excuse me if I don't go into raptures until after 
 I hear what you have to say." 
 
 An angry Hush swept up the lovely neck into the chagrined face 
 of the girl, and a look ila-'hed in her dark eyes which Mr. Tully 
 could not remember to have noticed there before. 
 
 "I suppose you think," she began with a metallic ring in her 
 voice, "that this was only a trick to get you up here and show 
 myself )ff." 
 
 "I confess that it did strike me ?omowhat in that light, but you 
 can easily disabuse my mind of the suspicion by imparting whatever 
 information you have to give." 
 
 "And if I fail to impart any information," she inquired, sar- 
 castically, "you will consider that you have been tricked?" 
 
 "I admit that I will so consider it," assented Tully, still more 
 frigidly. 
 
 "And you won't feel that you have been rewarded for your walk 
 by seeing me at all?" 
 
 " No, my dear Cora, as I see you every day 1 freely confess that 
 I am not entirely prepared to moke pilgrimages through the rain 
 to gaze on you in the evening." 
 
 "Then, Mr. Tully, you can connider yourself tricked, for I have 
 nothing to tell you except that 1 know you to lo an unprincipled 
 and an utterly selfl^b man. I have tried to make myself believe that 
 ycu loved nv," at this I'loint a tremor crept into her voice, but only 
 for an instant, "now I ft'il certain that you are only making a tool 
 of me ard I can tell you rij-^ht now you can't do it any more," 
 
 Tully maintained his easy attitude, but his face betrayed his 
 astonlehiinent. "So, my fair Cora, as your mother isn't liere to do it 
 you are going to take a tantrum yourself, are you ?" 
 
 "Yes, and it will be a tantrum you won't forget, Mr. Tully. 
 You can devote yourselt to Misa Browning hereafter without any 
 h'.AV that I shall make any claim on your attention." 
 
 "Ind.-ed," exclaimed Mr. Tully with a sardonic grin, "and why 
 Mis^ Browning, pray?" 
 
 " Because you are trying to get her to many you." 
 
 " Indeed." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. She is rich and aristocratic and when Mr. King 
 died you made up your mind to drop mo and marry her. That was 
 the meaning of the talk you gave me in the park, and I can see It ai 
 the reason for everything i'ou have d(>ne since," 
 
MISS BURXIIA 1/ I >K FIXES HElt POSITION 
 
 53 
 
 "This is an attack of jealonsy then is it, my fair Cora," laughed 
 TuUy very unpleasantly, " Who has been putting these ideas into 
 your head ? " 
 
 " Would you like very much to know, Mr. Tully ?" retorted Cora 
 her tone growing still more biting. 
 
 " Not particularly," answered Tully flippantly, " only it would be 
 a little satisfaction to know who is paying so much attention to my 
 business and yours." 
 
 "Then I can tell you, it was Mr. Killick." 
 
 "Ah! Mr. Killick, eh? So this is what you had to tell me about 
 my partner." 
 
 " No, this 13 not what I had to tell jou about your partner, but I 
 thought it would be ploasant for you to hear this much as an indi- 
 cation of the way things are going." 
 
 "Oh, indeed. How are things going, pray?" Mr. TuUy's tone 
 betrayid an awakening interest. 
 
 "I'Mnd out for yourself, Stephen Tully. You can look to me for 
 neither information nor assistance." 
 
 "Then, Miss Burnham, I think the sooner yo>ir engagement with 
 our (Inn terminates, the better." 
 
 "I don't depend on you for my situa' . and I would have you 
 know tliat I can stay where I am as long ai \!r. Killick says so." 
 
 "You can, eh?" ejaculated Tolly, his voice strident with angry 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Yes I can, and what is more I intend to stay," Cera announced 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Has Mr. Killick assured you of this?" 
 
 " No," answered Cora (latly, " but I know too much about you to 
 take any dismissal from you, and Killick is too anxious to keep con 
 trol of you to send me away unless he has some personal reason." 
 
 Tully was but half-convinced that Killick had not been jilotting 
 with their l)ookkeepi'r; but he was well aware that Cora understood 
 the use she could make of her power over him. 
 
 " So you intend to make love to Killick instead of to me. I wIhIi 
 you luck. You think I haven't used you well, but when Killick ge( 
 through with you, you will think I am an antcel," said Tully, half 
 inclined to atteinpt a reconciliation. 
 
 " I know and hate Killick, but he will never be able to use me 
 as badly as you have done. I wouldn't have been such a fool, only 
 I loved you and thought you loved me. I have found out my 
 mistake and I sha'n't love anyone hereafter but myself and then 1 
 won't be any man's dupe. ' 
 
 "Cora," wluHiiercd Tully, coaxingly, "you are jealous or you 
 wouldu't doubt my love for you. Why should you lly into a rage 
 
54 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 because I come !n feeling cross and snappy ? I have had a hard siege 
 of it to-day and the weather and everything else seemed to conspire 
 against me. Don't you think you might have let me exercise a 
 man's prerogative and inalte all the row there is necessary ? I know 
 1 disappointed you, that you expected me to admire you and say 
 pretty things, but Cora, I was really in such an ugly temper that I 
 could not. For(<ive me, won't you ?" 
 
 Rising from the chair he pushed it from him and advanced 
 towards her with extended hands, but Stephen Tully had mistaken 
 her mood, she resolutely held her hands behind her, and thou.i^h a 
 flush crept into her face there was no other sign of softening. 
 
 " It is too late, Stephen Tully. I have said things to-night which 
 would forever estrange us, even if you were not already estranged." 
 "Pshaw, Cora, I don't mind your silly little threats. I make 
 them myself too often to think of them twice. I know I have 
 treated you badly, and deserve everything you have said, ani I con- 
 fess I like you all the better for having seen your spirit." 
 
 The flush had grown deeper on Cora's haiulHome cheeks, but the 
 full red lips were draw n tightly together and the black eyes were 
 hard and bright. "No, Stephen Tully," said she, and her voice 
 though unsteady betrayed no wavering, "I have made up my mind 
 and your blandishments can't change it. You thought I was your 
 slave and treated me like one. From now until the time you marry 
 me you shall be the slave and I will handle the whip just to give 
 you a chance to see how you like it. Until I know that you are 
 going to marry someone else I won't do anything against you or 
 to help Killick, but as sou; as you marry anyone but me you can 
 expect the worst that a wonirm can do whose love has been bcorned 
 and turned into hate." 
 
 While he listened to her Stephen Tully bit his mustache, pushed 
 his rejected hands into his pockets, and in several other ways 
 betrayed unusual embarrassment. His first impulse was to turn 
 on his heel and leave the room, bat he feared to further excite 
 Cora's resentment. He felt that it would be advisable to adopt 
 the opposite course and by kisses and caresses win her back to her 
 old self, but there was something in her look and voice which for- 
 bade the none too respectful endearm nts of which he had once 
 been so lavish. Her pride had been wounded, and her resentment 
 gave her a dignity which excited his respect, and then, too, in her 
 handsome evening dress she was bcau'iful and had the bearinu: of 
 a lady. 
 
 "Cora, you absolutely stagger nn . Your righteous indignation 
 has fixed me to the floor, and I don't know whether to advance or 
 retreat. I confess I feel most like running away. That outraged 
 
MISS BURN HAM DEFINES UER POSITION 
 
 55 
 
 look of yours is enough to keep a man awake nights. Soften down 
 ft little, Cora, and grant me the forgiveness I don't deserve and let 
 us be happy again," 
 
 " Happy, happy, did you say 1 " she exclaimed as she pushed 
 away the arm with which he was trying to encircle her waist. 
 " Happy ! You have never made me happy, except with the 
 foolish thought that you loved me. Happy ! Only for an hour— the 
 hour after I lent you that money when you tried to pay the debt by 
 lying to me about the love you never felt. I know you too well 
 now to be made happy by words which you don't mean." 
 
 "But Cora, do you think you will be happier without me?'' 
 *' No, I don't expect to be happy ; I expect to be miserable, but 
 I shall find something else to fill my mind with." 
 
 "Cora," he whispered again, with a last effort, " I do love you, 
 never so much as to-night. Forgive me, darling; let us kiss and 
 make up." He caught her in his arms but she, unable to release 
 herself, averted her face, and, motionless as martile, received without 
 response the kisses he pressed upon her cheek. 
 "Cora, is this to be my answer?" he entreated. 
 " Yes— or rather there is no answer," came slowly from the 
 tightly-drawn lips. 
 
 " Won't you even kiss me good-bye?" he asked, loath to be 
 driven away without some sign that she was yielding. 
 
 " No, for it is not good-bye," she answered, and by a sudden 
 movement she freed herself from his f inbrace and stood with flash- 
 ing eyes facing the man to whom she liad long yielded so meekly. 
 "The most of our acquaintance is still to come, Stephen Tully. 
 There will be many meetings and partings before you will be able 
 to say good bye to me. I shall be passive, as 1 was m your arms 
 .lUst now, until time has proved that you have never loved me and 
 until your marriage with another makes hope for the fulfilment of 
 your promise to me no longer possible." 
 
 " Cora," cried Tully, endeavoring to resume his old banterine; 
 tone, "you have been filling your head with novels, and there have 
 been so many scenes in the house between your mother and me that 
 you seem determined to dramatize the rest of the chapter with 
 yourself in the title role of Queen of Tragedy. Drop it, for it will 
 end disastrously, and I am in no humor to play hero in any private 
 
 theatricals " 
 
 " No," interrupted Cora, bitterly, "stage villain is more in your 
 line." 
 
 " Well, then, stage villain," he retorted. " Unless you are 
 reasonable I will quit the troupe and refuse to make any more 
 appearances," 
 
56 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " Don't forget, Mr. Tully," answered Cora, with a steady self- 
 possession which put Tully quite in awe of her, " that you can't 
 disappear from the scene quite so easily, and another thing, don't 
 go away with the idea that I had planned a scene 1 I confess I put 
 on this dress, not so much that mamma could fit it as to appear 
 to the best advantage in your eyes. At one time my efforts to look 
 n>y best didn't strike you as ridiculous. They do now. Mamma has 
 often told me that you were playing me false, but I never believed 
 it until I saw the sneer on your face when you came in to-night. 
 While you quarrelled with mamma and treated her like a servant 
 I made up my mind that the farce was over." Her voice trembled, 
 and the flush crept back to her cheeks. " It has been a farce to you, 
 but, sneer as you may, it has been a tragedy to me " 
 
 " You are making all the tragedy yourself, Cora," answered 
 Tully, endeavoring to be cheerful, but feeling keenly the sting of 
 her reproaches. 
 
 "No, Steve Tully, I am making no 'tragedy.' Perhaps in the 
 past my ambition to be something better than an office drudge 
 led me to an ambition which has brought misery and humiliation, 
 
 but it is you who have brought desolation to my life ' She 
 
 paused and looked at him. The flush deepened on neck and cheek 
 and brow, and then slowly receded, leaving in its stead an ashy 
 pallor— "and something, Steve Tully, very nmch like hate." 
 
 The handsome Mr. Tully dropped his eyes before her fixed gaze, 
 and with a sudden loss of the self possession which had served him 
 in many a similar crisis, he turned uneasily, grasped the back of a 
 chair, which, yielding to his weight, tipped backward. Kccovering 
 from his loss of balance, he resumed his old posture astride the seat, 
 with his elljows resting on the back. 
 
 *' Really Cora," he stammered, "I believe you missed your avoca- 
 tion. You would have been a brilliant success in the tragedy line. 
 As "Warren Hastings remarked, when listening to the oration of 
 Edmund Burke, I feel like the wickedest man alive. I suppose 
 there is nothing I can say which will palliate my offence or mitigate 
 the sentence you have pronounced. But you wrong me when you 
 say I never loved you. I did, I do," he protested, " but the conduct 
 of your mother in always insisting upon our marriage when it would 
 have been professional suicide, made me include you with her in a 
 scheme to entrap me " 
 
 " That won't work now, Steve Tully. It has been tried too 
 
 often and I am ashamed to say with success. I have blamed poor 
 mamma too often for your short-comings and you have tried your 
 best to make me dislike her as the cause of your coldness ; but it is 
 All over." 
 
MISS BURN HAM DEFINES HER POSITION 
 
 67 
 
 "Oh, id It?" sneered Tully, irritated by his failure. " What is all 
 over } Your conspiracy with your sweet-tempered mother to make 
 uie marry you whether I would or not ? You never cared for me or 
 you never would have made this sudden change." 
 
 " It makes no difference how you sneer at me or mamma. The 
 future will be just the same. You know you tell a falsehood when 
 you say that I never cared for you. It would be an untruth if I said 
 ihat I do not care for you now, for I do, and will, until love turns to 
 hate, but I am not going to be a fool any longer, and especially I am 
 not to bc^'the fool of a man who has treated me as you have. I will 
 go and gLi your coat and this 'scene' which Is so disagreeable to you 
 need not be prolonged any further. " 
 
 Catching up her train with a quick motion which would have 
 done credit to the belle of half-a-dozen seasons, she swept past him 
 to the door and met her mother so suddenly, that in a suspicious 
 mind it might have given rise to the idea that the old lady had betni 
 listening. 
 
 "Mamma," she cried in a choking whisper, "bring Mr. Tully^ 
 coat and hat, please." 
 
 While her mother was absent on her errand Cora leaned against 
 the newel post of the stair watching the angry Mr. Tully putting on 
 Ins rubbers. As he rose from his stooping position his face red and 
 angry, he exclaimed, " You have found it easier. Miss Burnham, to 
 play the grand lady with me tonight than you will to morrow, and 
 if your tenure of oHlce i3 somewhat brief you can thank yourself for 
 the change. Killick's schemes are too large to permit a rupture for 
 such a triHing matter as the bookkeeper, and I think you will find 
 you have over-estimated your strength." 
 
 " Perliaps I have," she answered wearily, " but I won't starve 
 even if I have to leave." 
 
 " You will have to leave all right, my Lady Disdainful, don't 
 make any error about that," retorted Tully hotly. 
 
 " We shall see, Mr. Tully. The matter needn't be discussed fur- 
 ther till to-morrow." 
 
 She did not change her posture while he was enveloping hlntself 
 in his mackintosh, nor did her face betray any emotion when he 
 made his ironical bow and wished her good -night and happy dreams. 
 Mrs. Burnham, however, could not refrain from the remark, "Well, 
 Mr. Tully, you see the worm has turned, now you can look out for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Yes," he laughed bitterly, " it has been a wormy business all 
 through and I am glad to be out of it, and the greatest pleasure of 
 all will be to be relieved of any further necessity of concealing my 
 opinion that you are a scheming, miserable old hag. Good night." 
 
68 
 
 A SAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 As Mr. Tully ran rapidly down the stair Mrs. Burnham was 
 remarking in a shrill treble that she mip;ht be all he said and not 
 be an embezzler or a thief. 
 
 Ihe door slammed behind him and Cora with a pitiful cry fell 
 forward into her mother's arms. 
 
 " Now don't faint; for heaven's sake, don't faint! Keep up your 
 spirits, child ; and come and get that drfess oil'. Don't fall down in it 
 and get it full of creases. Poor little thing I Didn't I tell you what 
 a villain he is?" She led her daughter into the parlor and quickly 
 • stripped ofT the borrowed finery, even the maternal heart refusing 
 to enter fully into sympathy with the weeping girl until her pro- 
 fessional fear that the dress would be injured had been removed. 
 After the white satin had been tossed on the old-fabhioned piano, 
 the mother sat for hours stroking the hair of her darling and patting 
 the soft, bare arms, as she would have comforted a baby, telling her 
 all the while that she wps well rid of that villain Tully, and that 
 she might now have a chance to make some new and more fortunate 
 .engagement. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 DISCLOSES ONE OF MR. KILLICK'.S "SCHEMES." 
 
 "Say, Killlck, don't you think it would be better if we had a 
 masculine bookkeeper? Miss Burnham is all right, but a man 
 could do her work bettor and be more useful in the office generally." 
 
 Tully had strolled into his partner's private office ostensibly 
 on some other business, but with the fixed idea of having Miss 
 Burnham discharged. He was afraid since their quarrel she would 
 ally herself with Mr. Killick and prove as dangerous an enemy as 
 she had been valuable as a confederate. Moreover, he proposed to 
 make her dismissal a test question. If Killick appeared resolved 
 to retain her he would know an alliance between him and Miss 
 Burnham had already been etfected, and that Killick had deter- 
 mined to carry matters with a high hand, In thinking the matter 
 over he was forced to the conclusion that if Killick resisted her 
 dismissal she would have to stay, and he was determined on adopt- 
 ing a certain course of action under those circumstancea which 
 would enable him to largely retain the business of the old firm 
 in his own management. While weighing in his mind the differ- 
 ent courses open to him, he felt galled to find himself absolutely 
 in his partner's power, but the comforting thought came to him 
 that Killick at least would not assist Cora to force bii>^ into a 
 marriage. 
 
DlSCtOSHS ONE OF MR. KILLICK'S ''SCHEMES" 69 
 
 While TuUy was speaking Mr. Killick concluded a letter, signed 
 it, encloa»^d it in an envelope, addressed it, marked it " private," 
 rang bis bell and had it taken to the postofTlce, before answering. 
 
 " Excuse me, Tully, I just had time to catch the mail with that 
 letter. What was the suggestion you were making about getting 
 another bookkeeper? Do you think we need two?" 
 
 " No, I wasn't proposing to engage another, but I think it would 
 be a good idea to let Miss Burnham go and get a man to do her 
 work." 
 
 " O, just as you like, Tully. Don't you think it would be hard 
 to gut a man who understands bookkeeping, shorthand and type- 
 writing, and able to do her work for the same money?" 
 
 " No, I don't think it would. Bookkeepers and stenographers 
 are plentful as blackberries." 
 
 The old man, while concluding his letter, had planned his cam- 
 paign carefully, and was determined to offer no opposition to Tully's 
 scheme. " Well, advertise tor one, and see what we can do. We 
 ought to have a responsible man, first-class recommendations, and 
 all ihat sort of thing, if we are to let him handle our cash. 
 Perhaps we had better turn the money over to Dooley." 
 
 Killick was well-informed of Tully's conduct toward his head 
 clerk, and knew that he feared him, and would not feol at all 
 disposed to put him in charge of the cash. 
 
 " We had better get a good man. Dooley's got enough to 
 do now," answered Tully quickly. " To whom shall I have the 
 responses addressed?" 
 
 "To yourself, Tully. Pick out two or three of the best ones 
 and we will decide which one to take." 
 
 Killick's ready compliance with his suggestion pleased Tully 
 immensely. It gave him greater confidence in his partner and at 
 the same time he saw his opportunity of finally disposing of Cora. 
 "That settles her hash. She and her mother will have to sing 
 low from this time out," he chuckled as he re-entered his room. 
 Half an hour later John Stryde called upon him to say he had 
 received a note from the firm that thirty thousand dollars of the 
 trust funds of Miss Browning's estate had fallen due and would 
 need re-investment. 
 
 " Have you any suggestion as to where we should invest it," 
 inquired Tully. 
 
 " No, not in particular, but I had an application this morning 
 from Col. Moore for a loan of the same amount on his property. 
 If he is otherwise unembarrassed, it might be well to let him have 
 it. The land he ofl'ers in security is worth at least three or four 
 times the amount he wants to borrow." 
 
60 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " I wonder what lie wants money for ! IIo is a careful, close- 
 fisted beggar. I never heard of him owkij? a cent to anybody. 
 What interest does he oflfer?" 
 
 " Six per cent. It is a Rood rate for so large a sum. What do 
 you think of it?" inquired Stryde. 
 
 "I will look into the matter if you say so, Stryde. I don't 
 think we could put tbe money in a safer place. How long does ne 
 want it?" 
 
 " Five years. The interest and the time are both satisfactory, 
 but somehow he impressed me as concealing something, and 
 acted in just such a ",ay as would have kept me from lending 
 him our bank funds v en on gilt-edged notes. But then I may 
 have been wrong, ami we can be taking no chances if his title is 
 all right and his property unencumbered. Make the search your- 
 self, will you, TullyT' 
 
 " Yes, I shall see it is properly attended to. Our man Dooley 
 is one of the sharije^t real estate lawyers in the city, and I shall 
 go over the thing myself as well." 
 
 On the previous evening, about the hour when Stephen Tully 
 was visiting the Burnhams, a small and dapper man groped 
 through the darkness of the hall-way leading to Mr. Killick's 
 office, and tapped on the door of the private room. 
 
 '• Ah, Colonel, glad to see you," exclaimed Killlck cordially. 
 "Sit down a minute till I lock the outside door." The dapper 
 little man was middle aged, slightly bald, had a small, black 
 mustache fiercely waxed, and alFected a very imperious manner. 
 Mr. Killick re-entered the room carefully closing the door behind 
 him and rul)bing his hands as if in excess of good nature. The 
 colonel demanded the reason of the imperative summons ho had 
 received to make a call on Mr. Killick at such an unseasonable 
 hour. 
 
 " Very private business. Colonel, very private ; very urgent, 
 very urgent business, indeed. Colonel ! I have another room in 
 here," exclaimed Killick, opening the vault door and leading the 
 way. " I always use it when I desire to avoid any possibility of 
 being overheard." 
 
 Col. Moore entered rather reluctantly and viewed the hand- 
 some interior with considerable surprise. 
 
 " I can't understand your air of mystery, Mr. Killick," said he. 
 " Be good enough to explain without any further preliminaries." 
 
 Killick dropped into a chair, assumed his favorite attitude 
 of throwing his head back and gazing ai the ceiling, while he 
 united his finger tips in a little pyramid in front of him. 
 
DISCLOSES nXE OF MR. KILLICK'S "SCHEMES" 61 
 
 " You Bee, Colonel, I happen to know soinelhiug about the title 
 of tbo estate left by your father." 
 
 Long pause. 
 
 *' Well," snapped the Colonel, interrogatively. 
 
 "Well," resumed ICillick, slowly, "your title to that valuable 
 property isn't worth a straw." 
 
 "What is that you say?" Rasped the little dandy, sprinpinj? to 
 his feet. 
 
 " I say," returned Killick, still studying the ceiling, " that your 
 title to that property isn't wnr'h a straw!" 
 
 " You must be crazy, man," cried Col, Moore, excitedly. " It 
 was in my father's possession for fifty years." 
 
 "Yes, that is true, but your father only had a life Interest in 
 it," answered Killick, drawing in his chin and turning the steady 
 gaze of his meaty eyes on the pallid face of his excited listener. 
 
 " You don't know what you are talking about, Killick," roared 
 the Colonel, "ily grandfather left it to my father by will. There 
 has never been the slightest dispute about the title." 
 
 " No, there hasn't been the slightest dispute, my friend, but 
 there is going to bo a dispute of very large dimensions, right ofT, 
 unless you and I make some little arrangement to-night. If 3'ou 
 will keep ([uiot for about live mimites, I'll tell you just where you 
 are and what you'll have to do. Suppose we take a little some- 
 thing to drink before we begin." With most efl'usive hospitality, 
 Mr. Killick busied himself with decanter and glasses, and after 
 taking a liberal potion he placed the brandy bottle within easy 
 reach of his hand and began his recital. 
 
 "Your grandfather died in .January, 1834, and in his will he left 
 all his property, including the farm, whiili was then a mile from 
 the business portion of the city, but wliicli is now almost in the 
 heart of the residence district of Toronto, to his second son George 
 William Moore. Lefc it; to hia srcond oon George William Moore, 
 nuark my words, to his snond son George William Aloore— no 
 mention of his heir?; or assij^ns " 
 
 " But that is understood isn't it," interrupted the little 
 
 Colonel. 
 
 "Nothing is understood, my dear Colonel, in law. If a thing 
 isn't in a will or a deed it is suppoed to have been intentionally 
 left out. So much was that the case and so little was it under- 
 stood that a bequest only became the property of the one to whom 
 it was n\ade and not to his heirs or assigns, unless the indenture 
 so specified, and so much litigation was caused thereby that in 
 March, 1834, the law was changed and property left to any person 
 named became a portion of the estate of his heirs or assigns, 
 
6S 
 
 A DAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 even if no such stipulation were made in the will. Rut you must 
 observe, my dear Colonel, that the law was chanKed after your 
 frrandfather's will was made and his last testament consequently 
 comes under the old rule. By the way, here is the statute made 
 and provided. Look for yourself." 
 
 The gloved hands of the Colonel trembled as he grasped the 
 volume and endeavored to realize tlie meaning of the words which 
 seemed to dance before his eyes. Looking up he asked weakly, 
 ''How do you know that tlie will made no mention of the heirs?" 
 
 " I have plenty of proof. Colonel, quite plenty ! al)Uii(iance I Don't 
 think I would have sent for you unless I knew what I was about." 
 
 "How is it no one else discovered it iu all these years? Trans- 
 fers of portions of the proierty have been frequently made," 
 exclaimed the Colone', assuming; a more defiant tone. 
 
 Killick still lay Imck in liis chair seldom diverting his ^aze 
 from the ceiling. "That point wa'i very well taken, Colonel, but 
 you see I am a lawyer, and 1 had thought of that before. Strange, 
 isn't it, that we should get in the habit of looking out these weak 
 places in advanced I have noticed the same tendency which you 
 display in a great many of my clients. They are always afraid 
 we haven't thought of everything, and Imagine they can make 
 very valuable suggestions," continued Killick with a wave of his 
 hand. "They do sometimes present some very good points." 
 
 "That is no answer to my question. How do you account for 
 the discovery not having been made by the many lawyers, who, 
 like yourself, are so clever in anticipating weak points and de- 
 tecting flaws?" 
 
 "Really, Colonel, you have a very logical mind. Bring my 
 own argument to liear in answering me! Ha, hal very good," 
 cried Killick gleefully rubbing his hands together. " However, I 
 can explain tiiis disci epaucy by the fai t that the will to which 
 I refer was never registered ; it happened to be a very long one, 
 and at the time of which I speak it was not always customary to 
 make a complete copy of the will in the books of the registry 
 office, but sunjmaries called memorials, were made— a sort of a 
 digest of the will you know— and registered. Very frequently the 
 lawyer who had the will in (charge did his work imperfectly, 
 causing no en(i of trouble and liiigation, and then again, other 
 lawyers did their work too well and registered in the memorial 
 what did not exist in the will. Your ease would come under the 
 latter heading. Your fcther happening to be a lawyer, discovered 
 Mie omission, or at least his partner did, and in making out the 
 memorial the words were Inserted which were so fatally absent 
 from the original document. Registrars did not invariably hold It 
 
msrr.osKs one of mh. ktllick's ^'ficirKMEs" 63 
 
 to be their duty to compare the meTnorials with the original wilL 
 In this case the reRlHtrar accepted the aflidavit ol tlie lawyer and 
 the mcmoriai was rt-Kistcred. Uut my dear boy, the original will 
 wa« not destroyed, " whispered Killick, exultiiigly and with a tri- 
 umphant polce of his Anger towards his thoroughly friglitened 
 auditor. "Your father's partner retained the deed, thinking that 
 some (iay it might, be useful to hirn, and I m'ght tell you that by 
 some curious circumstance the idtntical document came at last 
 into niy possession. Now then, what do you fliink of it?" 
 
 Colonel Moore was speecliless. Gr«'at drops of perspiration 
 stood on his forehead; the carefully gloved hands were knit 
 tightly together over tlie law book which still rested on his 
 trembling knees. 
 
 '• What— what — what do you intend to do?" he gasped. 
 
 " Unless you agree to my terms, I intend to produce several of 
 your grandfather's heirs who will divide up the very valuable 
 estate with you," answered KUlick, still gazing at the ceiling ; "in 
 fact, they will take the entire property from j'ou, on account of 
 the fact that you are the issue of tlie seeond son and the law of 
 primogeniture was in force at the time the will was made— that 
 of course would give your Jioldings to the heirs of the eldest son 
 ot your grandfather." 
 
 "What are the terms?" inquired the Colonel feebly, the blood 
 rushing into his face. " Nothiiij^ dishonorable, I hope ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, not at all. I would neither suggest nor agree to any- 
 thing dishonorable. No, no, no sir. Tlie intention of the will 
 was, no doubt, to leave the property to your father, his heirs and 
 assigns, and it would not be dislionorable to suppress the will." 
 
 " That id exactly tlie view I take of it, Mr. Killick," echoed the 
 Colonel, with returning vivacity. 
 
 "Of course," continued Killick, placing the tips of his fingers 
 together and closely observing the center piece on the ceiling ; 
 " the chance of my having discovered the will should be valuable 
 to me, anu I will have to be paid for my trouble." 
 
 " Of course, of course," cried Moore. " Yon certainly ought, and 
 I am the last man to refuse to do what is right." 
 
 "I am glad to see you meet me h ilf-way, Colonel. You know 
 you have the reputation of being what my grandfather used to 
 call ' near,' very close-flsted, you know. Of course the report may 
 do yon an injustice, but I was afraid 30U might be a little bit 
 rebellious. I happen to need thirty lliousand dollars tomorrow, 
 and that is why I sent for you in ^^uch haste to night. I think 
 that my little find ought to be wurth that to me. How does it 
 strike you?" 
 
64 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 "Thirty thousand dollars," gasped the Colonel. "Why, man, 
 it is monstrou?,." 
 
 "Well, it does seem a little high, doesn't it? Just a little 
 trifle dear now, doosn't it. Colonel. At the first blush I fonfess 
 tiiat it would strike me as being almost exorbitant, but iher. the 
 property is worth from a hundred to a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars— easy —and increasinji; in value every ^.ay. You are 
 in peaceable possession and have been for, let me see, pretty 
 nearly a month since your father died isn't it, Moore?" 
 
 "Just three weeks," answered the Colonel, dejectedly. 
 
 "Just three weeks, just three weeks to-day, and I think you 
 would rather pay thirty thousand dol'ars than have the estate 
 eaten up by a law suit, and eventually taken from you." 
 
 " Yes, but I haven't got the money, Killick. Where in God's 
 name could I raise cuch a sum'" 
 
 "Well now, with the foresight which I credited myself with at 
 the beginning of this interview, I made the arrangements for the 
 loan, I know just where you can go and get it to-morrow morning. 
 If you follow my instructions you ^-an borrow it on a mortgage 
 on the property which, between you and me, isn't really )'our8. 
 It in better, isn't it. Colonel, to encumber the property a little 
 than to lose it?" inquired Killick, leaning forward and bringing 
 his villamous eyes to a level witii Moore's face. 
 
 "I suppose it is," answered Moore sulkily, "but I will have 
 to see the will before I give up that much money." 
 
 " Well, my dear boy, that is nothing but fair. Here it is," 
 answered Killick, smilingly, drawing a revolver and a yellow 
 parchment from th.e drawer. " You are at lil)erty to glance 
 over it, but don't move it from the table. " 
 
 Killick seemed to be curiously examining the firearm while bis 
 unwilling client scrutinized the will. 
 
 "You lind it as I stated, don't you, Colonel?" 
 
 "Yes,'' assented the little in.an, tremulously. 
 "Well," continued Killick, "to-morrow morning at ten o'clock 
 aiiply to John Stryde, one of the executors, and an hour later to 
 Mr. Tully, my partner. They have some trust funds in hand which 
 will need investment. OlFcr liim a mortgage on your entire pro 
 perty at six per cent, for five year.i, and he will lend you thirty 
 thousand dollars, which f will expect you to immediately trans- 
 fer to me. My firm has taken the precaution to notify Mr. Stryde 
 that the investment has expired and the money will need rein- 
 vestment. Do not fail to see INIr. Tully as I tell you, and of course 
 as we will make the search into the title, it will be passed all 
 right." 
 
DISCLOSES ONE OF MR. KILLICK'S ''SCHEMES" 65 
 
 •'And when you e;et the money you give me the old will, of 
 course." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," cried Killick, effusively. "Goodbye, old 
 man, you've done a good stroke of business for yourself to-night.'* 
 
 • I . • • • • • 
 
 So it came to pass *^^hat Mr. Stryde and Mr. Tully were in 
 consultation, and at the opportune moment Col. Moore applied 
 for the loan and obtnined it. 
 
 CHAPTER XI^. 
 
 A SOMEWHAT UNCERTAIN REFOKMA'l'ION. 
 
 The rebuffs which Miss Browning had given Mr. Tully had no 
 other effect tlian to make him determine upon her conquest He 
 may have thought her possessed of ideas highly antagonistic to his 
 own, but with the cheerful egotism which was one of his chief 
 characteristics, he ascribed their existence to an ignorance of the 
 world and the proper methods of enjoying life. It is doubtful if he 
 ever considered thorn in any more serious light than as prejudices 
 very desirable in a wife, but exceedingly inconvenient as rules by 
 which lie rvisht by any chance have to guide his own life. Of 
 course he never entertained the idea of accepting her ideal, and it 
 would be but fair lo give him credit with not proposniy to persuade 
 her to adopt his own elastic and selilsh standard of right. He 
 imagined, as many men do, ti;at it is uimocossary for a husband 
 and wife to have the same rule of conduct. When he thought the 
 matter ovei, tie decided that it would be supremely comfortable to 
 have a wife in whom he could trust, and one can imagine him 
 indulging in tl. 'se rellcetions with a grin as he appreciated how 
 little lie could be Liu^^ed himself. 
 
 "It is a diffennt mutter," he argued, "when you come to apply 
 such things to a man. i: woma - is really the head and fountain 
 of famdy honor. If she s all rignt, there is no stigma cast upon 
 the child, ^n, and any little eccentricities on the part of the hus- 
 band are overlooked by society." 
 
 Undoubtedly he meant to be kind to her— it never entered his 
 mind that he could not win her— he knew it was his habit to be 
 kind to evervbody as far as he could without injuring himself, but 
 he was resolved on no saorilice and had determined on the aban- 
 donmeid of no pleasure or vice, nor had any impulse of reformation 
 8tirrc<i v\ ithin him exct i>t such as in outward 8een\ing would make 
 biui attractive to the woman ho thought he loved. If it had becu 
 
66 
 
 A BAD MAX'S SWEETUEAliT 
 
 made apparent to him that he must choose between her and 
 a life of selfish indulRence and whatever his passions or weak 
 nature suggested, at this period in his history, Stephen Tully would 
 have abandoned all desire to become the husband of Dell Browning. 
 Something had been accomplished, however, towards his moral 
 improvement when he decided that it would be necessary to assume 
 a different attitude when in the presence of the woman he had 
 determined to win. He felt that it would destroy his chances, 
 unless by easy stages he abandoned the role of scoffer and cynic, 
 and understanding that the most subtle Mattery is offered by the 
 one who apparently yields to the power or persuasion of another, 
 he resolved to gradually become converted to the ideas and preju- 
 dices of the little Puritan of whom he was enamored. Possibly it 
 would be necessary during this process to broaden her mind by 
 frequent expositions of his own easy ideas, and while he might 
 appear to forsake them, he imagined they would have more or 
 less impression upon her and would tend to make her more lenient 
 in her judgment of him. 
 
 These reflections i)assed through the mind of the handsome 
 Mr. Tully as he was giving the finishing toudjts to his toilet before 
 making a call on the one, outside of himself, most concerned. As 
 he surveyed himself in the glass he was forced to admit that he 
 was pleasant to look upon, and it struck him as absurd that any 
 woman should object to so comely a man simply because he was 
 not possessed of any fixed principles or addicted to the practice 
 of stern virtues. He had inserted that advertisement for a new 
 bookkeeper in the evening papers, and felt confident tliat he was 
 now rid, not only of his engagement to Cora Huniham, Ijut would 
 no longer be troubled by her very self-assertive presence. 
 
 " A man has only to wait," he laughed to himself, " and all 
 his letters will answer themselves and his troul)les and endiarrass- 
 ments will of necessity take Hight because they can't atTord to 
 linger any longer. By Jove, I have had a hard siege of it lately, 
 but everything has cleared away, and to-nigiit I am going up to see 
 the prettiest and richest girl in Toronto with a good chance of 
 marrying her. All the little mistakes of the past have been care- 
 fully folded up and put away where no one can reach them, and 
 I am just as well oil" as if I liad never made a blunder, I always 
 was a lucky fellow 1" 
 
 He smiled as he stroked his must ache, and looked approvingly 
 at the redection in the glass. "If I could only persuailo myself 
 to travel with a little better crowd I believe the opportunitie< of 
 liaving a good tunc would be increased, and I wouldn't be Inking 
 half the chanciM of getting into the troubles which have beset me. 
 
A SOMEWnAT UNCERTAIN REFORMATION 
 
 67 
 
 O. yes, my pretty Asphodel, I am a reformed man, and I intend to 
 walk uprightly— in your sight at least— and to lead a different life 
 as far as you will over hear of it." 
 
 He had bvttoned his overcoat and his gloves, and still stood 
 Imfore the tall glass brushing his glossy hat with a silk handker- 
 chief, and admiring the handsome gentleman so well displayed in 
 the mirror. He took off his hat to himself. "Farewell, old friend 
 Hyde, from this time forward I assume the roll of Dr. Jekyll, and 
 if I am obliged to cut your acquaintance for the time being, recol- 
 lect that I am forced by circumstances to V)e utterly respectable. 
 Later on, old fellow," he criiul, with a merry laugh at his own 
 ronceit, "we'll meet again. Perhaps not at l^hilippi, but where 
 Ihese moral restriitions will not be enfoici'fl," He reached up to 
 I urn down the gas, but did it slowly; it suited his whim to see the 
 (igure in the mirror fade slowly away. " That is the way I will work 
 it," he thought to himself, "not too fast, or else she may think 
 my conversion too sudden, but with an occasional glimpse of my old 
 self, like this," and he turned on the gas again, making the smiling 
 i nage in the glass aa prominent as bt-fore, "then more quickly down 
 again until only a shadow of the old rascal can be seen." The light 
 was now turned very low. 
 
 He felt in his pockets. "By Jove, I have left my cigar-case." 
 Again he turned up the light, and his callous and good-natured 
 smile was again reflected. " Yes, my boy. I guess whenever I want 
 anytliing I'll turn on the old Tully again full glare. No! I won't 
 smoke on the way up," he continued reflectively; "it might be 
 objectional)!e to Saint IJrowning. I will burn a weed on the way 
 back. Self-sacrifice, my ladl May as well begin nowl It will be the 
 sooner over 1" 
 
 This blissful frame of mind lasted until he arrived at the gate 
 of No. 25 Mowburn Street. At that point a change was wrought by 
 tlip sound of a harp and piano accompanying the rich, sympathetic 
 voice of a man who was singing one of Moody and Sankey's most 
 popular hymns. 
 
 "Lord bless my soul," ejaculated Tully, "that beggar Stryde is 
 here ahead of nie ! I suppose he has attuned the mind of the gentle 
 Browning to a key of such higli spirituality that I am afraid 1 
 wont, be able to join in the chorus to-night with any cflect." 
 
 •When he was admitted he had to confess to himself that he telt 
 somewhat rattled in his progr.imme, and it ended by his appearance 
 in the drawing-room as the same ildxmair Tully who had smiled at 
 himself ia the glass. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Biiiuiiing, you are looking remarkably well tonight. 
 Mu-iic scLins to cxliiiai-ate you and bring a sitiriludlc brightness to 
 
68 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 your face." He began hia remarks with his usual fluent cheerful- 
 ness, but the look she gave him, and her cold reply, made him 
 stumble a little in the last few words. 
 
 "What an unexpected pleasure," he exclaimed with genuine cor- 
 diality as he shook hands willi Miss Beatrice McKinley, a jolly little 
 soul known to all her friends by no other name than 15ce. " W'lien 
 did the honey-bee fly back from lier seaside conquests T' 
 
 " Nearly a week ago, Rlr. Tally," answered 15ee, with that charm 
 ing vivacity of facC; yoice and manner which i-nables the possessii 
 to enliven a whole company and nlmost dispel the gloom of a foggy 
 day. "Nearly a whole week, and you haven't called or even said 
 you were soiry you couldn't, and now, you daring impostor, you are 
 trying to make believe you didn't know I was home." 
 
 " But I really didn't. If 1 had known the queen bee had returned 
 to the hive, I at once would have hastened to do homage to her, even 
 at the risk of being stung as I liave been before. Good evening, 
 Stryde 1 I stood at the door for quite a little while listening to your 
 song, and I was so impressed I thought it would be almost sacrilege 
 to pull the bell until it was over. Do you know, Miss Bee, I think 
 Stryde is the only one wJio can sing a religious solo and make me 
 feel it. When he sings and that happy smile lights up his face I 
 feel that I would be content with no other accomplishment if I had 
 either the power of the smile or the song." 
 
 Stryde's honest face Hushed. NoLliing was so distasteful to him 
 as compliments. " You are too llattering, Mr. TuUy," he answered, 
 curtly. 
 
 " That is right, Mr. Strydo. Don't accept any of his blandish- 
 ments," cried Bee. " He isn't an artist in lliit'.ery or he wouldn't 
 try to lay it on with a whitewasli brush. You know, Mr. TuUy, you 
 really do put it on too thick! Not in iNlr. titryde's case, because I 
 really feel an uplifting when lie sings, and if any one put their 
 fingers under my heels and just gave me ever so tiny a little lift, I 
 think I could Hy, I feel so heavenly. I really do, Mr. 'fully. Don't 
 laugh 1 That is wliat spoils you, that mean way you lia\ e of smiling 
 away people's enthusiasm 1 " 
 
 "I believe it has Ijccn remarked," answered Tully, "that if one 
 smiles he can be at least sure of company, while if he weeps he is 
 apt to do it in dismal solitude— and you know that I am averse to 
 tears and solitude. Don't you lliiuk, Miss Browning, tliat Bee does 
 me an injustice as to the quality and intention of my smile?" 
 
 "No, on the contrary, I think she has expressed your most 
 noticeable, I may say most ofl'cnsive, pecnhariti'," answered Dell, 
 promptly. " As you have the habi ; of saying that I am your candid 
 friend. I umst confess that noiliin;^ dlsiipates my enthusiasm, or 
 
A SOMEWHAT UNCERTAIN REFORMATION 
 
 69 
 
 good humor even, so quickly as that cheerfully condescend ing smile 
 of yours, by which you seem to express a serene forgiveness of all 
 the mortals who are not created with enough egotism to be a 
 Stephen Tully." 
 
 " I suppose you will be glad to know. Miss Browning," retorted 
 Tully, "that you have really succeeded in wounding me. Business 
 and professional men have to be pachydermatous or else the arrows 
 of outrageous fortune would be continuously sticking in us where 
 they would do the most hurting. If I have cultivated a serenely 
 egotistical manner, as you call it, it has been to shield myself from 
 these things, and so acute an observer of human nature as you are 
 should know that the people who always go about armed with frigid 
 hauteur or smiling aggressiveness are almost always the most sensi- 
 tive to unkindness or sarcasm, and try to ward it oif by even an 
 objectionable manner, rather than suffer it." 
 
 " But, Mr, Tully, there is another class who assume these aggres- 
 sive airs : those who have reason to expect attack because their 
 conduct has been such as to deserve it." 
 
 Bee McKinley had been the witness of a good many of these 
 fencing matches, and the good-natured little soul disliked them 
 very much. "Why, Dell," she exclaimed, "you are candid if you 
 are classifying our gay Mr. Tully as one going about armed with a 
 smile so as to escape arrest, as it were, for his misdemeanors. But 
 do you know, Mr. Tully— now I think of it— you would make a very 
 picturesque desperado if you only wore a slouch hat, high boots and 
 a couple of big pistols. One could picture you as quite a brigand." 
 
 "Miss Browning seems determined to force me into some such 
 role" answered Tully, dejectedly. 
 
 "That remark is quite characteristic of you, Mr. Tully," ex- 
 claimed Dell, with considerable warmth. " You always want to lay 
 the blame of your misconduct on somebody else. If we accepted 
 your estimate of your virtues you would have been canonized as a 
 saint long ago, had it not been for the wicked world that has forced 
 you to do wicked things." 
 
 "But I don't admit. Miss Browning, that I have done 'wicked 
 things'— that is, not wickeder than can be charged to the majority 
 of peoT^'.o. 
 
 " O, of course, Mr. Tully I You are fortunate in having a lenient 
 *ddge when you appeal to vourself for mercy, but there is a possi- 
 bility you know, of having a"ch a good opinion of one's self that it 
 sanctifies everything that one Iocs as right." 
 
 " I haven't at least fallen tc that depth of unsaved egotism, for 
 this very day, not an hour ago, I was examining mysel' and had 
 resolved that I was anything but what I ought to be," answered 
 
70 
 
 A 
 
 BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 Tully, his face reddeninR as he thought of how exactly otherwise 
 his thoughts had been. "I really think, Stryde, lots of men are 
 driven into evil courses, or at least are forced to follow in them, by 
 the very spirit Miss Browning manifests. Our total depravity is 
 assumed, and our best impulses are misrepresented as being either 
 egotistical or hypocritical, and what can we do?" 
 
 " I admit," answered Stryde slowly, and with a queer scrutiny of 
 Mr. TuUy's face, "that such a thing is possible, but I must say I 
 never before to-night heard you plead for a more lenient judgment. 
 I really thought you took a pride in being considered careless of 
 public opinion and the restraints which so many of us esteem desir- 
 able." 
 
 "There I" exclaimed Tully betraying an agitation which was 
 perhaps caused by his attempt at the role of a penitent, "you are 
 another proof of what I said. Don't you think there is a danger of 
 selt-righteousness in those whose lives are perhaps more exemplary 
 than mine— even in the beautiful life of Miss Browning?" 
 
 DcU Browning's arm was resting on the old harp of which she 
 was so fond, and the odd turn the conversation had taken, particu- 
 larly Mr. Tally's extraordinary demeanor, influenced her to a kinder 
 tone. " It isn't hard, Mr. Tully, to convince even us ' self-righteous' 
 people that you are anxious for better things. Tou cannot accuse 
 the Saviour of self-righteousness and yet he told us ' that by their 
 fruits shall ye know them.' " 
 
 " Would it be too much to ask you. Miss Browning, to state," 
 inquired Tully in guilty confusion, "by what particularly obnoxious 
 fruit you and Stryde have been judging me ?" 
 
 The audacity of the question rather staggered them both. The 
 prevalent rumors regarding Mr. Tully were not of such a nature as 
 to permit them to formulate any direct charge. The blush which 
 suffused Dell's face brought Stryde hurriedly to her rescue. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Tully," he answered with a somewhat strained 
 laugh, "you should hardly consider us under cross-examination. 
 The habit you have acquired of confusing a witness and endeavoring 
 to make him say things which he feels ought not to be said, is hardly 
 one which will meet with approval in the social circle." 
 
 This was by no means what Stryde set out to say, but the candid 
 directness of the man made it impossible, with TuUy's notorious 
 profligacy in his mind, to say anything else, even though he knew 
 that the impoliteness of his very suggestive words might be open to 
 the charge of being spiteful. 
 
 Though the same sentiments were in Miss Browning's mind, the 
 superiority of a woman's tact saved her from making the mistake of 
 uttering them, and Mr. Stryde fell several degrees in her estimation 
 
A SOMEWHAT UNCERTAIN REFORMATION 
 
 71 
 
 by his blundering honesty, and it must be admitted that she felt be 
 had been spiteful, even though she knew spitefulness to be the very 
 opposite of his character. " You must know," said she, " that 
 instead of trying to conceal your views of life, you have always t»een 
 ready— yes, overanxious, to assert them. It one cannot, without 
 being accused of self-righteousness, judge of a man's views by hm 
 own words, I don't know what just way there is of forming an esti- 
 mate of any one." 
 
 Little Bee McKinley's kind heart had been touched by the evi- 
 dent desperation of Tully's defetce, and, in an endeavor to change 
 the conversation, she jumped from her seat with the laughing 
 exclamation, "O, really, Dell, yon are too hard on Mr. Tully. We 
 all know he says oceans of thin(',s he doesn't mean just for the sake 
 of hearing himself talk and of watching the effect on us poor 
 unsophisticated youngsters who have to pretend to be so much 
 shocked in order to prevent being suspected of knowing too much. 
 Come on, Mr. Tully, show the sincerity of your reformation by 
 singing a hymn. Dell and I will play the accompaniment for you.'* 
 Tully was unused to this sort of singing, thougli liis deep and 
 powerful voice had stirred many a social gathering with patriotic 
 and humorous songs, and his voice without any other accomplish- 
 ment would have made him a welcome guest at banquets and 
 jollities of all sorts. He had once heard Sankey sing Tho Ninety 
 and Nine, and had been deeply impressed in his evanescent sort 
 of way, and in a spirit of rivalry, rather than anything else, had 
 memorized the words and proved to his companions that he could 
 be effective as a singing evangelist if he tried. He picked up the 
 book on the piano and running his fingers through the leaves, he 
 came across the solitary piece with which he was acquainted, 
 though he didn't confess to having made a specialty of It. 
 
 " You know the air, don't you. Bee ? I heard Sankey sing this 
 once, and If you will let me have the book I'll endeavor to give you 
 it as the great evangelist gave it. You know he is not much given 
 to sticking to the music as it is written, and if you will endeavor 
 to follow me rather than play it correctly, it will assist my perform- 
 ance considerably." 
 
 He sang It with a feeling and expression new to all his auditors. 
 The stirring movement of pity, sacrifice and, finally, joy, were Inter- 
 preted with an intensity of which none of them had believed Tully 
 capable. As he finished Str)'de sprang up and grasped liim by the 
 hand. "Tully," he exclaimed, scarcely able to reatram his tears, 
 "you can't be a bad man and sing that hymn as you do. Forgive 
 me for what I said. The moment it was uttered I recognized that 
 it contained an Innuendo which no man should cast upon another." 
 
72 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "Stephen TuIIyl" cried Bee, swinging around on the piano stool, 
 "I'm In love with you I One more song like that and I wou.d be 
 capable of almost any demonstration of idiocy. I feel on the verge 
 of publicly kissing you right now, but mamma has made me promise 
 that I won't kiss anybody for fear if I once begin I'll kiss every- 
 body. If it will assist you in appreciating my sentiments I'm willing 
 to squeeze your hand or look unutterable things as far aa my 
 greenie-brownie eyes will express emotion, or anything beyond a 
 tendency there is in our family to go crazy I Dell, say something 
 pretty or I'll think you like Mr. Tully so well you have to make 
 believe you hate him 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Tully doesn't need to be told he is a good singer," ob- 
 served Dell, without a sign of enthusiasm, "but his rendition of 
 ihat song was"— she paused for a word—" perfect." 
 
 "Tully," exclaimed Stryde in a fit of unusual enthusiasm, 
 " would you mind singing that at our 'Gospel Bally' Friday night 
 in the Pavilion ? " 
 
 This inquiry by its inappropriate spontaneity struck Bee and 
 Tully cold with astonishment, but Dell, seeming to think it a good 
 test of TuUy's sincerity, warmly urged him to accept. 
 
 " Certainly I I shouldn't have the slightest objection I " Tully 
 answered, wlr,h a cheerful alacrity which by no means reflected 
 the conflicting emotions surging within him. The thought of the 
 jokes and jeers with which his companions would greet him almost 
 stopped the beating of his heart, but this opportunity of convinc- 
 ing Miss Browning of hi() sincerity could not be lost, and he 
 determined to cross the Rubicon at once, no matter what came 
 of it. With a sickening feeling of dread and disgust he arranged 
 the details with Mr. Stryde and after some fragmentary conver 
 sation started for his apartments, finding but little consolation in 
 the friendly hand-clasp which he received from Dell when she said 
 good-night. 
 
 When he lit the gas in his room he found no comfort in the 
 mirror. " Steve Tully," he muttered, as he gazed at the hand- 
 some fleure reflected in the glass, "you have at last become an 
 infernal scoundrel. Even Killick would blush to do what you have 
 promised to. I would refuse even yet but no excuse would satisfy 
 Dell. Be taken sick I Oh, no," he groaned, " that would but prove 
 me a hypocrite I I'll do it if it kills me." 
 
 Mr. 'lully's conversion had at least reached the point where he 
 began to appreciate his own falsity. 
 
THE BITTERSWEET OF NOTORIETY 
 
 78 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE BITTER-SWEET OF NOTORIETY. 
 
 It is wonderful how sometimeB we have a confldential impulse 
 towards people we neither like nor trust. When one is in either a 
 mental or physical funk, strength is what one looks for. After a 
 night of uneasy sleep Stephen Tully was both mentally and physi- 
 cally out of repair. If he had had any liquor in bis room he would 
 have stimulated himself past the point of self-contempt, but he had 
 made it a rule never to keep a bottle; this was one prejudice he had 
 retained. Some one had told him that if intoxicants were too 
 accessible it would lead to dram-drinking, and it was his habit to 
 boast that he seldom took a drink alone and never if he could find 
 enyone to join him. He would have gone to the club, but already 
 he felt that Lis engagement at the Gospel Rally separated him from 
 anything of that sore. In the morning he felt aa inclination to slip 
 out and get a brandy and soda somewhere, but he thought of the 
 audience which was shortly to hear him sing, and he feared some- 
 one would remark, " Why, it was only yesterday I saw him taking 
 a drink," and he refrained. 
 
 "I suppose," thought he in bitter self-communion, "that I'll 
 have to adopt Killick's plan and do my drinking on the sneak, carry 
 a flask in my pocket or eat opium or do something not easily 
 detected." As he walked towards his office full of his newly-found 
 misery, it struck him that confiding the matter to Killick would 
 bring a certain measure of relief. He didn't love or trust Killick 
 any more than he did the brandy bottle, but he felt he could confess 
 iiis wretchedness without any sense of shame as long as the con- 
 fession was made to someone worse than himself. Then, again, 
 Killick was so strong and so astute he could give him some advice 
 as to the attitude he should adopt towards his old companions 
 under these altered circumstances. He hung his hat and overcoat 
 in his office and started towards his partner's private room. He 
 had to pass Miss Burnham's desk, and the cold, quizzical look she 
 gave him seemed to have a threat in it which made him tarry by 
 her desk a moment that he might conciliate her, particularly as her 
 engagement with the firm was soon to be terminated. He thought 
 the clerks looked at him curiously, and he detected a broad grin on 
 the face of a raw and red-headed country youth who had just Iteen 
 
74 
 
 A BAD MAIV'S SWEETHEART 
 
 artlelod, nnd made up his mind that the Koldea-haired young man 
 wouldn't last in the office of Killlck & Tully very long. 
 
 When the door of Mr. Killlck's little ofllce snapped behind him, 
 he noticed that his partner was wearing an unusually broad smile, 
 which was saying a good deal, as that gentleman's remarkable face 
 had been very aptly described by Cora Burnham as a wilderness cf 
 warts, yellow teeth and stubby beard. 
 
 "What seems to have pleased you so immensely, Killick," curtly 
 demanded Tully, still smarting from the affront he imagined had 
 been offered him by the r i Indent. 
 
 Killick began to laugh, . .id kept on laughing until his fat sides 
 fairly shook with his noiseless merriment. 
 
 "What the devil are you laughing at, Killick?" snapped Tully, 
 viciously. " Everybody in the office seems to have clothed himself 
 with an infernal grin this morning, while 1 feel like anything but 
 laughing." 
 
 " Really, Tully, my boy, I can't help It ; I don't see how anyone 
 can help It when they see you announced as the leading attraction 
 at the Gospel Rally to-morrow night," and with this Killick roared 
 again until he found it necessary to assume his favorite attitude of 
 lying back In his chair and gazing at the ceiling. With his eye 
 fixed on the crack in the plaster he appeared to be struggling to 
 regain his composure, an event which did not take place until 
 Tully had nerved himself almost to the point of throttling his partner 
 in the chair. 
 
 "So It Is in the paper, Is it? Stryde Is fool enough to do any- 
 thing except mind his own business," he groaned. 
 
 ■' You will have a big house, Tully, It will be the greatest Gospel 
 Rally there's been In the Pavilion for years," and again Killick fell 
 into a fit of laughing. 
 
 "Don't act like an ass, Killick. What the devil Is there so 
 funny In my singing In the Pavilion ? I've sung there before for a 
 dozen diff'erent societies. I don't see anything so Infernally funny 
 in my obliging the gospel crar.ks for one nlcht." 
 
 "H-u-s-h, h-u-s-h," exclaimed Killick In a sibilant whisper, 
 " mustn't talk that way, Tully, or you'll spoil the good effect of the 
 whole thing. You've begun just right, couldn't have done it better, 
 but It must have taken a good deal of nerve to make the suggestion 
 to Stryde. I wonder he didn't think you were making fun of him." 
 "I didn't make the suggestion, I'm not fool enough for that. It 
 was the Idiot's own invitation made in the presence of Miss Brown- 
 ing, and I couldn't refuse." 
 
 " You must have been playing it pretty fine, Tully, to get an in- 
 vitation so soon. Do you know "—again Killick was seized by aq 
 
THE BITTERSWEET OF NOTORIETY 
 
 75 
 
 uncontrollable fit of laughter—" I had no idea you would take my 
 advice so suddenly. I thought it would take you a month or two 
 to get inside the fold, but within a week you loom up as a singing 
 evangelist. You're a cool one, TuUy 1 You are the boldest opera- 
 tor of us all I " 
 
 " Confound it, Killick, stop your gigjcling and talk sense. You 
 don't suppose people will take this singing business as a sign that 
 I have joined the church?" 
 
 " Why, certainly," answered Killick.^drawlng himself up in his 
 chair. " That's what you intend, isn't It < ' 
 
 " No, it is not;. I'm not going to join anything but a lunatic 
 asylum— I seem to be partner in one now," cried Tully angrily, 
 turning towards the door. 
 
 " Don't go away mad, Tully. Keep your temper and keep sober 
 and you will be the idol of the town. You never did a better thing 
 in your life I More money in it than there is in wheat margins, 
 Tully; more business and less risk!" 
 
 " There is one thin^ I wish you would remember, Killick, not to 
 speak of this as if I had definitely decided to play the part of a 
 sneak and hypocrite as you do." 
 
 " Tut, tut, man, don't talk that way. Of course you have 
 decided to take a religious stand and you'll have to stick to it 
 or else be worse off than before. Coming down on the car this 
 morning. Chandler and half-a-dozen of those fellows were talking 
 the matter over, and they asked me what it meant. I told them 
 that you were golnsf to join the church— had been thinking of it 
 for the last two or three months, in fact, ever since King died 
 -and probably his death was the cause of the serious frame of 
 mind which has been so noticeable since the funeral." 
 
 "What did they say?" inquired Tully, miserably. 
 
 "Said they hadn't noticed it; but I pointed out how proud and 
 reserved you are, and told them you had been struggling very 
 hard to hide it.' 
 
 "Did they believe you?" 
 
 "Can't say they did— not all of them." 
 
 "What did Chandler say?" 
 
 "O, something mean. He Is too spiteful to be noticed." 
 
 " But tell me what he said," demanded Tully, eager to know the 
 full extent of the scorn he had excited. 
 
 "Oh, something to the effect that he guessed you must have 
 shaken the typewriter girl and were shining up to Miss Browning." 
 
 Tully's face flushed hotly. " I'll pull his nose if I hear any more 
 such remarks as that from him." I 
 
 " Don't mind it, my boy I We all have to suffer these things for 
 
76 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 '\ 
 
 iW 
 
 righteousnesH' sake. I had to take several little stabs myself. Billy 
 Errett guessed that maybe you were doing the piety racket so as to 
 hold Kiug's business. I told him it was a nasty, mean thing to say, 
 that you didn't have to do it, that you had a religious partner. He 
 sneered, and said people had sized my religiun up quite a spell ago." 
 
 Tally stood by the door fiercely biting his mustache, completely 
 crestfallen and unutterably miserable. He knew how the boys 
 talked, and that he had been one of the loudest and most merciless 
 critics of those who used their religion for an ulterior end. The 
 one virtue he had always assumed had been candor and entire free- 
 dom from hypocrisy. He had indeed rather paraded his sins with 
 the idea of teaching his companions that he was not afraid of pub- 
 lic opinion, and did not desire to be thought any better than he was. 
 
 "I am not very thin skinned, Killick, but by the gods I can't 
 stand this sort of thing. It seems to knock the manhood clear 
 out of me. I feel as shaky and ashamed as if I had been on a big 
 drunk and was being bailed out of the police station and frightened 
 to go home. Tlie best way to do is to face it; let the boys under- 
 stand that I am not putting up any religious schemes just yet." 
 
 " How are you going to do it?" 
 
 " Well, I am going down to the club to take a drink. If there 
 Is anyl)ody in there I'll treat the crowd, then the boys will think it 
 is only a joke." 
 
 Killick rose quickly from his chair and taking hold of Tally's arm 
 leaned forward and whispered, "Don't. If you want a drink come 
 inside and I will give you one and you'll feel better for it, but don't 
 go bumming around the club." 
 
 In the other room assisted by the brandy, Tully began to recover. 
 
 " Stick right to it," his partner counselled, " you have made a 
 break and where one man will laugh at you fifty will think you a 
 moral hero. It will double your popularity, Tully, keep you from 
 spending money, prevent you from getting into habits, which, unless 
 you change, will ultimately disqualify you for l)usine8s, and last and 
 most important, it won't take you a month to get engaged to Miss 
 Browning. After you marry her and get your reputation estab- 
 lished a little, you can do pretty nearly as you like and it won't be 
 noticed. It won't be very hard to behave yourself for six months 
 or a year, and after that you will be al)le to afford a little license." 
 
 " But the curse of being suspected as a hypocrite 1 Why, great 
 Jove, man, I can't stand it for a day, let alone a year." 
 
 " But my dear Tully, you will get used to it, get to rather like 
 it after a while. The consciousness of your sincerity and exalted 
 motives together with the applause you will receive from the half 
 of the community which believes in you and these things will be 
 
THE BITTEIiSWKET OF NOTORIETY 
 
 TJ 
 
 like sweet incense. How much better It will be than any vote of 
 coufldeuce that could be passed la you by a mob of sodden loafers 
 who drink your wine, anioke your cigars, and after you are Kone 
 whisper to one another that you are probably spending your clients* 
 money. Give It a fair trial, keep out of the road of those who will 
 jeer at you, till you acquire the strength which will come of appear- 
 ing in public on the gospel side." 
 
 " But Killick, if I meet any of these fellows I'll blush myself to 
 death." 
 
 "Oh no you won't, Tally. Bow with cold politeness fis if you 
 were cutting the intimacy and could barely condescend to recog- 
 nize the acquaintance." 
 
 Killick's encouragement and two glasses of brandy had at last 
 got Tully's courage screwed up to the sticking point, and he 
 returned to his room determined to utilise the occasion of his public 
 appeal ance to cut adrift from his old associates. 
 
 Who should he find waiting him there but Jimmy Errett, the 
 most consummate wag in the town— his friends used to tell him 
 that it was doubtful whether the monosyllable should begin with 
 a " w" or a "v"— Tully nodded distantly, took his seat, and swung 
 around as if to inquire his caller's business. 
 
 "Let me congratulate you, Tully," explained Errett, pulling his 
 chair up closer and extending his hand, which was received but 
 coldly. 
 
 " What is the occasion of the congratulation, Errett?" 
 
 "Why, Killick told me this morning coming down in the car that 
 you had joined the church ; and do you know. Tully, I was real glad 
 to hear it, for you need it pretty nearly as badly as I do." 
 
 " That is rather a left handed compliment, Errett, but I can't 
 say I'm obliged to you for it." 
 
 " Confound it, man, don't you know how hard it is for me to 
 say anything like this? I want to tell you that the old crowd won't 
 think any^ the less of you. It is what a lot of them would do them- 
 selves if they had the moral courage to come out." 
 
 "I don't say that I have 'come out,' as you call it," answered 
 Tully icily, "but I know that it takes a good deal of moral courage 
 even to be suspected of trying to behave one's self, if a mau's so- 
 called friends make such flattering remarks about him as you did 
 about me this morning." 
 
 Errett looked up quickly; his face Hushed. "I suppose Killick 
 has been Jelling you what I said. I am heartily ashamed of it and 
 I came around to apologize. After I left him I met old Dennis, and 
 I remembered how you took care of him the winter he had his leg 
 broken, and Katie the flower girl, to whom you have been so good, 
 
78 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 and it brought back a half-a-dozen i stances of your Rcneros'ty 
 and good-nature, and I said to myself : * If Tully has joined the 
 church, he means it,' f.iid I can tell you this, that I am going to 
 try and brace up myself. If you pull through this thing, you can 
 count n my being the next one. I was tipsy last night, and I have 
 a head on me this morning as big as a barrel, but I think repentance 
 .will last even aft( ■• the headache is gone." 
 
 Errett hud the reputation of perpetrating jokes of the most 
 outraKcous character, and of " stufTing" people, while wearing an 
 air of the gravest sincerity. Tully suspected him of endeavoring 
 to get material for a good story at the club, and toid him so. 
 
 "You can tell your friends," continued Tully, "anything you 
 like, but understand one thing, I have not joined the church or 
 made any profession of religion. I have simply consented to sing 
 to-morrow night bee use I was invited to by some friends, who, I 
 confess, are anxious to see mo living a different life. I didn't 
 expect to achieve so much publicity, but I am entirely indifferent 
 to the opinion of those who see fit to criticize me." 
 
 "Tully," Errett explained as he rose to go, "don't think I am 
 trying to pa*: up a job on you. I mean just ^. hat I say. If I could 
 travel with someone a little stronger than myself, I believe I could 
 act differently. Don't you think if we worked together on this thing 
 it would be easier for us ! " 
 
 " Errett," cried Tully with returning cordiality, " if I could only 
 believe you 1 I would like immensely to go into partnership with 
 you in an effort to behave ourseU es, but you are such a confounded 
 wag that I can't take you seriously until I have had a little further 
 proof that you are not making fun of me." 
 
 ' " I'll give it to you, Steve, I'll give you all the proof you want. If 
 you see me sitting on the front row to-morrow nig ' applauding 
 for all I am worth, take it seriou.sly. I just want to come out and 
 show myself, too. 
 
 An hour later Chandler dropped in nominally to see a'jout some 
 law points in a case of his in which Tully was counsel. 
 
 "What is this I hear about you, Tully, joining the church and 
 going into gospel work the next day i" 
 
 Tully blazed out in a moment : "If you want to know the exact 
 facts, Chandler, I will simply tell you it is none of your confounded 
 business." 
 
 Chandler merely grinned as he replied- "Well, that sounds, 
 Tully, as if I had been misinformed. I see the old Adam has not 
 been quite crucified yet." 
 
 " No," replied Tully, in sudden and overpowering rage, " if the 
 fool killer were attending to his business, old Adam Chandler 
 
THE BITTERSWEET OF NOTORIETY 
 
 79 
 
 wouldn't be ailve or his sbe-satan of a wife either. I heard of 
 your courteous reuiaiks thit, si irninj?, and I have been told, too, of 
 the reports that Mrs. Chandlt;" has been so eager to circulate, and 
 I want you to understand that I h£»ve had enough of both. As far 
 as I am concerned, the whole Chandler family can go to the devil." 
 
 "If we do," retorted Chandler, rising and placing the brief in his 
 inaide pocket, " we siiall expect che pleasure of meeting Mr. Tally 
 there in spite of the transparent hypocrisy with which he is endeav- 
 oring to cover up his tracks." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Chandler. Your presence there would but add 
 another terror to the place, and gives me an additional reason for 
 trying to escape it." 
 
 In Osgoode Hall in the afternoon Mr. Tully argued a case, but 
 his haughty coldness, while awaiting his turn to speak, repelled any 
 fotnillarities. Then he spoke witli such dignity and force that the 
 judge, wlio waii a kindly old soul, and had noticed the paragraph in 
 the morning papers, went out of his road to compliment him. Tully 
 returned to iiis oflice feeling that the new life was not altogether 
 olijectionable, and was congratulating himself on the accident which 
 hail forced him into it when Miss Cora Burnham tapped at the door 
 and requested a brief interview. There was a hateful look in her 
 face which gave Mr. Tully notice that her visit boded him no good. 
 
 " I see you are advertised to sing at the Pavilion to-morrow 
 night," she began. 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " I wanted to give you these letters which were sent over here 
 from the newspaper oilices. They are in reply to your advertise- 
 ment for a bookkeeper and stenographer.'' 
 
 "Oh, are they?" 
 
 " A newspaper reporter called here a while ago ; here Is his card. 
 I told him you were out, but to come back to-morrow. He said he 
 wanted to Interview you, that he had heard," she added spitefully, 
 "you were going to quit law and go into the pulpit." 
 
 "Oh, did he? 
 
 "I didn't know whether you were anxious to be interviewed or 
 not." 
 
 "Well, when he comes back you can tell him that my intentions 
 are none of his confounded business." 
 
 "I won't tell him anything of the sort unless you promise me 
 that I can keep my situation." 
 
 "I told you once before. Miss Burnhnm, that the sooner your 
 engagement was ended the better for us Loth. I simply repeat it 
 now," answered Tully, with a feeling of uneasiness. "At any rate, 
 I don't see what that has to do with the reporter." 
 
80 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " It has very much to do with the reporter, Mr. Tully. If I am to 
 be discharged I shall supply him with a very interesting interview 
 with regard to your past conduct." 
 
 "So then, you intend to blackmail me," exclaimed Tully, bitterly. 
 "I thought I had expiated my sins against you, if a good-natured 
 attempt to repay a kindness by a profession of love which I dis- 
 covered to be a mistake is to be called a sin." 
 
 " You can call it what you like, Mr. Tully. I proposa to stay here 
 and do my duty ; and," she added, with a tremor in her voice, "see 
 that you fulfil your promise or suffer the consequences." 
 
 " Put the letters in the waste basket, Cora. You may stay, but 
 for God's sake don't torture me with the past. I am sick of it, of 
 myself, of life. Give me a chance to be something better than I 
 have been. If i have wronp;ed you, forgive me, but don't drive me 
 to desperation. If you interfere with me, there is nothing left for 
 me but to leave the city or go to ruin." 
 
 There was no forgiveness in her look as she grasped the bundle 
 of letters and left the room. 
 
 As he was going honie, he dropped into Killick's room and 
 explained; "I suppose it doesn't make any difference to you, 
 Killick, but that Burnham girl is very anxious to remain, and I 
 haven't the heart to send her away." 
 
 "' That's all right, Tully. It is a matter of Indifrerence to me." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 RESULTS IN FUUTIIER COMPLICATIONS. 
 
 His early return to his apartments gave Mr. Tully a couple of 
 hours before dinner, during which he committed to memory another 
 song which he thought probably would be needed as an encore. 
 It must have astonished his landlady and the other occupants of 
 the house to hear his violin discoursing the "Handwriting on the 
 Wall," but the two hours' practice made him almost perfect in 
 the words and the air. 
 
 In tlie evening he ventured to call on Miss Browning, explain- 
 ing to her that it was possible he might be invited to sing twice 
 and he desired to bo able to comply. Two people who have music 
 HH a common ground upon whiih they can meet, and have also 
 an undefined attraction for each other, make rapid progress. As 
 Dell played the accompaniment with sundry suggestions us to 
 expression, he admitte(i to himself that he was having not only 
 a novel but a delightful time, and when Dell suRgested a third 
 
RESULTS IN FURTHER COMPLICATIONS 
 
 81 
 
 selection he threw his whole heart Into the mastery of the air and 
 words. Then they had a little rehearsal and he sang his three 
 pieces with such accuracy that their practice was concluded. 
 
 Mrs. King was absent, and had been, for a couple of days, but 
 while Tully was telling his experiences of the day to his "ttentive 
 and sympathetic listener, the widow arrived home and tt^n min- 
 utes later was seated in the drawing-room. 
 
 "A gentleman," said she, "was telling me on the train that 
 you have been converted and were going to sing to morrow even- 
 ing at the Gospel Rally in the Pavilion. I am so glad, Mr. Tully. 
 I am su" 70U will find it do you good." 
 
 " I thank you very much indeed, Mrs. King," answered Tully, 
 gravely, "but rumor is a little premature in this instance." 
 '•Aren't you going to sing, then?" 
 
 " Yes, it Is all right as far as that is concerned, but as to the 
 
 conversion, I am afraid I can't claim to have had the privilege." 
 
 " You have always had the ' privi ege,' Mr, Tully," suggested Dell. 
 
 "Possibly I have, but what I meant was, I am afraid I have 
 
 not had the experience of conversion." 
 
 " Are you expecting," inquired Dell, " to have a sudden and 
 violent transition out of your old state into some new one, Mr. 
 Tully?" 
 
 " No, I can't say that I am, but I don't think merely accepting an 
 Invitation to smg at a gospel meeting is sudicient to warrant me 
 in claiming to have beer inverted." 
 
 " Oh, is that all you've done, Mr. Tully, " exclaimed Mrs. King, 
 with an air of relief. " Why, of course, a singer can sing anywhere 
 without being expected to join the society lie is singing for. I 
 suppose your voice makes you in demand everywhere," added the 
 fair widow v»ith her very sweetest smile, witliout at all concealing 
 her desire to please. 
 
 "WeJl, that's the view I take of it, Mrs. King," said Tully, 
 who, withal was sorry that the conversation had drifted away 
 from the tone of sincerity in which Dell had been talking to him. 
 Mrs. King in her quiet way was a good judge of human nature, 
 and one of the things which attracted her to Mr. Tully was his 
 good-natured profligacy ; and when she heard how the invitation 
 came aljout she felt chat Tully would thank her if she made it appear 
 less serious than his friends seemed inclined to make it. Compre- 
 hending his selfish am' onav-going nature nhe imagined ho would 
 turn to her for comfort if sne were willing lo sympathize with liira 
 under all circumstances and having be^-n away from the city for 
 a little time she felt justified in .beinj.^ a little more lively than 
 heretofore. 
 
A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " Isn't It absurd," said she, " that these religious fanatics should 
 claim you as a proselyte under such circumstances. It is a way 
 they have of getting hold of people and then mailing them stick 
 to it for fear other people will call them backsliders," 
 
 "I don't imagine, Mrs. King, that they have got hold of me 
 particularly, as the invitation was given and accepted under cir- 
 cumstances which do not warrant people to expect anything more 
 of me than they did in the past." 
 
 Dell Browning had listened to this conversation with growing 
 impatience. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asked she, " that your singing to- 
 morrow night is only to be a display of your voice? I certainly 
 thought better things of you. You led us all to believe last night 
 that you had determined to be a better man. I don't believe Mr. 
 Stryde would have invited you if he hadn't had that impression." 
 
 "Why, Dell, how absurd," said Mrs. King. ''Would you tie 
 poor Mr. Tully to the apron string of an old stupid like Stryde, 
 and make him go around talking religion and scandal like Mrs. 
 Chandler? I really like Mr. Tully better as he Is." 
 
 This unconcealed bid for popularity placed Tully in a rather 
 delicate position. He dared not avow his intention of being a 
 better man lest he might afl'ront Mrs. King, while on the other 
 hand he felt he was losing everything he had gained with Dell. 
 
 " I confess," said he, addressing himself to the widow, *' I am 
 getting tired of the altogether too reckless life I have been living, 
 and really intend to drop some of my dissipations and the com- 
 panions who have had anything but an improving effect upon me ; 
 i)Ut I think I can do this without going the length of joining the 
 Salvation Army or engaging with brother Stryde and sister 
 Chandler in their mission work." 
 
 "Certainly you can," answered Mrs. King with a reassuring 
 Mtnile. "After a man passes thirty I should imagine he would 
 heain to weary of the frolics of his youth, and commence to laink 
 more of his profession and home life." 
 
 "Yes, that's just exactly it, Mrs. King," answered '^ y, 
 grateful to her for having outlined the middle position for i?ni. 
 
 "I think you are making a mistake, Mr. Tully," said Dell, coldly, 
 "in imagining that half-measures will be successful in your case. 
 Unless you do something which will separate you from your old 
 companions and make it almost compulsory to discard them, you 
 will find that it won't be long before you are drawn back into the 
 vortex from which you were congratulating yourself on your 
 escape." 
 
 " I hope you don't think me so weak, Miss Browning, that my 
 
 i 
 
EESUSTS IN FURTHER COMPLICATIONS 
 
 83 
 
 good resolutions mean nothing unless I am compelled by public 
 opinion to stick to them." 
 
 "Everybody i. weaif, Mr. Tully, and needs the help of good sur- 
 roundings if one intends to break off old associations and habits." 
 
 "Yes, but one can do that," said Mrs. King, yawning as if Dell's 
 Puritanism bored her, "without coing to the other extreme— fllllng 
 one's lite with Psalm singing and prayer-meetings." 
 
 "I hope you are right, Mrs. King, otherwise I am afraid my good 
 resolutions won't amount to much, for I can't conceive of myself— at 
 present, anyway— going about with the fervid Mr. Stryde and his 
 friends, preaching and singing and praying in all sorts of ridiculous 
 places. I really think it would be too much to expect of me, no 
 matter how sincere disgust of my old life may be." 
 
 As Tully spoke he felt that Dell had been weighing him and found 
 him wanting, but determined to get into sympathy with her once 
 more, he asked her to play the accompaniments and he would sing 
 his pieces again before he went home and be sure that he would not 
 make a failure on the followina: evening. 
 
 " Really, you have spoiled your singing for me, Mr. Tully, by dis- 
 owning your good intentions." 
 
 " But you surely didn't expect me to turn street preacher all at 
 once?" 
 
 " No," answered Dell, contemptuously; "nor yet to feel ashamed 
 of turning your talents in the direction of good instead of evil. I 
 never saw any good come out of half-hearted changes and I " 
 
 " Aunty Dell ! Aunty Dell I " 
 
 The half -whispered call came from little Jack, who, in his night- 
 robe, stood at the head of the stairs lioping to attract Miss Brown- 
 ing's attention without revealing himself. He had heard Mr. Tully 
 singing in the drawing-room end had been worked up to a wonderful 
 pitch of jealous unrest. Miss Browning beard the boyish voice and 
 she rose and excused herself, saying that she had promised to read 
 Jack a story before he went to sleep. 
 
 " I'll play the accompaniments for you if you like, Mr. TuDj," 
 volunteered the widow. "I am not as good a musician as Dell, but 
 if you tell me what you want I'll try and please you." 
 
 He found her a good accompanist, and in halfa-dozer. .iluces she 
 showed him where he could be more effective, for, unlike Dell, she 
 was not absorbed by the subject of the song and was able to more 
 thoroughly criticise the performance from an artistic point of view. 
 While pointing out some of the notes her shapely white hand, uncon- 
 sciously perhaps, touched his, and no inclination was shown to sud- 
 denly remove it. Mrs. King had heard the rumor that Tully's 
 religious streak was but part of a line to win her late husband's ward. 
 
84 
 
 A HAD MAX'S SWEETHEART 
 
 and when slie came home and found them discoursing so sweetly 
 together, tlie resolution was quickly made to divert the course of 
 Mr. Tully's affections to lierself. When she made an effort to over- 
 come her inertness and be pleasinp, siie was a rarely charming 
 woman of that full-blooded and nia;;netic sort which relies on con- 
 tiguity for its greatest infhience. She knew there was temptation 
 in the touch of her hand, for during her days of wifeliood she had 
 seen the blush come to the face of many a youtliiul admirer 
 when she bent towards him or when her arm or even her robes 
 touched him, and she was not wrong in supposing that Tully was 
 susceptible to the magnetism with which she was so plentifully 
 endowed. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Tully was not aware how much admiring familiarity 
 there was in the attitude in which MIhs Browning found them on 
 her return to the drawing-room— he was leaning against the piano, 
 looking down in the fair face upraised to his, laughing as gaily and 
 thoughtlessly as ever— but Mrs. King know c»f Dell's presence several 
 moments before Tully made the discovery and tried to rather ex- 
 aggerate than conceal the delightful time she was having with the 
 audacious young man. 
 
 "Good night, Midge ; good night, Mr. Tully. I have a headache 
 and I think I had bettor retire." 
 
 The tone more than the words startled Tully, and made him feel 
 like kicking himself, for he recognized the disdainful look in Dell's 
 face, and at once comprehended the situation. He proposed leaving 
 at once, bur Mrs. King in.sisted they should try the nieces over once 
 more. The exercise was not conducted with fuucii spirit ; but it 
 served her purpose in making him ling; r stilMiUer. Wlien at last 
 he rose to go, she stood beside him and endeavored in the many ways 
 of the clever society woman bo make him feel how nmch she cared 
 for him. and in the farewell her hand !iot only lingered in his, but 
 very perceptibly returned the pressure. 
 
 Tully was angry with himself and with Mrs. King, still the 
 thought suggested itself, that if Doll were going to be so awfully 
 stringent, there was still the widow left to fall back upon. 
 
 Why, indeed, shoulii he be in love witii such a prudish little 
 Puritan ? Why not witli Bee McKinley or any one of the dozen jolly 
 girls he ki.«'w? For one thing they were not rich, and while marry- 
 ing, one might as well try ami (Ind all the virtues and a good dowiy 
 besides. " But it isn't money," thought he to himself. " I am not 
 very particular jntt how I get money or what I do with it, for I can 
 make all I want without marrying it. What a dog's life it would be 
 if I married a girl I didn't care for bcc-uise she bad wealth. It 
 wouldn't be much better for her either, for I don't believe I could 
 
RESULTS IN FURTHER COMPLICATIONS 
 
 85 
 
 treat her well. If she loved me she would be always spooning 
 around me, and that would make me tired, for somehow I like to do 
 the spooning mysp'f and a very little of it goes a long way, if one 
 has to do it with the same woman all the time. Then of course 
 she would be jealous. They imagine their money ought to buy a 
 man, body, soul and breeches, and if he gives even a strabismic 
 glance at some other female he is violating the contract and must be 
 prosecuted in all sorts of inhuman ways peculiar to the enraged 
 female, and like old mother jaw-jaw Chandler they deem it their 
 duty to refer even to the household furniture as ' mine,' feeling no 
 doubt that they are over-generous when they allow the husband to 
 escape the watchful eye long enough to go down town and attend to 
 business. And great gods 1 what curtain lectures a man must get 
 from a woman like that I It makes my blood run cold to think of the 
 reception a fellow would get from a woman of that sort if he came 
 home late with a jag on, I wonder if I may expect these things from 
 Dell ? One thing I may be sure of, she won't be noisy, but then she 
 is deucedly candid and would probably make remarks before ray 
 friends calculated to turn my life blood into ice cream. Cert' inly 
 she is too well bred to be rubbing the money business iuto me all the 
 time, but I don't think I would be able to endure more than six of 
 those icy looks of hers without taking to drink. They would give 
 me rheumatism. I can imagine her, too, sitting up in her night- 
 dress preaching to me, and what in thunder would I do? I could 
 not snarl back or there would be a separation next day, and yet I am 
 certainly not prepared to stand unlimited and uninvited tuition as 
 to how I should act. I might be willing to accommodate my mode 
 of life to hers to a certain extent, but that won't do. I must give 
 up everything, take up my cross and follow her, and I may just as 
 well look the facts in the face." 
 
 He lit a fresh cigar. With his hands deep in his overcoat 
 pockets he walked thoughtfully along, " I wonder what makes her 
 act as she does to me ? She seems reasonable with other people, 
 and, until lately, treated nic as if I were not a monster in human 
 form. It is evident that she likes me well enough tc care what I 
 do, but if her crankiness increases in proportion to her aflfection, 
 by the time she likes me well enough to marry me she will need 
 a straight-jaiket. Till King died sne was as jolly as Bee Mclvinley, 
 but now she seems to imagine she ought to do the mourning 
 which the widow of my old partner is evidently failing to do, I 
 think that young villain Jack with his morbid, half-sprouted 
 notions is helping to spoil her, but, then, when she goes iuto 
 society again she will be all right, and, thank Heaven, that won't 
 be long. She is going to the i''lambert8' next week, and that 
 
86 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWKETJfEART 
 
 suggests the advisability of having a consultation with the stately 
 Mrs. Flam, as to what I ought to. do. 
 
 "I wonder what made Widow King so sweet on me to-night? 
 I believe she was trying to make Dell jealous— and succeeded too. 
 I think Madge desires to marry, and is determined to have a more 
 lively husband this time than she had last. Poor John I No doubt 
 your good works follow you, but I reckon your widow is more 
 than half glad you are gone, and when the period set apart for 
 mourning has elapsed she will be as gay as a peacock. Nice too ! 
 Awfully pretty and soft little hands: I think as a wife she would 
 be less troublesome than Dell, though I can't say I relish the 
 thought that if I should happen to come to an untimely end, I 
 would be mourned by no one more sincerely than by the magnetic 
 Madge, and feel confident that she would be on the lookout for 
 number three before I was cold. It wouldn't be so with Dell 1 But 
 what difference does it makel Is a man to be miserable all his life 
 for the sake of having a widow who will cry for him when he is 
 gone? For that matter I think Cora would make a good widow if 
 she clung to my memory with half the desperate vigor with which 
 she hangs on to me." 
 
 The thought of Cora Burnham turned Mr. Tully's self-satisfied 
 reflections into another channel. " Confound her," he thought, 
 '* I wish she and her saflfron-colored mother were in Ballyhack. It 
 is evident that she intends to blackmail me. I'll have to get Killick 
 to attend to her, or else she will be the ghost at the wedding- 
 feast, no matter who happens to be the bride. What a scene it 
 would be if I were about to marry Dell, and Cora stalked in as 
 the mysterious stranger lieavily veiled, to denounce me as a bold 
 bad man. Of course Dell would side with her." 
 
 His thoughts during the remainder of his walk could not have 
 been pleasant ones, fur he slipped in the little side door of a saloon 
 near his lodgings, and with half a-dozen half-tip^y street laborers 
 staring at him, drank a bottle of ale, comforting himself with the 
 thought that no one in that little smoky back room knew him, 
 and if they did would not be apt to talk about it. Of course the 
 proprietor knew him for he had taken many a night-cap at illegiti- 
 mate hours in the room where he sat, but never before had he 
 felt that he was degrading himself while slipping in there for a 
 quiet drink before retiring. To-night he blushed at himself even 
 when excusing his weakness by the thought that Cora Burnham's 
 persecution was enough to make any man go wrong, lie thought 
 of the morrow, and it struck him that it would be wise to have a 
 fl' '£ of something to keep his courage up. The idea of taking 
 dr k to bis room made him feel like a sneak, and it was par- 
 
RESULTS ly FURTHER COMPLICATIONS 
 
 87 
 
 ticularly repulsive when be recalled the fact that he was about to 
 abandon the one virtue of which he had been bo proud, that he 
 never drank alone or kept it in his rooms. 
 
 It was closing time and the brisk little landlord re((ue8ted the 
 occupants of the smoking room to permit him to lock up. The 
 half-fuddled laborers left at once, but TuUy lingered until he was 
 alone with the proprietor and then in a shainefaced sort of a way 
 asked him for a bottle of whisky to take home with him. 
 
 Two or three times between the saloon and his rooms, he felt an 
 impulse to throw the newspaper-covered bottle over the fence, but 
 he retained it, carefully concealing it in his overcoat as he went 
 through the hall and up the stairs to his apartment. As he looked 
 at it on his dressing-case, he tried to remember when he felt so 
 humiliated and ashamed of himself as at that moment ; but the 
 repentance ended by trampling upon his conscientious qualms, and, 
 pouring out a liberal portion, he drank it off. Then he hummed the 
 air of the sacred songs and found himself letter perfect in the words. 
 " I needn t fret myself into an early grave over this thing. If I 
 don't get Dell I'll get somebody else, and it I don't get anybody at 
 all I'll be happy, so what is the use of moping? I needn't be so 
 much ashamed of taking a quiet drink by myself either ; it 
 isn't where a man takes it that does the harm. I might better 
 drink it here than down at the club, where the chances are I would 
 take twice as much and spend five times more money. Killick's 
 scheme has its advantages, and I suppose if I am going in for that 
 sort of thing, I might as well adaph myself to his methods." 
 
 Then he poured out another drink, and as he stood with the glass 
 in his hand he caught his reflection in the mirror. " Yes, Stephen 
 TuUy, you have at last arrived at that stage when you will find it 
 easier to be a sneak than a man with courage enough to let the 
 world know your true character. This reformation business of yours 
 is pulling you down lower rather than lifting you up higher. I never 
 knew before to-night what it was really to want a drink. I didn't 
 know I cared ic" it atall, but now when I imagine I can't have it, I 
 feel that I must hav c it. I suppose I will next have to keep a bottle in 
 my desk. Well, here d to Tully the hypocrite," he said to himself 
 bitterly as he raised the glass to his lips, adding with a remorseful 
 remembrance of the scripture readings of his childhood, "and the 
 last state of this man shall be worse than the first." 
 
88 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN WHICH WE MAKE TUK ACQUAINTANCE OF MRS. CHANDLER. 
 
 Mrs. Flarabert's house— no one would think of calling it Mr. 
 I'^lumbert's, or think of him in any other connection than as a 
 person who belonj?od there— was an exceedingly pretentious one, 
 the exterior covered with little gables, projecting windows, 
 porches, verandas, balconies and everything else which might 
 have the effect of proving to the passerby that its owner had 
 much more money than taste. Internally it displayed the pro 
 fusion of a man and woman who had so frequently become the 
 victims of enterprising dealers that no more space could be found 
 for the bric-a-brac, pictures, rugs, curtains, bronzes and s a'uary 
 which made the reception rooms look like a disordered curitsity 
 shop. Mr. Flambert was in the habir of excusing himself for 
 seldom appearing in the drawing-room by stating that he had 
 never been in there yet without breaking something. Notwith- 
 standing this crush of articles of virtu and what not, there was 
 plenty of space for guests if, when moving around, they held 
 their elbows pinned tightly to their sides or remained in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 At the present moment a half-a-dozen ladies are sipping tea 
 and talking gossip, principally the latter, in the presence of the 
 bronzed gladiators and staring pictures. 
 
 "Yes, iudeed. Miss Browning, he used oaths— most odious 
 oaths. My husband could hardly excuse them except on the 
 ground that he was intoxicated— absolutely drunk," repeated Mrs. 
 Chandler, in a soft tone of mingled awe and spi^e, " and he 
 told Mr. Chandler 'to go to the devil and take his she satan 
 of a wife with him.' He must be bordering on delirium tremens 
 er he wouldn't have conducted himself in the absolutely frightful 
 manner that he did I Just yesterday too, and yet he is to sing 
 at the Gospel Rally to-night 1 I wonder how he dare do it. If I 
 were he I would have been afraid of being struck dead wich the 
 awful words in my mouth 1 Yes, and the poor type-writer girl 
 sitting there in the office looking perfectly broken-hearted and 
 ready to drop. He haii used her just frightfully, promised to 
 marry her, and even woiae than that, used to meet her in the 
 park, I have often seen them there myself, or, at least, Mr. 
 Chandler has, carrying on just dreadful—" 
 
1 
 
 ■ \ 
 
 '!' 
 
 WE MAKE MRS. CHANDLER'S ACQUAINTANCE 89 
 
 " I can't nee why you should address these remarks t« me, 
 Mrs. Chandler," answered Dell, with frigid sclf-poHsession. " I 
 am not Mr. Tully's fiuardian, nor am I responsible for his appear- 
 ance on your programme to-night." 
 
 "Oh, indeed, I beg your pardon. Miss Browning, I must have 
 misunderstood Mr. Stryde when he said that you urged him to 
 invito Mr. Tully," resumed Mrf. Chandler, with a strong effort 
 to retain her society cone. " He told rne so no later than last 
 evening at the prayer-meeting— or, at least, I understood him to 
 tell mo so— when I reproached him for making such an outrageous 
 mistake and bringing scandal on the cause." 
 
 "I think you must he mistaken,' said Dell, quietly. "lam 
 quite certain Mr. Stryde said nothing of the kind. He is a gentle- 
 man who is not accustomed to throw the blame of a mistake on 
 Ills frieu Is or to tell what is not true I -nor is he given to exag- 
 geration," continued Dell, with a strong but polite accent on the 
 last word. 
 
 " And do you really mean to say you didn't press Mr, Tully to 
 sing?" 
 
 " What I mean to say is, that hearing Mr. Tully sing we 
 were all taken by surprise and Mr. Stryde invited him to sing 
 this evening and I seconded the invitation which, I think, is 
 a very different thing to urging Mr. Stryde to invite him." 
 
 "You did perfectly right, Dell, and there will be the bigji;est 
 crowd in the Pavilion to-night that has been seen there at any 
 religious meeting. I hope, poor fellow, he wont lose his voice 
 or get frightened when he^ sees the crowd," sugotested Mrs. 
 McKinley. "Bee heard him sing at Mrs, King's and said it 
 was superb, didn't you. Bee?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed I did, I was quite in love with him and told him so." 
 " Why, Bee 1 " exclaimed her mother. 
 
 " Yes I did all the same, mamma ; I couldn't help it ; he seemed 
 so sad— that is for him— and I really believe he is trying to be a 
 good man. For that matter I think he is about as eood as the 
 majority now, only he doesn't try to humbug people." 
 
 "Humbug," exclaimed Mrs. Chandler explosively, and with a 
 total loss of her sweet tone, " there isn't a greater humbug in 
 Toronto than Stephen Tully, nor a worse villain. I am surprised, 
 Mrs. McKinley, that you let your dauehtors associate with him. 
 It is positively enough to ruin their reputation to be seen speak- 
 ing to such a man." 
 
 "Now, now, Mrs. Chandler," cried Mrs. Flambert, in good 
 humored protest, " you are really going too far. Stephen Tully is 
 ono of my especial proteges. He isn't half as bad a fellow aa 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 
 33 WEST MAIN STUIT 
 
 WCBSTEI.N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)872-4503 
 
 "v- 
 
90 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 people try to make out. Ton are down on him because he called 
 you a gossip and a scandal-monger, and you know, though yon 
 are awfully good fun, that you, like all the rest of us, are inclined 
 that way a little." 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Flambert," protested Mrs. Chandler, her face 
 reddening. 
 
 "I really won't take it back," answered the candid and not 
 orer-polite Mrs. Flambert, who, in her heart, hated Mrs. Chandler 
 for numerous aflronts and damaging reports concerning herselL 
 " When you take a dislike to anyone, you can't chop up their 
 character too fine. If you knew anything bad about me, J would 
 'really commit suicide rather than have you start telling it, because 
 you wouldn't quit till everyone In the town knen^ it, and then 
 you really lay it on so thick that a little piece of truth is made into 
 a mountain of flbs. I don't actually think you know how much 
 you say when you get started." 
 
 "I thank you for your candor, Mrs. FJambert, but yon might 
 have reserved your remarks until it would have been unnecessary 
 to affront a caller in your own drawing-room, but then nothing 
 better could have been expected." 
 
 These remarks were made by Mrs. Chandler after she had 
 risen to go. She was trembling with anger, and, it was evident, 
 desired to say a few further words before taking her departure. 
 She was a little woman, with her hair smoothed very carefully 
 over her high, square forehead, and had exactly that sort of a 
 face which so often accompanies severe and censorious uncharity. 
 Her low voice wap over aweet, and her praises, when she saw 
 fit to be laudatory, always had a sting in them ; but when she 
 began to " run on " anyone she seemed to lose her satirical 
 sweetness and self-poHsession, and often used a succession of the 
 roost denunciatory adjectives, accenting them with such vigor 
 that her voice often escaped from the swee" undertone to a shrill 
 and vengeful pitch which made her criticisms doubly dangerous. 
 In her moments of domestic anger these tones were said by the 
 neighbors to develop into a shriek ; but much as she was disliked 
 socially she was greatly interested in church work, and belonged 
 to several committees from which, were it possible to offer a 
 resolution for her ejection, she would have been unanimously 
 dismissed. 
 
 " Don't go, Mrs. Chandler," said her hostess with careless good- 
 nature. "It is nearly a year siuce you were here before, and I 
 would very much dislike to have you go away angry. I am used 
 to calling things by their right names, you know, but I don't 
 wish to be rude ! " 
 
WE MAKE MRS. CHAaDLERS ACQUAINTANCE M 
 
 "Tea, it is a year, isn't it? I hope it won't be bo long before 
 I come again, Mrs. Flambert, I have had a delightful call I assure 
 you," answered Mrs. Chandler, with an iron.cal bow as she sepa- 
 rated the portieres with her trembling hand. 
 
 " I bad no intention of being impolite, but really your denun- 
 ciacion of poor Tully was enough to agitate one into almost 
 anything. Oh, must yon gof Be sure and come ugain soonl" 
 
 " ril be sure to I Good afternoon, Mrs. Flambert. Good after- 
 noon," and with a stiff bow to the little company the insulted 
 Mrs. Chandler was gone. 
 
 " Isn't she Just frightfal," cried Mrs. Flambert, mimicinglMrs. 
 Chandler's talk. "It was quite a scene, wasn't it?" 
 
 " Tes, and I am just glad you told the old hateful the truth. 
 Poor Mr. Tully, I am as awfully sorry for him as can be. He is 
 such a jolly, good-hearted fellow, he wouldn't say a mean thing about 
 anyone for the world. Why didn't you defend him a little bit, Dell t" 
 
 " Because I am afraid that not a little she said about him is true, 
 and I haven t much faith in his good resolutions. With (dl his 
 cleverness, half the school boys in the city have more moral 
 strength than he has." 
 
 " Tou ought to marry him, Dell, yon have moral strength 
 enough for two," suggested Mrs. Flambert. 
 
 If the scene which they had just experienced had not prepared 
 her for disagreeable things, Dell would havu been disconcerted, 
 but aa it was she smiled and said she wasn't contemplating « 
 reformatory school for young men. 
 
 " I think for my part," Mrs. Flambert announced, settling 
 herself comfortably in her chair, "young ladies expect too much 
 from young men. Boys will be boys, you know, and every man 
 who amounts to anything has raised a field of wild oats some- 
 where. Tully's misfortune is that his crop has flourished under 
 our very eyes, and oe is so bold about it that lots of people who 
 wish him well, talk about his escapades as If he would be proud 
 to hear the recital, while no one appears to know anything about 
 the good things he does. I heard an instance of the good side 
 of him this liioming. Our chambermaid, Bridget Dennis, had a 
 visit from her father who sells newspapers, and he looked so old 
 and feeble that I inquired about him, and he told me a long story 
 of his woes, exclaiming every now and then that if It hadn't 
 been for Mr. Tully he would have been dead long ago. I came to 
 find out, that f^ scapegrace Tully has been paying his rent and 
 looking after the poor old man for two or three years ! If he 
 does It in one case I am sure he likely does it in plenty more 
 that we never hear anything about." 
 

 •2 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "Still, that doesn't make him a desirable parti," HUggested 
 Mrs. McKinley. " He is so reckless. A man may be very good- 
 natured and generous and still be a dangerous member of society, 
 particularly if he gambles and drinks. I confess I can't help 
 liking him, but I am always afraid to see him with any of my 
 girls." 
 
 "Tou needn't be afraid, mamma," cried Bee, clasping her 
 hands in mock resignation, " he doesn't want to run away with 
 us and we are too well-bred to run away with him, but he is so 
 delightfully Jolly I can have better fun with him than any man 
 I know, and everybody says the same. No one in our set can 
 say a word against him, he has always acted as properly as can 
 be and if he gets tipsy it isn't at dinners where he gets his wine 
 for nothing. That is the sort of temptation which overcomes 
 Mr. Chandler." 
 
 "Don't you all think," inquired Dell, hiding a little yawn, "that 
 we have had just about enough of Mr. Tuliy?" 
 
 That night Dell Browning was not one of those who crowded 
 the Pavilion. Mrs. King and Mrs. Flambert occupied front seats 
 and applauded generously, but Stephen Tally looked in vain for 
 the fair face of the only one he cared to please. 
 
 He had debated within himself whether he should wear even- 
 ing dress. The first thought was that he should, in order to 
 make it see'.n as if he were appearing in a sort of professional- 
 singer capacity, but Dell Browning's suggestion inclined him to 
 the idea that he had better avoid that line. He was glad thtet 
 he had so chosen* when he noticed the informality of all the others 
 who were on the programme, but when he stepped forward to 
 sing, and had an opportunity— while the applause made it impos- 
 sible for him to begin— of studying his audience, he experienced 
 a bitter disappointment. .Timmy Errett was there in the front 
 seat with a dozen of his club companions, and Mrs. King sat but 
 a few benches behind them with Mrs. Flambert, but Dell 1 Where 
 was she ? His quick eye found the McKinleys, but she was rot 
 with them 1 Dell had stayed away ! He felt his heart sink, but 
 he was afraid of no one else, and his singing was not marred by a 
 single tremor. He was recalled by peal after peal of applause, 
 and sang again and then again. A. third encore was answered by 
 a bow, and then there were enthusiastic demands for a speech, 
 which he refused to answer. He thought with unreasonable 
 bitterness of what his course would have t>een had Dell been 
 there ; he would have gone to the front and told the audience that 
 be had resolved to live a different life, but she was absent — 
 
WE MAKE ^fns. CTTANDLEli'S ACQUAINTANCE 93 
 
 evidently she did not believe in him— and he might as well give up 
 trying to gain her confldencc. He slipped on his overcoat, and 
 though Strydn and halfadozcn othern congratulated him, he 
 started away home self-condemned, angry and desperate. 
 
 When he came to the corner where ho should turn towards his 
 apartments, the unroot which had possessed him, the sense of 
 defeat, of the sacriflce of his orurle ideal of sturdy manhood, the 
 feeling that he was a sinner wiiliout the courage which had once 
 made his sins seem almost respectable ; but chiefly a sickening 
 realization that he had played the part of a hypocrite without 
 avail, made it impossible for him to think of going quietly home. 
 While his conduct had met with the approval of Dell Browning, 
 the falsity of his motives had not obtruded themselves ; her 
 acceptance of his good intentions had seemed to sanctify them. 
 His sacrifice during the short hours when she had smiled approv- 
 ingly upon him had seemed the sacrifice of Abel, but now in 
 disgust she had refused to hear him sing, and the disdained 
 incense which rose from his nltar was from the offering of Cain. 
 
 He hurried on through the frosty air. Never before had the 
 impossibility of winning Dell's love suggested itself. To his ambi- 
 tious and egotistical soul but few things had ever seemed beyond 
 his rench. and now to have this particular one in which his pride, 
 his infrequent sacrifice, more, even his heart interested in vain, 
 mode him grind his teeth and mutter a reckless oath. 
 
 "Confound the girl, what is she to me that I should rush like 
 a spanked school buy through the streets sulking and sore, simply 
 because she didn't come to see me make a fool of myself? She 
 despises me, and I can't blame her ; I despise myself. It is just 
 as well this nonsense were ended at once and I return to the 
 even tenor of my wicked ways. By gad, if I had someone with 
 me I woiild go down to the club and have a bottle of wine." 
 
 The minions of his Satanic Majesty are said to be on the 
 watch for reckless men, and though it niay seem niore reason- 
 able to iniagine that reckless men are apt to be seeking oppor- 
 tunities of fully, it canic to pass at this moment that Mr. George 
 V'^il, whose name barely suggests the immaturity and Habbiness 
 of the youth almost collided with the angry Mr. Tully. 
 
 " By Jowve, is it wcally you, Tu ly I I thought yoH were 
 singing at the Pavilion for the er— er-weligious people?" 
 
 "So I was, Vt-ally, my boy, but I am taking a walk now to get 
 the taste of it out of my mouth." 
 
 "Come down to the kleb and have a dwink. It'll weally do 
 you good, you know I " 
 
 At any other time Tully would have scorned the society of 
 
A BAtJ MAN'S S]\'EETHEART 
 
 "VeaUy," but now anyone's company see. led preferable to his own. 
 
 At the door of the Hmokingroom, almoitt concealed from him 
 by a cloud of tobacco smoke, a half a dozen of his old chums 
 but recently returned from the Pavilion, were Kreeting with 
 roars of laughter Jimmy Eriett's account of his interview with 
 Tully. Jimmy's fervid imagination was picturing for them the 
 solemn and impressive words of which Tully had delivered him- 
 self when he had called to congratulate him on his conversion. 
 That Errett was half tipsy did not make his cynical but humorous 
 recital any more bearable to the angry man who li,!ard it. 
 
 "He said to me, 'Jimmy, I am a different man. I have had 
 a change of heart, and while there is time today, I want you to 
 repent and Join the church with me,'" cried Jimmy, in an excellent 
 imitation of TuUy's tone. 
 
 At this point, TuUy's hand grasped Errett's shoulder and gave 
 him a shake. 
 
 "Errett," said he, with his old, careless laugh, "you ought to 
 be High Priest of the Ancient Order of Liars. You know I said 
 nothing of the kind. It will just cost you a bottle of Pomraery 
 to straighten out the frightful yarns you have 'oeen spinning about 
 me." 
 
 Errett's face, already ilushed by drink, turned yet a deeper red. 
 "Sit down, Steve," he blurted out awkwardly, "I guess I am 
 caught right in the act this time. Boyt, he didn'n say anything 
 of the kind. Ho told me he supposed I was trying to get material 
 for a story, and I assured him I was sincere, and what is more, 
 gentlemen, I was, but I felt so affected to night by the services 
 at the Pavilion that I either had to Join tho church or get full, 
 and like the fool I am, you know which I did." 
 
 "Never mind, Jimmy, it is all right; touch the ttelll" 
 
 Errett rang the bell, but looked quizzically at Tully. 
 
 " So you are on the old racket, too," said he. " I thought you 
 were straight." 
 
 "So I am," retorted Tully. "I think I can sing for the gospel 
 people and take a glass of wine with my friends, notwithHtanding 
 the halo which probably still shines around my head I I haven't 
 joined the church or tried anything of that sort, so where is the 
 harm?" 
 
 ■ "All I can say is," muttered Errett, "I wish you had been con- 
 verted. Confound me if it don't make me feel ashamed of myself 
 —and you— after the talk wo had, to be sitting here boozing like 
 a couple of sots. Damn me if I'll doit," and with an angry fling 
 he threw his glass into the grate and left the room. 
 
 This disagreeable episode made matters still worse for the 
 
PLEADING IN VAIN M 
 
 perplexed TuUy, and he felt that it could only be forgotten in 
 more wine, which was followed by more and still more until the 
 llttlu party brolce up hardly fit to find their way home. 
 
 As they were leaving the room Tully was stae^ered by the 
 sight of Chandler sitting at a little corner table over a glass of 
 whi<)L/ and water, for he linew his adventure would surely be 
 made public with the many lurid extras which from time to 
 time Mrs. Chandler would see fit to add to the facts. 
 
 CHAPTKR XVI. 
 
 PLEADING IN VAIN. 
 
 In Mrs. King's beautiful drawing-room, a week or so after the 
 Gospel Rally in thu Pavilion, Bee McKinley sat in earnest and 
 confidential couvcrsatiuii with Dell Browning, 
 
 "There isn't any doubt al>out it, Bee, he went straisrht from 
 the Pavilion and got tipsy at the club. It is the most disgraceful 
 exhibition of callous hypocrisy I ever heard of." 
 
 " But Deli, there must be another side to it. •You know how 
 much Mrs. Chandler makes out of a very little, and yon really 
 ought to give the poor fellow a chance. His companions may have 
 joked and sneered until, to quiet them, he went to the club, and 
 there influenced by his surroundings took more than was good 
 for him." 
 
 " But what circumstanceii should influence a man when he has 
 started out to do right and h&s made what was really a public 
 profession, and then brings all his friends into disgrace as Tully 
 has?" 
 
 " Really, Dell, I can't say, but something tells me chat he 
 will be able to explain it. Now you needn't try to hide It from 
 me, I know you like Steve Tully and I know he likes yon, and 
 if he goes to the bad I'll always believe more or less that it is 
 your fault, because you are exactly the kind of a woman who 
 oould save liim if you tried. What he needs are good surround- 
 ings and he would be a great deal l>ctter than the ordinary hus- 
 band. Now, if I had been Steve Tully, and was trying to lie a good 
 man, worthy of you, and you had pointedly stayed away as you 
 did that night, I would have just gone and got as drunk as a lord. 
 It was the meanest trick I ever saw you play on anybody." 
 
 "I don't think it was mean at all. He wasn't singing for me. 
 There were plenty of people there to encourage him, and Madge 
 said it was the most enthusiastic audience she ever saw." 
 
/jjippi 
 
 06 
 
 A BAD MA ITS SWEETHEART 
 
 "But you weren't there, and unless I am very much mistaken 
 you were the audience that TuUy wanted. I could see him looking 
 for you.'' 
 
 " If he hasn't more strength of character than would take him 
 through one night and over one disappointment— though, mind, 
 I don't believe my being away was a disappointment— he ia un- 
 worthy the name of a man." 
 
 "Now, Dell, what makes you preach so much? Tou didn't 
 use to be so exacting. You know where there is much love 
 there is great weakness." 
 
 " Yes, but if so much weakness goes with much love I would 
 rather have less. Steve Tully's weaknesses go ahead of his love 
 a long way, and are not caused by it. He is ready to fall in love 
 with anybody who will encourage him, and he proceeds to fall out 
 again with Just as mucii ease." 
 
 Bee sat silent for a moment with her little gloved hands clasped 
 over her knee. "Well, I don't remember any time he has ever 
 fallen in love with me, and I have given him most outrageous 
 chances, for I have been in love with him at least a dozen 
 times and sister Kit has had one continuous spasm of devotion to 
 him, lasting o^er two years, and in fact all the girls in our set 
 are "gone" on him and he has done nothing more than Joke 
 and flirt with them in the mobt distinctly cavalier fashion, so no 
 one could make a mistake. It was quite a revelation to me the 
 other evening to see how he acted with you. I couldn't imagine 
 him so serious." 
 
 "Oh, come, Bee, don't be so absurd. He is as incapable of 
 feeling as that chair." 
 
 " I don't think so. I believe he was describing his own feelings 
 when he said the most scnsiiive people are the ones who clothe 
 themselves with some haughty or egotistical manner so as to 
 protect themselves from the hard knocks people would give 
 them if they became familiar." 
 
 "It is all very well for you to talk, but I have seen ho many 
 exhibitions of Tully's cold telflshness that I can't and won't 
 believe in him." 
 
 "But, Dell, do you understand him? The very fact that he 
 has betrayed all these qualities ought to convince you that he 
 is natural and disdains to conceal anything. More than that, he 
 is ashamed to betray the best side of h!m for fear you might 
 think him a hypocrite. If he were as gay a deceiver as you seem 
 to think him he could play his part much better than he has 
 with you." 
 
 "I think be has played his part suflQciently well to deceive 
 
PLEADING IN VAIN 
 
 
 fou, but one of he worst features of his character is, that he 
 considers himself so irresistible that he doesn't need to conceal 
 his true nature. He Imagines that with everyone 'to know him 
 is to love him,' bad as he is, but I for one detest him except at 
 sufficiently rare intervals to permit his life and mine to come into 
 collision." 
 
 "You are too deep for me, Dell, I must confess," said Bee, 
 looking up with serio-comic gravity. " I don't follow your meta- 
 physics." 
 
 " What I mean is, that there is an attraction about Tully which 
 at times is sufficient to overcome one's impulses to flght with 
 him, and after one gets used to seeing him one feels almost 
 inclined to like him " 
 
 "—Oh, I knew you did. You needn't think it is any rare con- 
 fidence to own up to it," exclaimed Bee. 
 
 "—But I am not owning up to it except in the nioHt general 
 way. You always like him, I can't endure him nine times out 
 of ten." 
 
 " But the tenth time, Dell ! Don't you think he is Just sweet 
 then?" 
 
 "No, you goose, I do not, I never get farther than owning 
 that I dare like him." 
 
 " Then you are in love, Dell Browning. I know it. When 
 anyone tries to like any person it always ends in failure ; but 
 if one is afraid to, the very danger of it makes it delightful, 
 and v'hat is fascinating always wins." 
 
 "I suppose you ought to know," said Dell, drily, "you have 
 had such a large experience." 
 
 "Now, Dell, you are getting meaner every day. It was Just 
 reserved for you to sneer because I never had one real, actual 
 fellow. Everybody else has nagged me about it. I can't even 
 criticize Kit's hair without being told I know nothing about it, 
 and if I had better taste I would have more beaux, and the 
 strongest tie which bound your soul and mine together was that 
 you had never told me that I was cut out for a silly old maid, 
 and that if I didn't use something my hair would be red." 
 
 "But you have had a worshipper, Bee, and I wasn't denying 
 it. What about Teddy Grlgsby?" 
 
 " That is the last straw, Dell I If you want to stir up the 
 bitterness of my soul, first refer to my failure to excite the 
 admiration of young men, and then inquire about Teddy Grigsby. 
 That Orignby person is really to blame for spoiling my chance* 
 of marrying. Poor old thing, isn't he absurd?" 
 
 "But be is not old, Bee— not over thirty." 
 
A BAD MAN'S SWEET HE ART 
 
 " Bat the looks of it I aix feet six, if it were stralorhtened out, 
 though I have never seen Teddy standing upright but once— 
 when be was yawning. I was singlDg, and he thought I couldn't 
 aee him, and be reached out bis full length and nearly touched 
 the ceiling. Ho fell down in the parlor the other day; hu is so 
 near-sighted he thought the conversation chair was a foot-stool 
 •nd tried to step over it and fell right In mamma's lap. She 
 screamed, and brought in father and Kit and all the rest of the 
 girls, and poor Teddy was afraid to get up lest he should break 
 something. I have asked him twenty times as a personal favor 
 to me never to speak my praises in public or in private for that 
 matter, and if he must come to the house always to inquire for 
 sister Kit." 
 
 Dell laughed. " When did you make that arrangement?" 
 
 "Oh, Just last time, when he fell down. Poor old thing, hu 
 roared and laughed, and thought it was the funniest thing that 
 ever happened, but when I told him to ask for sister Kit, he 
 really blushed— with confusion to think I was ashamed of him, 
 I suppose. Poor Teddy I I want some man people don't laugh at 
 even if be is grim and stern— someone I'll be scared of. When 
 I have a lover he'll be the most frightful person, only he mustn't 
 be Jealous. I don't believe I could stand Jealousy in a man ; it 
 is such a mean trick ; it makes a man look so small, and as if he 
 had no opinion of himself. That would be one good thing about 
 Tully— I don't think he would ever be jealous." 
 
 " No, Bee, I don't think he would ; but his wife— she would 
 either have to be blind to facts or the green-eyed monster would 
 surely mark her for his own." 
 
 Bee lifted her eyebrows curiously as she asked, " What makes 
 you think so?" 
 
 Dell noticed Bee's odd look and blushed violently. "Nothing 
 in particular," said she, " except it is the nature of the man to 
 make love to every woman he sees." 
 
 "Even if it is, what difTerence would it make, because I am 
 Just as sure as I am alive, that he is the kind of a man who 
 could only love one woman, and she shouldn't mind if he smiles 
 on more." 
 
 " Well, I certainly would mind. My pride. If nothing else, 
 would rebel if my husband made no greater effort to please me 
 than to charm every woman he met." 
 
 "I must go, Dell; it is getting late," said Bee, rising from 
 her seat and clasping her pretty little hands behind Dell's neck, 
 who had also risen and stood four or five Inches taller than the 
 bappy little woman wbo was more tbao two years her senior. 
 
' 
 
 PLEA DT wo IN VAIN 
 
 90 
 
 The levol bars of the bright winf«" ^un-liKht ntreamed in 
 through the half open blinds, touching «vith brilliant beauty 
 two facua which any man might love, though any man looking 
 upon thoin for tho first time would feel no perplexity in choosing. 
 They were so unlike they could never bo rivals. One woman 
 could never take the lover from the other. A man who would 
 first fancy Dell would never choose Bee, and the few who might 
 prefer I3ee would never think of Dell. It is in these unlikenesscH 
 that the truest friendships are found, and as little Bee looked 
 wistfully up at the lovely face of her companion, tears gathered 
 in her brown eyes, 
 
 "Oh, Dell, Dull, I feel like bawling! I know some trouble is 
 gathering over you and it is about Steve Tully. I haven't much 
 sense, mamma says, I haven't any ; Kit says, if I would only quit 
 at the right place I would be very nice for a reception after- 
 noon, but after all I believe I have an instinct which keeps me 
 out of trouble as surely as other people's smartness, and what- 
 ever it is, it tells me that you ought to be Kinder to poor Tully, 
 both for your own good and his." 
 
 Dell's arm was thrown around Bee's neck, and she gave her 
 little friend a couple of hasty kisses before she answered. 
 
 " Bee, I'll agree with your mother, that you haven't the least 
 little bit of sense, if you ever say another word to me about Tully. 
 Tou are taking this matter too much to heart. When I have 
 taken it to heart at all it will be time enough for your kin^i 
 little soui to interest itself. Tou busy yourself getting Teddy 
 Grigsby to transfer ills atfrctions to Kit, and then I will help 
 you to hunt up someone suitable for yourself." 
 
 " Well," sighed Bee, " I guess I am to be always considered 
 a miserable little giggler v<-ithout any sense, but, Dell, you will 
 remember what I have now told you some day when you arc 
 sorry." 
 
 Dell's face clouded. "I may have to be sorry," said she, "for 
 him— for others— but while things remain as they are I sha'n't 
 have any reason to be sorry for myself ; so if your sympathy 
 is for me don't waste it, my sweet little Bee." 
 
 Before she reached the next corner, absorbed by her thoughts, 
 Bee was hurrying past Stephen Tully when he grasped both her 
 hands, exclaiming : " Now, Bee, I didn't think this of you. 
 Though all men turn against me, I felt sure that you would still 
 And some excuses for the prodigal.' 
 
 "Why, Steve Tully," she ejaculated breathlessly. 
 
 "And didn't you see me before? I thought you ware hurrying 
 past and trying to give me the dead cut." 
 
100 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " You ti:.lnk that because you deserve it, you Hilly and unaccount- 
 able man. I have just been trying to niuke excuses for you to 
 Dell, and yet you suspect me of trying to Ret past without seeing 
 you. 
 
 " I really didn't suspect you, Bf e, but what did Dell say t " 
 
 •'Not very much; still she likes yon, Tully, and if you would 
 only behave your.*elf— but I supi)ast' that in impoBsible." 
 
 "I suppose it is. If she would only be as kind to me as you 
 are, ^ think almost anything would Im posHible." 
 
 *' ..ell her so," whispered Bee, "right now. I have prepared 
 her by saying that very thing. Good night." 
 
 "Good night," he answered, still holding her hands for a 
 moment and wondering why fate had denied him the happiness 
 of falling in love with such a sweet iic^lo woman as Bee. When 
 he racg the bell at 25 Mowburn Street, he was trembling with 
 an3ciety and confusion. The maid showed him at once into the 
 drawing-room, and there he discovered the quiet and seif-possensed 
 Miss Browning, who, expecting no more callers that afternoon, 
 was half -reclining on a sofa, her face buried in the cushions. 
 
 " I am afraid I intrude," he stammered. 
 
 "Not at all," she answered, coldly, though even in the deep- 
 ening twilight he could see that her eyes were wet. 
 
 "Nothing but important business would have brought me here. 
 Miss Browning, for I feel like the prodigal son who has sinned 
 against God and in thy sight." 
 
 " Never mind any excuses, Mr. Tully. I have no right to ask 
 them, and I assure you it would bo quite unnecessary for you 
 to ofTcr them." 
 
 "I didn't intend to trouble you." he answered, stiftly, "with 
 excuses ; these papers are relative to your estate. If you will 
 permit me, I will explain them and witness your signature. 
 There would have been no necessity for this interview, only I— 
 er— had signed my name as witness, and it is— er— necessary for 
 mo to— er—er— witness both signatures." 
 
 "I will have the gas lit, Mr. Tully." 
 
 " Oh, never mind," said he, with his most professional air, 
 "there is still light enough at the window." 
 
 Seating himself he read the papers very ceremoniously, explain- 
 ing the technical terms and the intention of the indenture, which 
 meant the investment of some twenty thousand dollars in the 
 guaranteed stocks of a loan society which was supposed to be 
 pi'ospcrous. 
 
 '■ You will notice," said ho, as the inai<l brought pen and ink, 
 "that Mr. Stryde has already signed I his document." 
 
PLEADING IN VAIN 
 
 101 
 
 Sho glanced at the signature, rein.-irking, " Then it must be 
 all right." 
 
 "Ah, Miss Browning, I think that was an unnecessary stab," 
 said he, reproachfully. "I have tried to hco that it wan all right. 
 Please continue to give nie cro.iit for profoHsional rectitude, it 
 for no other." 
 
 "I did not Intend to quesr.jn it," she answered quietly, 
 returning the pen to its res. 
 
 "Miss Browiiinjr," began Tullv. hurriedly, "you have always 
 told me that I seel; to l.y my sins on Ukj shoulders of others, 
 lam not trying to excuse mystlf fur Ihc faults I have been guilty 
 of since I was here last. They )iavu at least brought me to a sense 
 of my own unworthincss and sliown me huw futile it is for me 
 to attempt to be better unless i have some good intlucnco leading 
 me on, some surroundings to protect me, and some hope that, if 
 ever I do better, you will think more kindly of mo than ; -u do 
 now. I feel ashamed, desperate " 
 
 "Mr. Tully, don't Imagine that you ran do good or be fciod 
 if you have no more wortiiy object in view than pleasing me or 
 ai.y human being. Unless you do it for a higher purpose and look 
 fur divine help, all your attempts will be as great failures as the 
 lasi." 
 
 "But, Dell," he cried, desperately, "help me to start. Until I 
 learn to appreciate a higher power, lend nie your aid. It would 
 be enough to get me out of the miserable mire in which I am 
 sinking deeper every day." 
 
 Had it not been for his ^urupt entrance and the position in 
 which ho had found her, she would have relented. Now, though 
 pride forbade her to be gentle, a sudden impulse to trust him, to 
 love him, threatened to overpower her, and she sought safety in the 
 simple answer, "I cannot trust you if you cannot trust yourself." 
 
 At that moment of self-abnegation Stephen Tully felt the 
 rebuff most keenly, and his bitterness found resentful expression. 
 
 " Had you been in the Pavilion to encourage me even by one 
 wintry smile, my first attempt to behave myself would not have 
 resulted as it did, but you so obviously impressed your distrust 
 upon me that I could not trust myself. Now you reiterate it ; I 
 presume you are right. It would be folly for me to make any 
 more attempts." 
 
 His voice was broken and husky. Ashamed of his weakness 
 he hastily muttered "Good night" and hurried to the door. In 
 another moment she would have stopped him, but it was one of 
 the moments which sometimes eternally separate men and women 
 from happiness— ay I even from salvation. 
 
102 
 
 A BAD MANS SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE RETURN OF A MATURE PRODIOAI,. 
 
 During the time Tully had been devoting himself to repent- 
 ance, reformation and recklessness, he had been very remiss in 
 his attention to his ofllce duties, and Mr. Killick took advantage 
 of the opportunity and possessed himself of what remaining 
 basiness bis partner had retained in his hands. The further loan 
 of Miss Browning's money to the Savings and Investment Com- 
 pany had been negotiated by him, though he was perfectly aware 
 that the concern was not solvent, and would not be in existence 
 six months later. But while he had been successful in laying the 
 ground work of his revengeful scheme, in other matters he had 
 not been so fortunate. Many times a day Cora Burnham had 
 been summoned to his room for dictation or instruction, and each 
 time he had endeavored to impress the handsome girl with his 
 passion for her. Always respectful, cheerful, considerate, with 
 frequent inquiries as to her health and how her mother was 
 succeeding in business, he by degrees was overcoming her feeling 
 of repulfcijn which was experienced by everyone on first acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Killick. Ho raised her salary to flf^5en dollars a 
 week, bought the store in which her mother lived and reduced 
 the rent, besides placing carpenters and painters and decorators 
 at their disposal to make their shop and dwelling as attractive 
 as they desired. Tlate glass front, new counters, shelving, 
 lincrusta walton dadoes, and all sorts of things, bore witness 
 to the fact that Mrs. Burnham had not been slow in accepting 
 his kindness. In private she had counselled Cora to be discreet 
 but attentive ; to preserve her dignity, but not to give offence, 
 and when the poor girl wept in her mother's arms as she did 
 very often, Mrs. Burnham counselled her to banish sentiment 
 and wait for the demise of Mrs. Killick. The signs of prosperity 
 attracted custom, the moving tide of business was finding their 
 establishment in the very centre of trade. Fashionable customers 
 suggested a stock of high-priced goods, and Mr. Killick was eager 
 to secure it. Defeated in her ambition, Cora's mind turned entirely 
 to money-making, and her shrewd advice and correct taste did 
 much to estai^Iisli and continue a fashionable business. Their 
 lK>oks were well kept ; the young women in the workroom sharply 
 disciplined, and Mrs. Surnham and daughter were OQ tha bleb 
 
RETURN OF A MATURE PRODIGAL 
 
 103 
 
 road to wealth. The sinister motive of obtaining as much money 
 as possible from Killick, and iii\ <lving him as deeply as possible 
 in their debts, lent Cora a new object in life, and her sharp atten- 
 tion to the details of the office, together with her dignified and 
 almost affectionate treatment of Killick, delighted the old man 
 beyond measure. She would even let aim take her hand, and 
 two or three times she permitted hiin to pat her cheek in a 
 fatherly sort of way, but for the life of him he could not become 
 any more familiar. 
 
 Over the prosperity and opposing schemes of Killick and Cora 
 Burnham there came a cloud, and the shadow in each case was 
 caused by a different substance. 
 
 It was late one Saturday night some three or four weeks after 
 the events described in previous chapters and the last over- 
 worked sew'ng girl had left the Burnham establishment, when 
 a very old and very seedy stranger, still retaining the erect car- 
 riage and over-bearina: manner of one who had known better days, 
 opened the shop door and strolled towards the work-room. He 
 was met by Cora Burnham, who sharply demanded his errand. 
 
 "I didn't call to see you, young woman. My visit is to Mrs. 
 Burnham." 
 
 "I am her daughter. What do you want?" 
 
 "Ah ! you are her daughter? I am delighted to meet you, Misi 
 Burnham. Have you any sisters?" 
 
 "No, sir,*' said Cora, retreating nervously from the old man's 
 strange inspection. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that you are Mrs. Burnham's daughter?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," a tone of respect somehow creeping into her voice. 
 "I am her only daughter." 
 
 " Then come to my t , I am your only father," exclaimed 
 the old man with tragic bitterness. "After many years I have 
 come to gaze upon thee again, and to hear thy mother's gentle 
 voice bid me begone." 
 
 Without a word of answer Cora turned and fl^d through the 
 door into tho workroom, followed by the decayed gentleman who 
 quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open after her. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham was desceudmg the stairs as he entered and 
 deposited his much-worn beaver on the table. 
 
 "Ah, my dear wife, this unexpected pleasure overcomes me 
 with delight. Embrace me, Margaret, embrace me once agiiin." 
 
 With a shrill scream Mrs. Burnham clasped her heart and stood 
 like one f ^trifled. 
 
 " Ralph Moore," she muttered almost inarticulately. " Great 
 God, I thought you were dead." 
 
104 
 
 A BAD MAX'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "And wiHlicd it, I have no doubt," chuckled the old niao, 
 aoparently enjoyiiip; th« sensation he had caused, " but wisiies 
 don't kill anyone my dear Margaret, or I had been dead years 
 ago. I am seventy-six, and, my charming); wife, I can assure you 
 I am good for at least another ten or fifteen years. The blood 
 of the Moore« runs coldly as it grows old, but the Moores grow 
 old slowly, and attracted by your thriving establishment I called 
 to tell you tliat I intend V) spend the evening of my life with you. 
 Gambling has become a poor business for me. I lack the modern 
 tricks and attractive gaiety of youth, and surrounded by the com- 
 forts I can see that you have prepared for me, I picture a delight- 
 ful rest from the worries of my profession." 
 
 Cora stood on the side of the table opposite the saturnine 
 intruder. " Mother," cried she turning sharply to the trembling 
 woman at the door, "ia this father <" 
 
 "Yes," whispered the mother. 
 
 " Yes, my dear girl, I am your father. I have really forgotten 
 your name, but in all these years of wandering, hardship and 
 neglect I have carried the image of your baby face pictured in 
 the most sacred niche of my inmost heart. Let me see, Margaret, 
 what was it we christened our daughter}" 
 
 "Cora," gasped the poor woman, cinking into a chair. 
 
 "And is our name Moore, not Burnham?" demanded Cora, 
 still addressing her remarks to her trembling mother. 
 
 "Yes child, my name was Burnham, his was Moore." 
 
 "It is Immaterial, wife; it is immaterial, Cora dear. I am 
 willing to take the name of Burnham if it is necessary to uphold 
 the respectability of the family. I am too old to quarrel over 
 triflps. Give me money enough to go out and buy a new suit of 
 clothes. We will go to church and be a happy family to-morrow. 
 Don't be afraid Margaret, the saloons are shut. I am much more 
 temperate and discreet than I used to be." 
 
 " Give it to him mother," said Cora, qnickly. " He is my 
 father, he will have to look respectable no matter what he is." 
 
 When ha had gone Cora clasped'the wrist of the almost hyster- 
 ical woman who had been so kind to her, and with tightly drawn 
 lips demanded an explanation. 
 
 "Cora, child, don't blame me. If I have concealed it from you 
 it has been for your own good, that a knowledge of the sufTering 
 and the shame through which I have passed when you were a 
 baby, might not cloud your life. I have kept it all these years 
 locked up in my heart, and if I have been anxious for you to 
 marry, it has been that you might wear a name that belonged 
 to you. Twenty-five years ago I married Ralph Moore who repre- 
 
RETURN OF A MATURE PRODIGAL 
 
 105 
 
 sented himself to me as a gentleman of means. Our honeymoon 
 was not over before I discovered him to be a gambler. For five 
 years I lived a most wi etched life with him and lie deserted me 
 here. For some reason he was anxious not to be known, but he 
 registered at the hotel as Capt. Burnham. He went out in the 
 evening to visit someone be knew, and two hovirs after he rsturned 
 in a frightful passion, took nis valise, and said he would be back 
 in a couple of days and left me. I did not see him again until 
 to-night. His desertion caused some comment, and after it had 
 appeared in the newspapers it was impossible for me to take any 
 other name than the one I had borne at the hotel. For that 
 reason, and no other, I have been Mrs. Burnham." 
 
 "Mother, is this story true? There is nothing worse than you 
 have told me?" 
 
 " Is it not bad enough, Cora ? " sobbed thr poor woman. 
 ** Indeed, there is nothing worse than having a gau.Mer, a drunk- 
 ard, and a dcadbeat for a father or for a husband." 
 
 When, after an hour's absence, he returned a suit of ready- 
 made clothing and upw silk hat, and, in fact, new outfit, together 
 with a shave and a bath, had very much changed his appearance. 
 His hair and mustache had been dyed, and few would have 
 thought this man, approaching four score years, was more than 
 fifty, h^, bore himself so jauntily. 
 
 Even her mother's recital of wrongs did not keep Cora from 
 being half glad of her father's return. She had supposed him 
 dead, but thi^ aristocratic-looking stranger, now too old to be a 
 serious encumbrance, seemed to her to rather add to the family 
 dignity. Ralph Moore was tall and magnificently proportioned, 
 having one of those rare physiques which seem to perpetuate 
 itself in every feature. With the assistance of a little hair 
 dye his still abundant locks bore no traces of age. Even his 
 teeth though some of them had been artificially filled, were more 
 than half his own. His somewhat florid face had but few wrinkles 
 except about the eyes and corners of the mouth, and the skin, 
 that which generally betrays old age, had not the hard parch- 
 ment look which comes to so many at three score. His arrogant, 
 over-bearing manner, flashing eyes and military bearing had carried 
 him through many a confidence game, secured him many a loan, 
 and enabled him to sit at cards with gentlemen even after he had 
 gained a reputation of never losing money and being suspected of 
 not always winning it fairly. 
 
 "I have been thinking it over, and have decided that it. would be 
 oetter for you and better for me, better for us all, if I adopt the 
 name of Burnham. In fact," said he, " 1 haven't been wearing the 
 
106 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 name of Moore for the past twenty years and it is not necessary 
 for me to adopt it now, p.irticiilarly as it would involve you in 
 unpleasant cx'ilanations. I will open an odice as broker, I see 
 you evidently liave funds which need investment, and I will be 
 able to add to the eclat of tlie nullinery business by seeming 
 superior to it. Upon my soul— er— Mary, Sara— what did you say 
 her name was— Margaret ?" 
 
 "Cora,' corrected the dumbfounded woman. 
 
 " Yes,— Cora,— how did I forget it? you are a fine looking girl. 
 I'll be able to arrange a proper marriage for you— yes indeed, Cora, 
 you are a devilish handsome woman and you have the bearing 
 of the Moores; you were bora to be a lady and I'll see that 
 you are one, too. I suppose you look after the finances of this 
 concern?" 
 
 "No," answered Cora slowly and with a certain awe of this 
 pretentious father who had so suddenly developed himself, "I am 
 stenographer und bookkeeper for Killick & TuUy." 
 
 " Heavens 1 not Killick the lawyer?" 
 
 "Yes, he is a lawyer. How did you come to know him?" 
 
 "To tell you the truth Cora; I was born in this city. My 
 father was the wealthiest man in it and I have always suspected 
 the scoundrel Killick of having been involved with my brother 
 in a conspiracy to keep me out of a share of my father's property. 
 However, it wasn't the fault of Killick so much as that of his 
 partner, and I don't know that it was anyone's fault, but I always 
 had an idea that there was something wrong." 
 
 "Is Col. Moore your brother," inquired Cora. 
 
 " No, he is probably my nephew, My brother died three or four 
 months ago. I saw it in the papers. Is the young fellow a client 
 of yours?" 
 
 " No, but he borrowed some money from one of our clients, 
 and he was in the office quite frequently for a few days. He has 
 the reputation of being a very rich man." 
 
 " E on't say anything to him about me but watch all the deals 
 he mikes. I intend to fasten myself on him yet and see if I 
 can't borrow some of his wealth. Come Margaret, look a little 
 more pleased at the return of your loving husband. You sit there 
 as if you liad been struck with a club. I won't embarrass you, 
 don't be afraid of that. Very little will "Jo me, I am getting too 
 old to take many chances and I am going ^o play a fsafe game from 
 this time out." 
 
 Mr. Killick also had an unexpected visitor. Theodore Kahn 
 the diamond merchant met him by special appointment on Sun- 
 
RETURN OF A MATURE PRODIGAL 
 
 107 
 
 day eveninf?, effectually disguised by a gray wig, powdered eye- 
 brows, and a clean shaven fpce. 
 
 "Ah, mice friend," he exclaimed, grasping Killick's unwilling 
 hand between both of his own, "I am back again ; mine brother 
 who brouKht me here, be is in trouble, and looks to you and to 
 me for help." 
 
 "I have no interest in either you or your brother," answered 
 Killick viciously, "and I don't see what in the devil's name made 
 you take chances of twenty years in the penitentiary by coming 
 back here." 
 
 "Oh, but you know it will t>e both of us, mine friend. If I go 
 you will go. You are too smart to be put in prison, you must be 
 too smart to have me go there." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Kahn. I have effectually protected myself 
 from any possibility of setting into trouble over your affair." 
 
 " Oh, did you? I did not break down a wall for nothing. When 
 I was in your vault I took a few things with me that 1 thought 
 might be of value if you played me false. I have them yet." 
 
 Killick's face paled. " I missed n^^bing of value," said he. 
 "You can'u blackmail me. You are taking too big chances." 
 
 "Don't make any mistake with me, Mr. Killick. You robbed 
 me of everything I had, scarcely leaving me enough to get out 
 of the country. My brother has a little job on, he will need 
 some help. We do not ask any money. If we do not get through 
 it we will be arrested and sent to prison. I will have nothing to 
 lose and can afford to make it hot for you, so we count on your 
 help, on your assistance." 
 
 Killick was lying back iu his chair, studying the crack in the 
 ceiling, his fingers in a pyramid before him. "Oh, it is merely 
 professional assistance you want?" 
 
 "Yes, it is merely professional. My brother is going to fail, 
 and he wants to do it right. I am staying at his house and getting 
 rid of the stuff we fake out of his stock. You will only have to 
 arrange the legal details; we may count on you to do it right." 
 
 "Of course, of course," answered Killick more cheerfully. "I 
 will do my best; I always do that for a client. It is a godsend that 
 your brothfjr and you don't wear the same name or this affair 
 would excite unpleasant recollections of the other trouble. When 
 is the suspension to take place?" 
 
 " Oh ! not for four or five weeks yet. He is only making his 
 bad debts and gettine rid of his stock. Who has my old room now?" 
 
 " It is Just as you left it," answered Killick sharply. 
 
 "Well, my friend, let us visit it." 
 
 Together they entered the inner room and for an hour conspired 
 
108 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 together as to how Stillbcrg & Co. could best defraud their cred- 
 itors. As Kahn said good-night to the lawyer, he whispered con- 
 fldentially, " When we get tliis thing through wo shalk both go to 
 Australia, and you will have no more trouble with us." 
 
 When Killiclt was alone he drew an odd little pass book from 
 its hiding place in the vault door, and for another hour was 
 engrossed in calculations from which he rose with a fierce twitch- 
 ing of his coarse lips and a still more villainous look in his ugly 
 face. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIT. 
 
 THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS. 
 
 " I feel quite certain about it, Tully, Stillburg & Co., are getting 
 ready to fail and will have to be watched." 
 
 "What rna':e8 you think so, Grigsby?" 
 
 "I got a p'/inter from a young fellow to whom I was of service 
 once, that they are making away with their stock. Will you have 
 the matter looked into ; we are their largest creditors and if there 
 is anything wrong put the sheriff in without the loss of an hour." 
 
 " I will see to it, Teddy ; good-bye." 
 
 "Say, Tully," half whispered Grigsby, as he leaned over the 
 back of a chair, " I want to ask you about another matter, of 
 course this isn't professional you know, but you know the girl 
 so well that I feel sure your opinion will be worth a great deal 
 more than mine." 
 
 Tully frowned in anticipation of some disagreeable question. 
 "I am a poor authority on such questions, Grigsby. I haven't had 
 so much luck myself that I can feel at all certain in giving 
 advice to others." 
 
 Grigsby laughed awkwardly. " Success with you means a good 
 deal, Tully. You think you are in bad luck if all the girls you 
 know are not In love with you. I would think myself In the 
 greatest luck on earth or in heaven if I could get one girl to like 
 me 
 
 "And that one, Teddy?" 
 , " You know well enough, Tully, it is Bee McKinley. Have. 
 I any show 1 I have made a laughing-stock of myself now so long 
 that I am determined to stop it somehow or other." 
 
 "Wh-; of course you have a 'show,' Teddy. I don't see how 
 any woman could refuse you." 
 
 •' Come, now, none of that, Tully I " 
 
THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 
 
 109 
 
 "It is a fact, Teddy. If I had a sister-and I wish to God I 
 liad one— I couldn't think of a man I would rather see her mar- 
 lifd to than to you, you ccreat big, good-natured, soft-hearted old 
 Imby. I often wonder how you ever got far enough along in 
 business to be able to put a shcrifr in anybody's place; but in 
 you business is business, and outnide of it you are one of the 
 most gentle creatures God ever made." 
 
 " Tut, tut, Tully, dor't give me any taffy." 
 
 "I am not giving you tafTy, Teddy ; I am telling you tht truth." 
 '* Well, if you are, Steve, I wish it were a truth more gen- 
 erally acknowledged. Socially, I think I am as absurd a figure 
 as there is in the city. I am the errand-boy of the whole McKinley 
 family, and do chores for the rest of the young ladies who want 
 an ice or an escort. None of t>i girls seems to have the slightest 
 idea that I was born for any otiier use than to take them to the 
 theater when they can't get anybody else or dance with them when 
 the Mowers crowd the wall." 
 
 "Thac is because you have always been infatuated with the 
 one girl. If i^ ^'ad not been so serious, or if they had imagined 
 
 there was any chance for them " 
 
 "But to come back to the question, Tully. Have I any chance 
 to get Bee to marry me? Don't be afraid to tell me the truth, 
 because after all these years I have got used to looking discourage- 
 ment in the face." 
 
 ** Teddy," answered Tully, leaning forward and putting his 
 kindly hand on the knee of bis companion, "I don't believe that 
 your chances are flrst-class— in fact, I think you had better give it 
 up." 
 
 •• I believe you're right, Tully. What you say simply strength- 
 ens my own opinion, in fact I have been trying to transfer my 
 attentions to Kitty." 
 
 "Well, how did it seem to take?" 
 
 " First-rate, and I have an idea she would make a better wife 
 for me than the other one. She is stronger-minded, and at War- 
 ring's dance last night I put uiysclf in her charge, and didn't make 
 an ass of myself once. Slio neenis to know bow to make me do 
 the right thing, and doesn't make fun of me. We had a really 
 splendid time." 
 
 "Do you imagine she knows what you mean, Teddy?" 
 Grigsby blushed. " Oh, I am sure she does. Kit McKinley Is 
 smart. I squeezed her hand— don't laugh now, Tully, because I 
 am telling you little details— when I left her, and she looked 
 straight at me and asked if that was intended for her, or if she 
 wa>> to deliver it to Beer." 
 
no 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 " I said it was for her." ' - 
 
 "Then what did slie say?" 
 
 "She loolced atraiKht at me, held out her hand, and when 
 I took it she said, "You are awfully good, Teddy!" 
 
 " You are in luck, Grigsby ; she will make you an ' awfully ' 
 good wife, just the kind, for you, I'm suie. " 
 
 "Do you think so, Steve? By gad 1 I feel happy; only I was 
 afraid that after all this time maybe Bee wouldn't like it, but 
 I guess she won't mina." 
 
 "No, no, old boy, I don't think she'll mind," answered TuUy, 
 with that whole -heartedness and cheerful sympathy which made 
 everyone his friend who confided in him. 
 
 Grigsby rose to go, tall, ungainly, yet with a slow smile and 
 dignity which after all out-weighed his awkwardness. His was 
 not an unlovely face, with his blue eyes, li^ht brown curls and 
 scant mustache. 
 
 "Who are Stillburg's lawyers, do you know?" he inquired, the 
 shrewd business look coming back into his face. 
 
 "No, I don't know. I'll hnd out for you though." 
 
 After Grigsby had gone Tully went into his partner's oflice, 
 stated the case and asked, " Do you know who is acting for Still- 
 burg & Uo. ? ' 
 
 Killick V as writing, and as he looked up his face betrayed no 
 sign of either interest or intelligence. "In what matter, Tully?" 
 
 "In no matter particularly, but Teddy Grigsby tells me that 
 they are secreting their stock and wants the sheriff put in." 
 
 "What evidence has he that they are crooked?" 
 
 Tully went on to explain, concluding by the suggestion that 
 some one should be sent to Stillburg & Co.'s store to observe 
 the situation. 
 
 "I wouldn't take that trouble, Tully. It they look shaky I'll 
 have Dooley make out the papers and have the sheriff in at once ; 
 it's a great deal better to take no chances. I didn't know Grigsby 
 was a client of yours." 
 
 " He was with our firm when I came into it, but he has very 
 little litigation. Clumsy as he looks he is one of the shicwdcst 
 business men In the city and takes very few chances." 
 
 " Give Dooley your statement of claim, Tully, and get the thing 
 in shape." 
 
 "Grigsby didn't give it to me." 
 
 " Then send Dooley after it." 
 
 Dooley was sent after it, but, somehow didn't reach the whole- 
 sale house of Grigsby & JohnHon for two hours after he had left 
 
 fl: 
 
THE SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 
 
 111 
 
 the ofllcc. Oddly enonp;h, too, be had been watching the office 
 door of Grit?sby & Jolinson for over an hour, observing those who 
 went In and out, from tlio window of a saloon nearly opposite. 
 When he called he found Mr. Grigsby and Mr. Johnson and the 
 bookkeeper all out. He left his message in a careless sort of a 
 way, as If it were not pressing, and went back to the office report- 
 ing to Mr. Tully that he had been unable to see any of the priiioi- 
 pals though he had called three times, which was the fact, but 
 the three calls were made within fifteen minutes. When the 
 office was closed that evening the statement of claim had not 
 arrived and the matter was let go till the next day. After a 
 hasty dinner Mr. Killick returned to his office and was closeted 
 with Mr. Theodore Kahn for half an hour. 
 
 "Have you everything ready, Kahn?" _^ 
 
 " Yes— at least we will have by ten o'clock." 
 
 "StulTall packed up?" 
 
 " It will be, but then we daren't lake the stock out of the 
 show-cases before we closed. That gorilla Grigsby has been 
 watching us, and I could have sworn the sheriff would have been 
 in there this afternoon." 
 
 "So he would have been if Grigsby hadn't been our client." 
 
 "Oh, is that so?" muttered Kahn significantly. 
 
 "Yes, that is so, and I only give you to-night to get out of the 
 place. Have a man ready to travel with the trunks, and go your- 
 self by carriage to Hamilton. Tell your brother to stop, but not 
 to open the store in the morning. He can spend till noon making 
 an assignment and then he must skip too. If you haven't brains 
 enough to get your stuff out of sight before he reaches you, it is 
 your own lookout." 
 
 " Killick, you are doing the square thing by us." cried Kahn 
 rapturously. "We have had only two weeks, but we won't leave 
 two hundred dollars' worth in the shop." 
 
 "Go," said Killick, "and for God's sake never let me see your 
 ugly mug again." 
 
 The plan wou'.d have worked excellently, but Teddy Grigsby had 
 arranged otherwise. Two hours before the departure of the train 
 he had learned that Theodore Kahn was in the city, and unable to 
 find Tully, he swore out a capias, iiad him arrested, detained the 
 baggage and had both of the brothers in jail before midnight. 
 
 Next morning there was great excitement in the office of Killick 
 & Tully. The senior partner was the first to arrive, though he 
 had been out much of the night endeavoring to get bail for Kahn 
 and his brother. Tully came later and was at once sent for 
 and closeted with his partner. 
 
112 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 III 
 
 " Why, how In could you do it, Killick ? You knew we 
 
 were acting for Grigsby." 
 
 "Now don't harp on tliat, Tally. I wan acting for Kahn before 
 you received instruetiouH from Grigsby & JohnHou." 
 
 "And why the devil didn't you tell nae yesterday," demanded 
 Tully, angrily. 
 
 " Because I thought it would make no difTerence as I expected 
 the Kahus would bo out of the country before this time," answered 
 Killick, slipping down in his chair and assuming bis usual attitude 
 when engaged in deep thought. 
 
 "Then you knew that they intended to abscond?" 
 " Yes, I knew that they intended to change their place of 
 business, but I didn't let it interfere with your plans for protecting 
 Grigsby. Didn't I send Dooloy down there to watch around two 
 hours yesterday afternoon?" 
 
 " Yes, but with instructions not to find them, I suppose. I don't 
 know bow in thunder we are going to fix this thing so as to make 
 It look right. You can't act for the Kahns and I for the prosecution." 
 "Easy enough my dear boy. I'll say I didn't know you were 
 acting for Grigsby & Johnson and you will say you didn't know I 
 was acting for Stillburg & Co., and in that way neither of us will 
 be to blame. Grigsby will have to go to somebody else." 
 
 " Indeed he won't. He is an old client of ours, my personal 
 friend, and so intimate with me socially that it would be impos- 
 sible to throw him overboard for the sake of a couple of thieving 
 Jews who perhaps will spend the next five years of their life in 
 jail." 
 
 "I tell you, Tully, that you can't act for Grigsby. There are 
 reasons which are none the less strong because I do not divulge 
 them, why we cannot bo with the prosecution in this affair. The 
 easiest way is for us to refuse both clients under the circumstances 
 and occupy a neutral position. Grigsby will come back to you with 
 his next case." 
 
 Tully bit his mustache viciously as he stood with his hands 
 deep in his trowsers pockets, glaring at the ugly face which at 
 that moment was upturned towards the ceiling, as expressionless 
 as the crack in the plaster which the old man seemed so fond of 
 studying. " I suppose," said Tully, " this man Kahn had some 
 . hold on you. The exceedingly odd manner in which he stole his 
 papers from your vault is still fresh in public memory and it 
 would have been in better taste if you had made yourself less 
 prominent in trying to obtain bail for him last night, particularly 
 when you knew that you were acting against our own clieuts." 
 " If I knew that, Tully, it doesn't follow that other people know 
 
THE SHADOWS OF VOMINU E VESTS 
 
 113 
 
 it. He '^t)0(\ enouK'i fo make no rcfeiencc to our coiiversaMnn. I 
 have a koocI excuse for gelling rid of SliUburK & Co., and of reliev- 
 in,-' you of tlio prosecution. Have senHC enough to know that I 
 wouldn't do it without reason. Retain, too, in yuur brilliant mind 
 the fact that 1 don't propose to be tauKht my buHiueas by you." 
 
 "Nor I to receive any impertinence from you." 
 
 "Come now, Tully, get off your high horse. Since you have 
 been with me you have made more mintakes than any partner or 
 clerk I ever had. In investigating that Moore title, I find that 
 you pasHed over an important point which makes the loan of Miss 
 BrowninK's money an absolute loss to your client." 
 
 "What's that you say?" cried Tully, starting forward and 
 grasping his partner roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 Killick straightened himself up in his chair, turned his dull, 
 meaty eyes on the excited man before him and explained, with 
 a significant tightening of his coarse lips: "I say that you, by 
 your carelessness, have lost your client thirty thousand dollars. 
 Perhaps Moore doesn't know the circumstances, and I may help 
 you to realize on it, but I don't want any of your pretentious 
 airs around me. Go back to your ofttce and do as I tell you." 
 
 As he concluded, Killick rose from his chair, shook Tully's hand 
 from his shoulder and grasped the knob of the door, as if to 
 prepare for the exit. Tully was as white as a ghost. Big drops 
 of perspiration stood on his forehead as he asked unsteadily : 
 "Killick, is this the truth, or are you trying to frighten me?" 
 
 The old man, leaning towards him, whispered: "It is the 
 truth, Stephen Tully, and another little section of the truth may 
 be of use to you— that you are entirely in my power and must 
 do as I say 1 " 
 
 Killick led the way towards Tully's room, stopping at Cora 
 Burnham's desk to speak to Dooley, who was checking some 
 accounts. With a lack of caution, foreign to the astute old lawyer, 
 Killick began to explain to his senior clerk— with the idea of con- 
 vincing Tully of the truth of what he had just told him— that 
 there was something wrong with the Moore title, and the matter 
 had better be looked into. Dooley asked a few questions, one 
 leading one: 
 
 "If the memorial in the registry office doesn't contain the facts 
 of the deed, where is the deed itself?" 
 
 Tully had left them and entered his room. Killick with a leer 
 pointed with his thumb over his shoulder towards his vault. 
 
 Cora heard all t|iis, saw the motion made with the big fat 
 thumb and, remembering what her father had said, turned her 
 face away lest her flashed cheeks might betray the fact that she 
 
114 
 
 A BAD MANS SU'EfCrHEARr 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 had been an eager listener. At lunch time nho repeated the 
 story, and her father listened with rapt attention. 
 
 "Watch everything, Coral" ho cxc-liiinied. "I'll have this thing 
 looked into. Find out where he keeps the will, and get to see It." 
 
 " That is useless, fatlier. I haven't the keys of his vaults, 
 and they are never out of his own hand." 
 
 "But, girl, you must get them— a fortune may depend on It. 
 Have you no Influence with the old scoundrel?" demanded her 
 father, giving her a look which made her cast down her eyes in 
 shame. 
 
 "I might have," she answered, "If— If— if I chose." 
 
 "Then, Cora, you must choose. There need be nothing wrong, 
 but you must lend yourself to whatever plan I devise for getting 
 a look at that will— and lose no time, Cora. If you get a chance, 
 use It, but if ho asks for an aiipointnient"- the aristocratic and 
 soldierly looking old man leaned across the corner of the table aa 
 he gpoke— "grant it, grant it, but it must be In his ofTlce. I will 
 attend to the rest." 
 
 Cora's flaming face, the trembling hands and shamed look or 
 the mother were a silent protest against the suggestion, but Ralph 
 Moore paid no attention ; be was acquainted with neither shame 
 nor scruple. 
 
 An opportunity occurred that afternoon for Cora to enter Mr. 
 Killick's office. A heavy safe had been moved, and its weight had 
 so depressed the floor that the lock no longer fastened tiie door 
 on which the legend "Engaged," intimated that no trespassers 
 were allowed. The door stood ajar, and though Cora knew that 
 Theodore Kahn who was out on bail was closeted with Mr. Killick, 
 as she knocked no voices could be heard. As she stood waiting 
 for a response a 'draught from the outer entrance swung the 
 private door still farther open, and she felt emboldened to look in. 
 The vault door stood ajar, and she caught a glimpse of the inner 
 room, and then she could liear the low murmur of voices Inside. 
 Drawing the door as nearly shut as she could, she rapped loudly, 
 and at length Mr. Killick responded. When he saw the door 
 unlocked he demanded angrily how she entered. Something in 
 her eye arrested bis further speech. She entered the room and 
 with the simple apology : 
 
 "In moving the safe across the room its weight where it now 
 stands made your lock so that it doesn't fasten. I knew you were 
 engaged, and fearing that someone might intrude I simply wanted 
 to call your attention to it." 
 
 "Cora," he said gratefully, "you are a smart giri and a trusty 
 one. If I weren't such an old man I would give you a l?l8fi(," 
 
A \i:iiV DIFFICULT POSITION 
 
 IIB 
 
 She dirl not flinch from him as usual, and when he put hU 
 wiirty hand undor her chin, ho succeeded in touching her smooth 
 rlioek with his repulsive lipa, Cora sliuddercd, but with at much 
 (li(jiiity as possible opened the door and returned to her desk. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A VERY DIFFICULT POSITION. 
 
 Miss Brown intr, who for some reason bad been very dull and list- 
 less, following Mrs. King's advice and example had been out of the 
 city for a week visiting some friends. When she returned little 
 Jack was overjoyed and insisted on monopolising her entire atten* 
 tion for 4 couple of days. 
 
 '* Aunty Dell," said he in one of those boyish bursts of confidence 
 which are so exceedinatly dangerous to everyone who has been under 
 observation, "what did mamma mean when she asked nic if I 
 would like to have a new papa?" "I am sure I don't know, Jack. 
 Perhaps you were lonesome, and she was thinking how she could 
 make you happy," answered Dell, almost startled out of her self- 
 possession. 
 
 "But how could I have another papa? My papa is dead. Sup- 
 posing she wanted to get one for me, how could she?" 
 
 "She could get married again, Jack, and the man she married 
 would be your papa." 
 
 " lie could not be. Aunty Dell ; I would not have him," cried 
 Jack angrily. 
 
 " I don't think there is any danger. Jack, don't speak about such 
 things," answered Dell quietly, as she siroked the boy's hair and 
 wondered within herself how Mrs. King could have been so 
 thoughtless, so heartless, as even to make such a suggestion to the 
 lad, little thinking that the antute woman had done it for the pur- 
 pose of having it repeated to her. 
 
 " It oan"t be wrong for me to speak about It if It isn't for mamma. 
 She came into my room last night after Mr. Tully had gone and 
 asked me?" 
 
 The end Mrs. King had in view was accomplished and the inno- 
 cent boy left in Dell's mind the Impression that Stephen Tully had 
 been talking love to the widow, even suggesting marriage. 
 
 " You haven't spoken of this to anyone else, Jack ?" she inquired, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " JJo, aunty Dell, only to you. I never tell anything to anyonn 
 
■r'l>- V. 
 
 116 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 bat yon, and," said he, closely watching her face aa he whispered, 
 "I won't tell— I would be ashamed to." 
 
 He was resting on the broad arm of a rocking chair in which she 
 was sitting. After a long bilence he whispered to her, " Aunty 
 Dell, if mamma marries Mr. Tully, then you'll marry ine, won't 
 you?" 
 
 Her pale, thoughtful face was instantly lighted by a bright smile 
 which would have been a laugh if she had not observed his intense 
 earnestness. 
 
 " Oh, you could not marry me. Jack, you are only a little boy. 
 You will have to be twice as old aB you are now before you can think 
 of such things. But I will always stick to you. Jack, no matter 
 what happens you will always have aunty Dell." 
 
 '* Then you wou t marry anyone, aunty Dell, till I get old enough, 
 till I am a man and can have a great big, big house and a carriage 
 and everything lovely for you." 
 
 " Don't talk about it, Jack, I love jou as you are now and always 
 will while you are a good boy, so don't be anxious to be a man ; you 
 are much happier now, J.-vck, than you vvill be then." 
 
 "But I am not happy now, aunty Dell, only when I have you. 
 I wish I were a man, I would be so happy 1 I would have you all 
 the time, and you wouldn't go away to balls or sit in the drawing- 
 room and talk to people while I have to stay upstairs in the 
 nursery." 
 
 " Ah, Jack, things will change very often and very much before 
 you are a man and nothing will change as much as you will your- 
 self. I will be growing into an old woman then, and life will look 
 very different to you. Jack, you will have a great many sorrows 
 and troubles that you have no idea of now." 
 
 The entrance of the governess to take Jack away to his studies 
 put an opportune end to the little fellow's love making. 
 
 Alone in her own room Dell Browning could hardly restrain her 
 tears. In spite of everything she had cherished a hope that Tully 
 would reform and be worthy of her confidence. While she had been 
 able to reject his advances it bad been impossible to forget the 
 handsome face and fascinating voice of her gay suitor. She would 
 not confess even to herself that she loved him, but no other man 
 had so shared her thoughts, and this fresh evidence that she had no 
 sooner turned him away than he had begun lovii making to Mrs. 
 King, pained and shamed her. It was not only that Tully had not 
 been faithful to her, but that Mrs. King had been so faithless to the 
 memory of her noble husbaud. At first she thought she would 
 speak to Mrs. King of the impropriety of encouraging attentions so 
 early ip her wi<iowhood, but then she would have to betray Jack's 
 
A VERY DIFFICULT POSITION 
 
 117 
 
 confldeiice and— the thought stung her— be open to the suspicion of 
 being jealous. The latter thought made her exclaim, *' Never. She 
 may make a fool of herself without any protest from me." And then 
 came the memory of John King's deathbed when she had pledged 
 the dying man to be good to Madge. 
 
 " Why," thought she, " must Stephen Tully wreck the happi- 
 ness of everyone with whom he comes in contact? Why don't 
 I hate him as I ought? Hereafter he shall make no mistake as 
 far as I am concerned, and if I can save Madge I will." 
 
 Even in her resolution to protect Mrs. King from Stephen Tully, 
 there was a heart pang which brought the tears as she decided 
 that rather than permit any scandal over the impropriety of an 
 intimacy between Mrs. King and Mr. Tully, she would encourage 
 them to marry at once if no other remedy tould be found. 
 
 "Why, Dell, what are you doing," cried Mrs. King, glancing into 
 Dell's room, bright and radiant after her walk. "You look as 
 tragic as if you had just made up your mind to sacrifice yourself 
 and all your friends." 
 
 " Do I, " said Dell shortly. "Have you had a pleasant walk? " 
 
 " Lovely," cried Mrs. King ecstatically. "You know I went 
 down town to see Mr. Tully about some business affairs. He 
 insisted on my coming when he was up here last night. By the 
 way, I have seen considerable cf him during your absence. He 
 seems out of sorts, poor man, and doesn't know where to go. The 
 papers were not ready and I am to go down again to-morrow. He 
 walked part of the way up with me. Isn't he just delightful com- 
 pany? I don't wonder that half the girls are ready to make fools 
 of themselves over Steve Tully, I believe I could almost do it 
 myself." 
 
 Dell's look of contemptuous attention had not the slightest 
 effect on Mrs. King who seemed determined to relate her experi- 
 ences in spite of all discouragement. "He told me, do you know, 
 Dell, that he had given up any hope cf >. mning you, and thought 
 it was, perhaps, just as well. You are too good and he too bad, so 
 he said. Even if he did succeed, no doubt you would flght like 
 cats and dogs after you were married." 
 
 " He needn't have wasted hia time, Madge, in any such sup- 
 positions. There never was any danger of my marrying him. I 
 haven't quite taken leave of my senses and"— added Dell slowly, 
 with cutting emphasis— "1 hope you haven't." 
 
 Dell was sorry she had spoken ; she had done exactly what' she 
 had decided to avoid. Mrs. King looked up mockingly. " I never 
 had any senses to take leave of, or like you, perhaps, I have always 
 had just enough sense not to want what I couldn't get." 
 
118 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 The last shot went home, but Dell iKnored the innuendo and 
 replied with hauteur, intended to close the conversation. "It 
 would be well if we all had sense enough to refuse what we want 
 and can get if it is something we should not have, or that would 
 bring shame and scandal on those we ought to love." 
 
 " I'll be honest with you, Dell, though not so much perhaps that 
 houesty is a part of my nature as to avoid any further lectures from 
 one young enough to be my daughter. I intend having just as 
 good a time in this world as I can, and I am not going to mope and 
 mourn ; it would do no good to anyone either dead or alive. I am 
 not like you, I can't afford to wait. I like Stephen Tully ; if I could 
 marry him to-morrow, no matter how much it would paralyze 
 society, I would do it. I think, Dell, it is a case of a heart caught 
 in the rebound, and if you know just how I feel you can make the 
 best of it. I know he likes me, because he has told me so." 
 
 " Madge," cried Dell, in horror, "you talk as if you had already 
 said good-bye to every sense of propriety. If you have no impulse 
 to protect your husband's memory, think of Jack, think of your- 
 self, and how you would be scorned by every good woman and 
 decent man in the whole circle of your acquaintance." 
 
 "I have thought of it all, Dell, and I have made up my mind. 
 Of course I don't propose to marry him right off, but I intend to be 
 engaged to him at once if," she added with a great affectation of 
 modesty and candor, "enough has not passed between us to be 
 .considered an engagement. 
 
 " Come now, Dell," she whispered coaxingly, as she tried to be 
 affectionate, "don't look so horrified. Let me be happy If you 
 can't." 
 
 " Happy, Madge ! This is not the way to be happy. You are 
 laying; up stores of misery for yourself and all the rest of us. I 
 cannot kiss you. Go away and leave me alone. The very thought 
 of such conduct as you sugaest makes me feel sick." 
 
 "Very well, you'll get used to it. So will everybody else, but, 
 "she added with a last lling, "don't blame me, if I have taken Steve 
 away from you. I didn't suppose you would care or I shouldn't 
 have done it." 
 
 " That remark, at least, is enti y unnecessary, Madge," retorted 
 Dell, her lips white with disgust a.id anger. 
 
 "Perhaps; but one thing that is necessary, Dell, is an under- 
 standing between us. I am not prepared to accept anyone as my 
 guardian and though I know you have very good sense, in this par- 
 ticular case if you offer either advice or opposition I give you notice 
 I will suspect It of being caused by jealousy. You may not have 
 cared for Mr. Tully; I don't suppose you did or you would have 
 
A VERY DIFFICULT POSITION 
 
 119 
 
 treated him differently, but I never knew a woman yet who could 
 endure to see even a discarded lover attached to anybody else. You 
 know," continued the unruffled Mrs. King, "how vain all of us 
 women are. We imagine if we refuse a man he should pine 
 away and die or at least remain single all his days moping over 
 one's old letters or a lock of hair. But Stephen Tully isn't that 
 kind of a fellow, and I might just as well have him as anybody else." 
 
 " Madge, for heaven's sake don't go on like this to me. Stephen 
 Tully was never my lover. If he had been I could hear of his mar- 
 riage to anyone whose future did not interest me with out a solitary 
 pang. 1 am thinking of you, not of him, and it is both unjust and 
 cruel of you to insist upon putting me in a false position. If I did 
 not think that you are talking as you are to prevent me from remon- 
 strating with you I would willingly vow never to mention the matter 
 again, but I promised your dyine husband to be true to you, and I 
 will, even though you accuse me of the basest motives." 
 
 "Very well, Dell, you can talk as much as you like, but it won't 
 make the slightest diirerence to me. I shall do as I please and prob- 
 ably detest you for interfering. Good bye, dear." 
 
 With a rippling laugh Mrs. King tripped airily away to her own 
 room, leaving Dell in a misery of astonishment and humiliation. 
 
 It was indeed a difficult position. Almost buried in an easy chair 
 Dell endeavored to decide upon some plan of action whereby she 
 could preserve her own dignity and yet defend Madge from that 
 " wretch Tully." He had made her miserable and now he was 
 inflicting on her the shame of Madge's folly. She understood Mrs. 
 King well enough to know that no mere social restraint would pre 
 vent her from letting the world see her infatuation for the handsome 
 scapegrace. Once she thought of seeking an interview with Tully 
 and begging him for the sake of his old partner and the many favors 
 he had received from him, to abandon hia intention of marrying the 
 widow, but her pride, the fear that he too might think her jealous, 
 forbade. Nothing so incensed her even in her angriest moments 
 as the feeling that she did really care for him a little, and the fear 
 that this might influence her resulted in the primary resolve that 
 she would do nothing to prevent the marriage. The sense that she 
 was making a personal sacrifice of the lurking tenderness for the 
 reckless man comforted her a little. It seemed as if she were doing 
 something to requite John Iving's tender carei " All I can do," she 
 thought, "is to keep Madge from making an immediate fool of her- 
 self. If she will only wait a year it won't be so noticeable, but her 
 infatuation— with Stephen Tully as her intimate tempter— the very 
 thought of it makes me shudder." 
 
120 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 Mrs. Kin^ was unusually gay at dinner. She felt she had accom- 
 plished her purpose, for Dell had refused to see Mr. Tully and the 
 coast would be left clear for her. Nor did she make any mistake, 
 for when later in the evening Mr. Tully was announced Miss Brown- 
 ing retired from the drawing-room with a frigid "good evening" and 
 a haughty bow. Returning, however, half an hour later to meet 
 some one in tha reception-room, she was forced to overhear some 
 scraps of conversation from across the hall. Mrs. King was chaflBng 
 him on his downcast looks and his answer startled her. 
 
 " Yes, I am down-hearted, I have every reason to be ? To-night, 
 for the Urst time in my life, I wished I were dead. I am shaken and 
 rattled till I don t know what to do." 
 
 Softly whispered words followed, Mrs. King was trying to com- 
 fort him and while Dell was talking to the poor woman who had 
 sought help from her she could hear Mrs. King telling the maid to 
 bring up a bottle of wine and some biscuit. 
 
 Back in her room again, Dell wondered what folly might be 
 expected next. The clink of the glasses in the dining-room fright- 
 ened her ; she knew Madge was not discreet, that Tully was reck- 
 less 1 Was she doing her duty in thus abandoning her task? 
 Trembling with nervousness she walked up and down her room 
 viewing the situation from every conceivable standpoint. She could 
 not appeal to Tully ; he would suspect her of jealousy or meet her 
 with scoffing and sneers. Slie had lost her hold on him and Madge 
 at the same time. How could she regain it in either case ? With 
 Mrs. King she knew she could do nothing except by encouraging 
 her fancy and endeavoring to keep the scandal from assuming too 
 rapid and public proportions. With Tully what could she do? As 
 she walked up and down her face flushed I Yes, It might be possible 
 by appearing sorry for him and willing to encourage his advances, to 
 regain her influence over him I But at what cost ? Madge would 
 hate her and at last she must refuse him and then the trouble 
 would begin again I Perhaps, thought she, it would be possible to 
 so separate them that no reconciliation would be possible. At any 
 rate it would be better than this weak flight from her post. 
 
 No sooner did she aecide, than after bathing her face she ran 
 down-stairs, glanced in the parlor and then iu the dining-room. 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Tully, I failed to find you in the draw 
 Ing-room, so I came here. I hope I am not intruding?" she in- 
 quired, 
 with a surprised look at the champagne bottle and the glasses. 
 
 "Not at all; delighted to see you," stammered Tully, starting 
 from his chair with unprecedented aw kwardness. 
 
 " Of course, Dell, you are not intruding," added Mrs. King with 
 
A VERY DIFFICULT POSITION 
 
 121 
 
 her most finished smile. " I wondered what took you away in such 
 unceremonious haste I " 
 
 " I wanted to ask your opinion, Mr. Tully ; a poor women was 
 just in to see me ; her husband was killed on the railway, and she 
 is left in want with a large family depending on her for support. 
 She has been told that the railway company can be made to pay 
 large damages, but she has no means to undertake a law suit. Will 
 you undertake it for her if there is any chance, and I will pay the 
 expenses?" 
 
 The chance to go into professional particulars relieved Tully of 
 his embarrassment, and soon he was chatting gaily with Dell, and 
 she was joking and laughing as she did in the days before John 
 King died. What had wroucht the change? With man's pre- 
 sumption he felt inclined to believe her jealous of Madge, and 
 inwardly decided not to be too easily won back by the capricious 
 beauty, yet he was too much in love not to make evident his willing- 
 ness to capitulate. 
 
 "I will send Mrs. Berdan to your oflBce to-morrow, and after 
 hearing what she has to say you can come up and let me kno'v the 
 result," said Dell with an astonishing display of confidence in hyr 
 voice. " Even if her case isn't very good, perhaps by using your 
 influence you might get a reasonable settlement for her— poor 
 woman she needs it." 
 
 " You may be sure I'll do my best," answered Tully impressively, 
 as he rose to go, " and if you will be at home I'll let you know 
 what I think of the case to-morrow night. " 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I'll be home and Bee McKinley will be here. Good 
 night." 
 
 Mrs. King tried to get an opportunity for a whisper, or some 
 tender passage, but Mr. Tully carefully avoided it, and Dell did 
 not try to make it any easier. . 
 
 " You seem to have changed your mind, Dell," snapped the 
 widow, when Tully liad gone. " I thought you weren't going to 
 gpeak to him 1 " 
 
 "You need not complain of the opportunities of pressing your 
 suit, and"— answered Dell, glancing significantly at the table— 
 "you did not neglect any of them." 
 
 "Dell!" cried Madge, her tone changing to one of passionate 
 entreaty, "Don't interfere with me. If I am married to Steve, I will 
 \m happy and safe ; if you prevent it I can't tell what may happen ! 
 Leave him to me, DelL You don't want him, and can get anyone ; 
 I love him, I love him ; leave him to me.'' 
 
 Dell could hardly tell whether Madge's tears and entreaties were 
 more disgusting than her confident coquetries, but rejecting the 
 
122 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 proffered embrace she bade her good-night and fled to her room, 
 ashamed of both Mrs. King and herself. 
 
 ii 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TEMPTATION AND DECEPTION. 
 
 The morning after Cora Burnham's discovery of the inner o£Sce, 
 a carpenter was brought to reset the lock, but found the floor had 
 sagged so much owing to the weight ot the safe that a new loch 
 would be necessary. He was instructed to procure one and after 
 he had fixed it, Mr. Killick being out, he handed the three little 
 Yale keys to Miss Burnham, Quickly untying the string she 
 slipped one of them into her pocket knowing that there were 
 only two with the other lock and that Killick would not expect 
 more. She handed them to him in his private room in the after- 
 noon and he asked no questions, his whole attention being concen- 
 trated on an effort to please his air stenographer. 
 
 " Kahn is coming down to-night to make a statement which is 
 exceedingly important and I am anxious to have it taken down in 
 full, but everything depends on the knowledge of what he says 
 being kept secret. I can't trust anyone but you and Dooley, and 
 unfortunately Dooley cannot write shorthand and the statement 
 is likely to be a very long one and— for that matter— Dooley will 
 be out of town. Would it be asking too much of you. Miss Burn- 
 ham, to come down this evening about eight and work for a couple 
 of hours?" 
 
 "Not at all," answered Cora huskily, her agitation almost over- 
 coming her. "Where shall I work?" 
 
 " It will have to be in my private ofllce, my sanctum sanctorum 
 as it were. Miss Burnham, for fear some of the clerks may come 
 back and overhear what is going on. As you are the only one of 
 ray staflf who knows of the existence of that inner room— not even 
 Dooley has ever been there— come in and see it. Miss Burnham, and 
 I will tell vou a very odd story about it," suggested the old man 
 sweetly, thinking it well to make her acquainted with the premises 
 so that she would not be frightened when coming in the evening. 
 He opened the door which first displayed the empty vault from 
 which the shelves had been taken, leaving only the two upright 
 planks which had supported them. On the other side of these sup- 
 ports was considerable vacant space and the thought suggested 
 itself to Cora that a man might easily conceal himself there. Push- 
 ing aside the portiere he ushered her into the room. The heavy 
 
TEMPTATION AND DECEPTION 
 
 123 
 
 curtains falling behind her startled her with a sense of seclusion 
 and fear. Turning to look at him, in her quick brain the plan was 
 suggested that almost anyone could follow her in the evening and 
 have ample opportunity of hiding in the empty vault, screened 
 from observation by the heavy curtains. The deflniteness of her 
 purpose gave her steadiness of nerve to resist the impulse to either 
 scream or fly, and she permitted old Killick to take her hand and 
 l)cnd over it as gracefully as his obese figure would permit and 
 plant a kiss on her knuckles. Seeming not to notice the salutation 
 she avoided him, not only by endeavoring to keep a chair or table 
 between them, but by a distance of manner, which he found 
 insurmouutable, though her sweet smiles and bright eyes sug- 
 gested that she merely considered it an inopportune time for 
 receiving caresses. With an affectation of curiosity she peered 
 into all the corners of the room, opened a cabinet— at which point 
 she had to refuse a glass of wine— and finally exclaimed, " Why, 
 this is the real vault then, is it, Mr. Killick?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, this is the real one. The other was evacuated 
 after the burglary, of which I told you. I have never had it repaired 
 since." 
 
 " It doesn't look like an ordinary vault, it is more like a safe." 
 
 "So it is," he answered, anxious to detain her. "Look at it. 
 It was made to keep jewelry rather than law papers, but it answers 
 my purpose very well. Most of the papers, you know, are kept in the 
 big vault outside in the office, I only keep my private ones in here.'' 
 
 " Why, you haven't any secrets have you, Mr. Killick," smiled 
 Cora, alluringly. He placed his flat fore-finger on his coarse lips 
 whispering, " H-u-s-h, I have lots of secrets, my dear Cora, but 
 some day I don't intend to have any from you." 
 
 " It wouldn't be safe to tell them to me, Mr. Killick," she smiled 
 over his shoulder as he showed her the vault. "Women can't 
 keep secrets you know." 
 
 " Yes, but I believe you can," he cried admiringly, at the same 
 time trying to put his arm around her, a motion which she eluded 
 without appearing to notice it. By this time she had formed a 
 coherent plan by which she might obtain possession of the vault 
 key for her father, and with growing confidence in her own ability 
 to keep Killick at a distance she became more confiding and less 
 reserved in her manner. 
 
 " Where is the key of the lock ? " said she. 
 
 "There is none," he answered with a laugh, "it is opened by a 
 few dexterous turns of the wrist like this." 
 
 " How strong your wrist must be to throw a great big bar like 
 that so easily." 
 
124 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 •* You could do it quite as easily my dear, just try it. See, turn 
 it three times round to thirty, twice back to fifty, once around to 
 seventy, and then, presto, it opens." 
 
 She tried it and was successful, and— with the numbers graven on 
 her mind as if on tablets of granite— to divert any suspicion she 
 tried it again, turning it once to thirty, twice to fifty, and three 
 times to seventy. It wouldn't work. As she knelt before the safe 
 apparently determined to open it again, he laughed at her ineffec- 
 tual efforts and the beads of perspiration caused by fear lest he 
 might suspect her, he mistook for excitement and laughed still more 
 heartily. At last bending quickly over her shapely head he suc- 
 ceeded in kissing her, and as she sprang up half in anger he simply 
 patted her band and said, " Never mind, Cora, I will show you how 
 to open it to-night." 
 
 When Ralph Moore heard Cora's adventures he at once made up 
 his mind that he would go with her to Killick's ofllce. For a time 
 it was almost decided that Mrs. Burnham should accompany Cora 
 to do propriety and keep the old lawyer off the scent. Mrs. Burn- 
 ham, however, decidedly objected to sitting in the outer office for 
 an hour or two, and understanding that her father would be 
 concealed in the vault, Cora at last decided she had better go 
 alone. At eight o'clock she pushed open the outer door of the 
 darkened office, tapped at Mr. Killick's door and was at once 
 admitted. The spring-lock snapped behind her but her father had 
 the key and she knew he could follow, but when the lawyer was 
 showing her into the inner room her blood almost turned cold as 
 he carefully closed the vault door after them. 
 
 " Oh, don't," she cried, " that frightful door might get closed and 
 no one be able to get it open." 
 
 " Oh, no, it isn't locked. See, turn the handle a little to one side 
 and it pushes open." 
 
 "Oh, please leave it a little way open, I am so frightened of being 
 smothered to death or something." 
 
 " All right," laughed Killick ; but as the door was slightly ajar he 
 took more pains to draw the curtains, and three minutes after- 
 wards Ralph Moore quietly slipped through the door into the vault 
 and crept behind the beam. 
 
 " You got here quite early. Miss Cora," chirped Mr. Killick. 
 "Kahn may be half an hour late, and while we are waiting for 
 him I suppose we might as well talk. Aha," he laughed somewhat 
 awkwardly, "I say we might as well talk, I really told him not to 
 come before half-past eight so that I might have a talk with 
 you. Have a glass of wine. Miss Burnham, it won't do you any 
 harm. It is beautiful wine. You know I am a temperance man, 
 
TEMPTATION AND DECEPTION 
 
 125 
 
 still In my private life I permit myself a few luxuries In which 
 I never indulge before the world for fear my example might be 
 bad. There is nothing lil<e affording a good example, Miss Cora, 
 even if one's inner life is a little bit contradictory. You know if 
 people all kept themselves carefully guarded from evil appearances, 
 we should at least have no glaring vices, and the trouble of con- 
 :ealment would prevent the great majority from intrigues which, 
 very often you know. Miss Burnham, are unsatisfactory things. 
 But then,'' said he, unconsciously slipping down in his chair and 
 putting the tips of his fingers together and looking at the ceilic s". 
 "what is life without an excitement of some sort? What is the 
 hum-drum of law, of medicine — yes, my dear, even of the pulpit— 
 unless there is a variety in life to lend spice to the burdensome 
 days? Well, you have already found out that I am not exactly 
 what I seem. The homely and fat old man who has to wear spec, 
 tacles is nothing but a boy after all— Do take a glass of wine, Miss 
 Burnham." 
 
 Cora touched her lips to the glass and oowed her acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 " Nothing but a boy after all, full of pranks and capers ; yes, my 
 dear, and full of sentiment, love— yes, I am, my dear, just as full of 
 sentiment as I was when I was twenty years old ; a perfect boy» 
 making ballads to my mistress' eyebrow ; and you know, my dear, 
 that it is your eyebrow " 
 
 "My eyebrow, Mr. Killick; why how absurd." 
 
 " I know it is quite absurd— ha 1 ha ! ha !— awfully absurd, that 
 a repulsive old fellow like me should have dreams of a pretty face 
 and a divine form. Drink your wine, Miss Burnham, really it 
 won't hurt you. Yes, it is very absurd. I recognize the fact myself, 
 and facts are the things that we must recognize in this world ; not 
 dreams, not what we would wish, not romantic reveries— facts, 
 facts ; hard, cold facts ; stern, uncompromising facts; sentimentally, 
 absurd facts— anything that is a fact must be taken into account ; 
 we must reckon with it as if it were fate. I don't know any 
 other fate than the facts of everyday life. The fact is you are poor 
 the fact is I am rich ; a further fact and what is more, there exists 
 the fact that you can be rich, even if I have to be poor, if you will 
 be kind to rae. I suppose you think I have no other ambition than 
 wealth. Men about town laugh and say Mammon is old Killick's 
 god— he cares for nothing but gold. They are wrong, my dear- 
 very, very wrong, my dear Cora. Money is nothing to me except for 
 what it will buy— I don't mean who it will buy, but the comforts 
 It will procure for those I love. Now, I love you 1 Don't be startled, 
 Miss Burnham, don't be startled I You have long known it ; I am 
 
126 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 a loveless old man. The men in my own profession hate mc ; I am 
 too smart for them. My clients are no longer my friends after they 
 get my bill. I am so ugly I am afraid to talk to a jury. My wife 
 is a complaining invalid who seems never to have forgotten the 
 favor she conferred on me by marrying me and turning herself 
 over into the hands of a doctor. She never has a kind word for me. 
 Her whole dream is of somo handsome lover who had Jilted her 
 before she accepted me. Well, there is no love lost. She likes me 
 as well as I like her. If I dared 1 would give her a spoonful of 
 poison tomorrow. If you will be my wife, ' continued the old man, 
 coolly, not removing his eyes from the point of observation on the 
 ceiling, "I will see that she doesn't interfere with the ceremony. 
 When I say tomorrow I don't mean the day after this, but later on. 
 What do you think about it?" 
 
 As he spoke the old man straightened up in his chair and sat 
 gazing fixedly at the dumfounded Cora. 
 
 "What do you think of it. Miss Burnham? Don't be startled, 
 because as I told you before, this is a world of cold and unsenti- 
 mental facts. If you are willing to marry me I will see that you 
 have a chance to do it. You will be a lady. I will give you all the 
 wealth you want. I am one of the richest men in the city. There 
 is nothing between us but a feeble life that the doctors have been 
 expecting to go out every day. What think you?" 
 
 " Mr. Killick, how dare you suggest such a thing to me ; I 
 would be the accessory to a murder?" 
 
 "Tut, tut, girl, don't put it that way. I could do it by leaving 
 a window open, by a draught in the room. It would be a mercy 
 to her and a godsend to me if she were in the other world. I 
 am an old man ; it won't be many years before you will be left to 
 your own devices, to do as you like with my money and with your 
 own. I will settle a hundred thousand dollars on you and I will 
 make you heiress to a hundred and fifty thousand more." 
 
 "It is a very tempting offer, Mr. Killick," said Cora cautiously, 
 "but then you know offers of this kind are rather dangerous 
 things. I have no doubt that you have that much money, but after 
 we were married I might not get it." 
 
 "I'll make a settlement on you of a hundred thousand dollars 
 which will be delivered into your hands before the ceremony, and 
 more than uhct, I will make you heiress to the other money at once. 
 Yes, my dear, at once. I am not afraid of the result. I will show 
 you how I can put you in possession of one of the largest for- 
 tunes held by any woman in the Dominion." 
 
 Killick stopped for a moment. He wondered to himself if he 
 were mot going too far, but the infatuation of his passion was so 
 
TEMPTATION AND DECEPTION 
 
 127 
 
 l^roat he was blinded to the bri^^htly cold and ca1('ulatin({ eyes 
 which were liidden by the drooping eyelids of liiH fair auditor. 
 " You remember that loan we made of Miss Browning's money 
 the other day to Col. Moore?" 
 
 A ilush crept slowly up into Cora's face, but she nodded aH 
 unconcernedly as possible, " Yes, I remember." 
 
 " Well, that property does not belong to Col. Moore any more 
 than It does to me; not so much, for I have some title and he 
 has none. All I have to do is to produce an heir or an heiress 
 and the whole amount will revert to him or her. I have already 
 frightened him so that he is willing to give me almost any amount 
 I ask. by alleging that I know where the pro])er heir is to be 
 found. Of course that is a professional fiction. There is no heir. 
 The property is his certainly enough unless I invent some per- 
 sonage. I have all the family documents in my ponsession. There 
 is no reason that you should not assume the position and obtain 
 possession. Hov/ would you like to appear as a Canadian Roger 
 Tichborne, the fair claimant of the Moore estates?" 
 
 "Oh, I think it would be lovely." exclaimed Cora, her dark eyes 
 Hashing with excitement. She sat facing the portiere while Killick 
 had his back to it, and a glimpse of her father's face peering through 
 the aperture had given her a great reinforcement of strength which 
 Killick mistook for the bursting into life of the flame of avarice he 
 had been fostering. 
 
 " Well, I can fix it for you, Cora, and between us we shall be one 
 ot the richest couple that ever went journeying. We will do Lon- 
 don," cried the old man, smacking his lips and clapping his hands 
 together, then forming them into the usual pyramid, *' then to 
 Paris, Berlin, Vienna, spend the winter in Italy. Oh, won't it be 
 lovely spending a winter under the blue skies of Italy, wandering 
 about the ruins of Rome? And Venice, Cora. Wouldn't it be 
 glorious these winter evenings, to be floating in a gondola, be- 
 tween stately palaces in Venice?" 
 
 Cora laughed, intending her voice to express an ecstacy of 
 delight, but somehow it sounded difTerently, and Killick started 
 angrily. " You laugh at me. Miss Burnham. I doubtless make an 
 ass of myself. Ha I ha I ha 1 I suppose I should look too funny 
 in a gondola, beside a pretty woman like you. Don't lau^h at me, 
 though ; that is one thing I won't permit. I can love you well 
 enough to endow you with my fortune ; but if you laugh at me, I 
 would hate you to the point of doing what I expressed my willing- 
 ness to do for Mrs. Killick." 
 
 " You mistake me, Mr. Killick ; I laughed with delight at the 
 pictures you were painting of a winter in Italy. If there is any- 
 
128 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 thing I have dreamed about, it has been Italy. When nmmma and 1 
 have talked about travulinp;, it lias always been Italy I have wanted 
 to Ko to. You don't know how strong a temptation you were 
 olTerinK mo when you spoke of Italy. You must excuse my silly 
 laugh, Mr. KiUick ; it was really one of those hysterical sounds 
 which make one seem silly, and it had the misfortune in tli!» jaso 
 of making you angry." As she spoke, Cora moved from her "hair, 
 and for the first time in the history of their odd courtship, placed 
 her hand on Mr. KUlick's shoulder. "Will you fc-gi. a me 7 "she 
 asked. 
 
 Killick was entirely overcome. 
 
 "Forgive you!" he cried, reaching up and grasping the hand 
 resting on his shoulder. " I am glad it made me angry, so that 
 this reconciliation could be brought about. Cora, you are my 
 weakness. I am your fool, and I know it. 1 have never been this 
 way before. I know I am clay in your hands. I try to resist and 
 cannot, it doesn't seem wortti while resisting. All my other ambi- 
 tions fade away when you are near me. I think that you will 
 betray, that you will lead me an awful life, that you will accept 
 me for my money only, that you may even dishonor my name (if 
 I can ever give it to you), and yet I would give everything I have 
 for one moment of possession. You seem to mb co be a lady, to Have 
 honorable feelings; you never tell anything that happens in the 
 office. You seem to be one of those rare women who can be 
 trusted. I think of these things to console myself, when I know 
 that every passion and weakness in me has resolved my nature to 
 trust you, rigtit or wrong. Take a hundred of my hardest law cases 
 and I havi noL searched for evidence, for precedents, as I have 
 searched in y )u and in myself for reasons why I could trust you. I 
 have thought of those rare instances where old men have had the 
 good fortune to win the confidence and affection of young women. 
 I have read biography, history, everything, to find some reason why 
 I dare trust you and make you the absolute mistress of my 
 heart, and secrets and everythrng else. Cora," Killick's voice 
 trembled and there were tears in his big meaty eyes, eyes which, no 
 matter how ugly they were, did not express in their dull ugliness 
 the bright and masterful mind within, "I have found very little. 
 It all comes back to the point where I ask myself may not you be 
 the first one, may not 1 be one of the few who win .such treasure f 
 Happiness is a rare gem. Why aftsr all these years of toil, cunning, 
 yes, conspiracy— Corti, I might almost say crime— should I not have 
 one glimpse of happiness? It hasn't come to me yet. These wines 
 when they fell to my lot with this room, I tried them thinking per- 
 chance there might be something in their liquid depths which would 
 
TEMPT AT I OS AND DHCEmON 
 
 V ^n hour's Kiitisfnction ; HoinetliiiiK—Honietliinft, anytliinp 
 cept the hittiTii'.'HH uml nraHi)iiiK that hid ho far liUed my life. 
 Tl/.are Is nothing. Even if you refu.sfi me, now, if you are false to 
 me afterwards, your face, the dreanisi I have had of your beauty, 
 of the posHibility of having it for mine, outweigh any other hap- 
 pinesB I have ever had. You can see, Cora, how after this dream 
 has been revived by my coming and finding you in Tully's office, I 
 have pursued the phantom, and just now your laugh— one which I 
 confess I didn't understand— l)rought me to myself with an almost 
 electric shock. Can you really think of rambles in Borne and Venice 
 and Florence, fair Florence of which Dante sang: 
 " Unrrruteful Florence 1 
 Dante wanders far." 
 
 Can you think of this thing without laughing, without going into 
 a perfect paroxysm of laugliing at my presumption in thinking that 
 in my old days my wealth could hope for intelligent loveliness, love- 
 liness like yours, to share what would be left for me of life?" 
 
 There was somet'ing in the old man's face and in his voice 
 which had lured ^o many people to a belief in him which now 
 fascinated the young girl in the midst of her plan to win his confi- 
 dence and betray it. The genuine feeling he had displayed, the 
 answering emotion it had excited in her, were those occasional 
 exhibitions of genuineness which in the most artful and heartless 
 scheraings almost make the participators believe their pretences are 
 realities. The most oily and the most insinuating and seductive 
 appeals poured into the private or the public car are unavailing 
 unless there is a heart voice that can occasionally be heard. The 
 success of extraordinary ventu ■'^s of this kind depends upon the 
 power of the advei.turer to feel for the moment a genuine impulse 
 and to answer the genuine appeals of others as ii' his whole heart 
 were laid bare before them. These two plotters as they talked to 
 one another each felt convinced of the other's sincerity, and, as 
 they pictured the future, drifted into real nearness of spirit. We 
 wonder sometimes how people can bo misled ; how an artful man 
 can mislead a woman, how a designing woman can mislead a man; 
 we must always take into account the ouulity of sex, and that 
 with contiguity there is a response excited which is momentarily 
 genuine. It is sometimes really strong in magnetic people, and 
 where magnetism of this kind meets a similar quality both are 
 almost sure to be misled, each believing in its own triumph, it any 
 rate, this was true of both Cora and Killick. At the point, however, 
 when her admirer began to be too fervid, with an idea not only of 
 testing the combination of the vault but seeing the Moore docu- 
 ments themselves, she at an opportune moment, when modesty 
 
13C 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 could be aHeged as the reason for changing the subject of ma. 
 versation, wundered if she couid open the vault. 
 
 "Try it," smiled Killick, waddling beside her and attempting to 
 put bis arm around her as she bent over the door. Of course she 
 didn't know the combination, couldn't think of it. She could get 
 thirty and fifty and seventy in any conceivable shape except the 
 proper ones. Then he showed her, his fat hand enveloping her 
 slender fingers several times during the operation. And yet the 
 next time she could not get it, though she was well aware that her 
 father during these lessons was marking down in his memorandum 
 book the three times around to thirty, twice back to fifty, once 
 around to seventy. At last she was able to accomplish the task, 
 and Killick showed her the deeds and papers to which he referred, 
 took them out, read the will to her, pausing at the beginning with 
 this explanation : 
 
 " You know, of course, Miss Burnham, you are expecting Kahn 
 up here to-night. Well, as a matter of fact, the Kahn part of this 
 programme is mythical. You will pardon me for that, won't you?" 
 he whispered, in an attempt to be playful. " What I really wanted 
 you for was to arrange a partnership between you and me, and now 
 we are here and have got along so famously, I will read you a 
 little slip I have in my book which shows what will be necessary 
 to prove the heir or heiress of the Moore estate. There it Is ; here 
 is the will. Let us read the will first." He read it over, explained 
 the points of la'/ sud put it back in the box. Then he read a 
 minute description, in his own handwriting, of the elder brother, 
 Kalph Moore, of the third brother, some time deceased ; went 
 through a lot of papers relating to an estate which was about to 
 come into the possession of the Moores from an old relative in 
 England. "This," he explained, "is one of the principal things." 
 
 Cora was thoroughly interested, and it may be supposed the 
 listener behind the curtain was not unmindful of tKse develop- 
 ments. 
 
 " Really, I was never so excited in my life, Mr. Killick. What 
 a romance it would l)e for me to assume the 7'ole of claimant I 
 Would you mind giving me a glass of wine, I reallv fremble so at 
 the thought of it." This time she drank it all. Killick took two 
 half tumblers of brandy. She stood beside a table, her hand 
 nestling confidingly at his arm. What a spectacle it would have 
 been for the old lawyers, money shavers, brokers and commercial 
 pirat«s, who looked upon Killick as the personification of money 
 getting, had they been able to see him in that room with the young 
 girl, leading him such a dangerous dance ! His eyes began to 
 gleam through their meaty surface, and Cora, with the fear that 
 
AT CROSS-PURPOSES 
 
 181 
 
 then: might be some slip between the getting of this paper and the 
 pla.) she had laid, was resolving in her mind whether it would 
 be butter to slip the will into her pocket ; no, she knew it would 
 not nt. iShe tried to think of some place she could conceal it. She 
 took it out and looked at it. Killick was pouring another glass of 
 brandy. It fell on the floor. He did not notice the quick motion of 
 her foot as she kicked it towards liur father, and the hand reached 
 down through the aperture. But Moore's head was shaken omin- 
 ously ; she knew she had made a mistake, but the knowledge of a 
 protector near at hand made her bold, and she dared to taste 
 another glass of wine, persuading Killick to take another brandy; 
 then she piled the papers in the box. and together they put them 
 away. She glanced at her watch : it was after ten. 
 
 *' Why, Mr. Killick, it is after ten. I must go home." 
 " Not before you give me one real, genuine kiss." 
 " Oh, it must be before that, Mr. Killick. I should not until 
 things are different," she answered, significantly. 
 
 "It doesn't matter, we must sign and seal the bargain now." 
 " Well, if you must," she murmured, and she kissed him. 
 "I will see you home, Cora," He put out the lights and they 
 went out together. The sound of their footsteps had not died 
 away on the stairs when the porferes were parted and the light 
 of a dark lantern gleamed on the combination of the vault. 
 •Thirty and three times around," whispered the eager voice, 
 " fifty twice and once around to seventy." The vault door yielded, 
 the Moore family papers were buttoned into the bulging pocket of 
 the old gamester, but he did not go. Pulling a screwdriver from 
 his pocket he changed the combination. He knew that Killick 
 dared not bring a locksmith to repair it for fear it would make 
 public the existence of the room. He wanted a few days for prepa- 
 ration. 
 
 His calculations were correct. The combination o" ths vauiC was 
 not repaired for several weeks. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. I 
 
 A T C R O SS • P U R P O S ES. 
 
 "What do I think of it, Dell? I think it is the meanest thing 
 I ever heard you propose. I didn't think you could be so cruel." 
 
 Til is was Bee Mcivinley's answer when Dell asked her what she 
 thought of her plan for protecting Mrs. King from her vn folly 
 and Tally's mercenary advances. The longer Dell had d laidered 
 the matter the more fixed her intentions became of fighting Mr. 
 
132 
 
 A BAD MAy'S SWEETHEART 
 
 Tuily with hia own weapons. AV'ith mature thou.ulit the plan d.d 
 not grow leas distasteful to her honest nature, hut tliat Konip snri> 
 course was an absolute neres-iity and within the line of her duty, 
 made her determined witliout making her brave. She felt she han 
 courage enough to undertake it, and that when she had once begun, 
 she would be able to carry it through, but she wanted a confidante, 
 someone to whom she could explain the real meaning; o' her conduct; 
 someone who, should she fail, would know th;-c he' ^JTorts had 
 been prompted by a good motive; someone wit'i ho '\e could 
 consult, and who would assist her in carrying c. \ . jhe pro- 
 posed. When at last she decided on Bee McKinley her m'nd felt 
 easier. She would insist on having Bee always with her when 
 Mr. Tully was likely to be about, and in this way would tie able 
 to encourage him without giving him an opportunity for a definite 
 declaration. Counting on Bee's intense love of fun, it had never 
 entered her mind that she would object to joining in such a part- 
 nership. A note from Uell had brought Bee over early in the even- 
 ing, and they were closeted together in Dell's pretty dressing-room. 
 
 "'Meanl' ' Cruel !'" exclaimed Dell indignantly. "What is 
 there mean or cruel about it?" 
 
 " There is nothing about it that isn't mean or cruel, Dell Brown- 
 ing," retorted Bee. "There are plenty of ways to make him stop 
 his folly with Mrs. King without leading him to believe that ycu 
 ^ove him. Why, it will break his heart and send him to tLo 
 dogs. Poor Tully, you don't seem to think that he has any feeli ; > . ' 
 
 "Now, Bee, do have some sense. A man can't have » 
 feelings, or enough heart to be broken, if he makes despera 
 to half-a dozen women in as many months, and if there 
 other way to stop him I wish you would propose it.' 
 
 "Why, tell him right to his face what you think of his con- 
 duct and say that he must quit. 1 am Just as sure as I am alive 
 he would," cried Bee earnestly. 
 
 "'Would' what? Quit his attentions to Madge? I am just 
 as sure as I am alive he would do nothing of the sort. He 13 
 eaten up by vanity, and would think I was jealous and would try 
 to put his arm around me and coax me to make it up. Bah 1 I 
 know him too well to have any confidence in the possibility of 
 driving him out of his egotism. I would humiliate . rself for 
 nothing— for worse than nothing. He would go on ir f.km% more 
 desperate love than ever co Mrs. King, with the idea ci ak-n;i; 
 me so jealous that I could stand it no longer, and then at would 
 feel sure of my rushing into his arms without more ado." 
 
 "Well, let me tell !iim, then. I .tn. not afraid of him, and he 
 couldn't think me jealous.' 
 
 nc 
 
 X:. ■'.: 
 
AT CROSS-PURPOSES 
 
 133 
 
 "But where would you tell him that you had obtained your in- 
 formation? Thank goodness this matter hasn't become public jet. 
 He would suspect at once that I had sent you, and that would l)e 
 worse than if I told him myself. Don't you dare to speak to him 
 about it, Bee. I know of nothing that would humble me so much 
 as being suspected of employing a go-between." 
 
 Little Bee sat in the low rocking-chair, her hands clasped around 
 her knee, as was her wont in moments of abandonment. For a 
 few minutes she was silent, attentively studying Dell's face. 
 
 "Dell," she exclaimed, as if she had suddenly arrived at a 
 decision, " I wili do as you bid me, but remember one thing, I am 
 not doing it to keep Mrs. King from making a fool of herself, but 
 because I believe you like Tully yet, and it I encourage you and 
 give him a chance to show how much in earnest he is, everything 
 will come out all right yet." 
 
 "I don't care what you think, little silly. I shall be able to 
 prove that you are very far astray, and more than that, you will 
 get to see so much of Tully's true character that you won't cham- 
 pion him again. You promise not to run away and leave me alone 
 with him, not for a single moment!" 
 
 " You needn't be afraid, Dell, I will stay in sight, but I won't 
 always promise to be with'i hearing," answered Bee, still looking 
 quizzically at her friend. 
 
 When, later in the evening, Mr. Tully arrived, Dell took 
 possession of him before Mrs. King had r chance to make a move. 
 Mrs. Flambert came in later, then Mr. Stryde, but Deli's kind- 
 ness to Mr. Tully was so marked, the banker did not stay long. 
 Mrs. Flambert was delighted, and with a very shrewd suspicion 
 that Mrs. King was anything but pleased, attached herself to that 
 lady and became exceedingly enthusiastic in speaking of her 
 pleasure at seeing that Dell had at last made up her mind to marry 
 Mr. Tully. 
 
 "It does look almost like it— whether he is willing or not," 
 observed Mrs. King with great acidity. 
 
 Mrs. Flaml)ert v.'as now certain of her ground. 
 
 "He is 'willing' enough. I told him one day he was spoiling 
 his chances by being over-anxious, and lately the artful rascal 
 has been flirting with others, just to make her jealous." 
 
 "He seems to have succeeded," answered Mrs. King, with a 
 yawn and a malicious glance towards the conversation chair in 
 which Tully and Dell were seated. 
 
 They were almost facing each other. Dell's face was brighter and 
 more vivacious than it had been for many a day. Tully's intense, 
 eager look was very unlike the serene smile with which he ordi- 
 
134 
 
 A BAD MAirS SWEETHEART 
 
 narily concealed his feelings. He was speaking rapidly, now and 
 then making a quick, graceful sweep with his arm, as If illus- 
 trating some irresistible or violent circumstance. The astute 
 little Bee sat strumming on the piano, as she afterwards db- 
 icribed it playing "incidental music" for the love scene in the 
 imversation chair, and pretty and suitable music it was— a bar or 
 wo from one well-known song after another— plaintive minors, 
 sweet refrains repeating and repeating tbetnselves, interspersed 
 with gay movements and snatches from brigiit operatic airs. The 
 music effectually i)reventcd Mrs, King and Mrs. B'lambert from 
 overhearing what was being said, and when Bee's sharp ears 
 detected a lull in the Flambert-King conversation, the music grew 
 much louder. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Tully," said Dell, laughingly, "don't make explana 
 tions. I always understood that men of the world never make 
 them— they are so apt to explain themselves into a worse situation 
 than the one they are trying to get out of." 
 
 "Pardon me. Miss Browning, but I am not speaking as a man 
 of the world now. I must explain. You may not understand, you 
 may not believe me, but for Heaven's sake let me put the best 
 construction I can on my conduct." 
 
 "Don't botiier constructing it, Mr. Tully. It would be easier 
 to reconstruct yourself." 
 
 "But I want to make you believe that there is a possibility of 
 my reconstructing myself. You have treated me so coldly of lato 
 that I have been in the deepest depths of despair lest I had com- 
 mitted the unpardonable sin, and was to be forever shut out from 
 
 tlio light of your countenance " 
 
 "Now, now, Mr. Tully, don't ask me to stretch my •■mar,ination 
 too far. I can't conceive of you being in despair, and certainly you 
 haven't shown any symptoms of dejection. I am afraid jou are 
 trying to impose on my credulity," retorted Dell. 
 
 "But you know. Miss Browning, people are sometimes very sick 
 without showing it. No matter what you may think of my be- 
 havior that night after the service at the Pavilion, or of the l»td 
 taste I showed in accepting the invitation, I don't want you to 
 believe me a hypocrite or ifnagino that I would go about In sa« k 
 cloth and ashes so that people might think me repentant; never- 
 theless, I am sorry. The cynical way you laugh at my explanation 
 is much harder for me to bear than the sharp reproofs and candid 
 criticism— er—, and candid criticism in which you used to indulge." 
 "Well, I won't indulge in it any more, Mr. Tully; I think I 
 mu&t have got to taking life too seriously, so you see I am trying 
 to reconstruct myself. Let us agree to be frivolous.'' 
 
AT CROSSPUliPOSES 
 
 135 
 
 " But I don't want to, I never felt more serious in my life, and 
 
 you can't be frivolous. You may be cynical " 
 
 "Well, tbcn, why not cynical, Mr. Tully?" interrupted Dell. 
 "Is that a role that you wish to monopolize?" 
 
 "It is certainly a role that I don't desire to see you adopt. I 
 meet enough of it in the world to make me anxious to And 
 someone who is sincere. I always liked you— I say 'liked' be- 
 cause I dare not use a stronger word— because you are restful. 
 After one lights in the courts with business men who are willing 
 to adopt any role to gain their ends, with criminals who will 
 make any plea to escape justice, I have looked with admiration 
 —yes, adoration— at you because you are always the same. You 
 had the ring of purity in your voice, the stamp of sincerity in 
 your face. To-night you seem different. The change frightens - 
 me. Have I fallen so low that you feel you can no longer treat 
 me as you do other people?" 
 
 "You flatter yourself, Mr. Tully," answered Dell, with a hard- 
 ening of her voice, " when you imagine I would study a particular 
 role for your especial benefit." 
 
 " Believe me. Miss Browning, I am not accusing you of studying 
 any part, only arming yourself against me with a cynicism which 
 I know you do not feel towards others— it is a doubting of my 
 motives, and wounds me as disbelief in my individual self." 
 
 "Oh, you vain man, you apply everything to yourself. I really 
 suspect you of imagining that the world was created for you and 
 the rest of us were put here to amuse you." 
 
 "Yes, I know that is what you believe," answered Tully, 
 dejectedly, "but if you knew how out of humor I am with the 
 world and myself you would find no reason for your suspicion. I 
 have tried to take life as a joke, I thought it easier to laugh at 
 my own misfortunes than those of other people, or to fight with 
 rather than try to change what I did not create, but now my mis- 
 eries are past the joking point. You do not know," he whispered 
 earnestly, " how utterly miserable I am, how I hate myself, or what 
 insurmountable reasons I have for my deadly disgust of what I have 
 done and what I am. Do you remctnber once my telling you that I 
 believed a man could stand on one foot in the hot sun all day and 
 rest himself by just looking at you? You are so gentle, so 
 cheerful, your presence In a room seems to quiet every disturb- 
 ance, the touch of your hand to set everything straight. I long for 
 the privilege of being near you and feeling the quiet and content- 
 ment you seem to bring. I have been too thoughtless, selfish 
 and careless to shape my life towards the possibility of such 
 happiness, yet after all it wasn't selfishness alone. There always 
 
136 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 w 
 
 seemed to be a gulf fixed between us. Now it is wider than ever, 
 never so wide as to-night, though for the first time in months I 
 am permitted to bo near you. Your presence is a reproach. I 
 know your distrust of me is so well-deserved it tortures me, and 
 yet," lie cried, leaning towards her, "Dives, In the agony of his 
 lost state, didn'c look up to heaven with greater longing, with 
 more bitter remorse, than I look at you, and wish to God I had 
 died before I met you." 
 
 "Why, Mr. Tully," exclaimed Doll, involuntarily moving 
 further away from him, impressed in spite of herself by his 
 despairing voice and pale face and the brilliancy of his eyes 
 under which were dark circles that she attributed to recent dissi- 
 pation. As she moved from him he threw himself back against 
 the circling arm of the cliair. She laughed somewhat nervously. 
 
 "Really you can't expect mo to be serious when you talk in 
 this very melodramatic strain." 
 
 Mrs. King and Mrs. Flambert had observed the very striking 
 passage in the dialogue and had found it impossible to restrain 
 their curiosity sufliciently to continue their conversation. IJee at 
 che piano had also noticed from the corners of her bright eyes that 
 Tully was growing excited and the music took a very loud and merry 
 turn which startled the widow into an fjfTort to appear unobservant. 
 
 "I suppose you thought you were addressing the jury, didn't 
 you, Tully," cried Mrs. Flambert, raising her voice. 
 
 " Yes, I was giving Miss Browning a sample of my ornate and 
 persuasive style," Tully answered with a forced laugh, but the 
 music was too loud to permit a conversation at such long range 
 and Mrs. Flambert did not attempt to continue it. 
 
 After the awkward pause Tully and Dell seemed unable to 
 renew their dialogue, and Mrs. Flambert suggested a visit to the 
 conservatory to Mrs. King who very unwillingly abandoned the 
 field to her rival. Bee very unwisely made a movement as if to 
 follow them and Dell took alarm. 
 
 "Bee, take Mr. Tully out to the conservatory. I must pay my 
 good-night visit to Jack if you will excuse me for a few minutes, 
 Mr. Tully." 
 
 Jack was not asleep, but too angry to forgive Dell for having 
 preferred Mr. Tully's society to his. "Jack, you are real cross," 
 she whispered coaxingly, as she clasped his face between her 
 hands, "and I am going to kles you good night and leave you." 
 
 He still refused to speak, but after she had gone he turned bis 
 face to the wall and cried himself to sleep. A little before ten 
 Kate McKinley and Teddy Grigsby called for Bee and at once 
 became the butt of Mrs. Flanibert's rather inconsiderate wit. 
 
AT CROSS PURPOSES 
 
 137 
 
 "Come over here, Teddy, and sit down by me." 
 
 "Really, Mrs. Flambert, I am afraid of you," answered the 
 blushing Teddy as he pushed his spectacles closer to his eyes, 
 "you ask such very direct questions. Shall I go over to her, 
 Kitty; do you think it would be safe?" he inquired, turning his 
 kindly face towards Miss McKinley with that faltering and un- 
 certain look one may notice in the countenance of a blind man 
 when trying to And his way. 
 
 "Of course, Teddy," laughed Kitty with exceeding pleasure 
 in her face that she should be asked, "if she asks you any lead- 
 ing questions don't answer." 
 
 " Now, Teddy," began Mrs, Flambert when she had got her 
 victim in the seat beside her, " what is this I hear about you and 
 Kitty?" 
 
 "I— I— I recall— you had better ask Ki:ty herself.'" 
 
 " Come here, Catherine," cried Mrs. Flambert authoritatively, 
 " are you and Teddy really engaged ? " 
 
 " No," answered the matter-of-fact Miss McKinley, " we are 
 not." 
 
 "Why, Kitty," interrupted Teddy, "I thought we were." 
 
 " Well, I should like to know what made you think so, Mr. 
 Grigsby," answered Kate, sharply, 
 
 " Well, really, I— of course I am wrong. It was presumption 
 in me to think so; I ought to have said that I hoped so." 
 
 Mrs. King and Bee were at the piano, where Dell was preparing 
 to play an accompaniment for Mr. Tully, so the indefatigable 
 match-maker seeing they were unobserved, placed one of her 
 arms affectionately around Kitty McKinley's waist and the other 
 she passed through the long and awkward arm of Mr. Grigsby. 
 As she drew them together she whispered, " Kitty, why don't 
 you have pity on Teddy ? Tho great big goose will never have 
 courage enough to ask you any more directly than he has already. 
 Let me be the witness of your engagement." 
 
 There was a little pause just long enough to make Kitty feel 
 that she had not betrayed too much eagerness when she answered 
 " Well, if Teddy wants it to bo so." 
 
 "Want it, Kitty," stammered Teddy, "you know I want you, 
 Kitty, I have been trying to say so for a month and I thought I 
 had made myself clear — " 
 
 " Well, you have now any way, Teddy, and I want you to do 
 something for me, both of you, mind, I must have your united 
 help." 
 
 •'What is it," demanded straightforward Kitty. 
 
 "I want you to help Tully to make bis peace with Dell." 
 
138 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 iti 
 
 f i 
 
 " I am sure I shall help you with the greatest pleasure," whis- 
 pered Kitty, but Teddy with a sudden jerk which straightened 
 up his tall form seemed inclined to object. 
 
 "I can count on you too, can't I, Teddy 1" inquired Mrs. 
 Flambert. 
 
 " It isn't any of my business you know, Mrs. Flambert, I should 
 be awfully obliged if you wouldn't ask me, and at best I should 
 be sure to do more harm than good." 
 
 "You wou'.d, indeed," answered Mrs. Flambert, "if I left you 
 to do your own planning. All I want is foi> Kitty to do as I tell 
 her, and for you to do as Kitty says. My heart is set on making 
 this match, and I don't care what anyone thinks, TuUy only needs 
 half a chance and he will be a good man. Now don't throw back 
 your head, Teddy, like that, an old married woman like me 
 knows more about these things than a clumsy, near-sighted, 
 overgrown boy like you. You hear things without seeing them, 
 and suspect Tully of being much worse than he really is." 
 
 "Oh, don't misunderstand me, Mrs. Flambert, I like Steve 
 Tully. For many years wo have been intimate friends, I haven't 
 a word to say against him, only I really can't dip into anybody 
 else's business without feeling that I ought to be kicked." 
 
 " But you won't have to ' dip,' Teddy, I shall do the ' dipping,' 
 but you must act under Kitty's instructions." 
 
 "Of course, of course," exclaimed Teddy, pushing his spec- 
 tacles up close to his eyes tliat he might better And his way 
 around the chair to where Kitty stood, " I shall do anything that 
 Kitty says," 
 
 "Kitty," said Mrs. Flambert tendp.rly, her bright eyes filling 
 with tears, " you have found a treasure in Teddy. Tht're are few 
 like him ; few, very few men who hate to interfere in other 
 people's business. If you aren't good to him you will deserve to 
 be miserable all the rest of your life." 
 
 Teddy had found Kitty's Hand resting on the back of the chair, 
 and as he held it tightly in his own, he answered: "I am not 
 afraid of her, but of myself; I am so clumsy and stupid I Do you 
 think I can make you happy, Kitty?" 
 
 " Yes, Teddy." 
 
 "How like a pair of babies you talkl Ck>me home at once; 
 you are too young to be out after dark," cried Mrs. Flambert, 
 with a desperate but ined'ectual attempt to get them out of the 
 room long enough for Tully to have another word with Dell. 
 
 "May I come to-morrow night?" Tully implored, as he was 
 about to take his leave. "I iiave something I must tell you. I 
 could not to-night, for we were not alone." 
 
IN THE NATURE OF A CRISIS 
 
 139 
 
 "Ton may come if you wish," answered Dell, as she caught 
 Bee's arm and detained her long enough to prevent Tully from 
 saying more ; "and Bee," she whispered, "you must come to- 
 morrow night. He is coming again." Bee nodded and was gone, 
 leaving Dell alone with Mrs. King. 
 
 "You made a very pretty exhibition of yourself, Dell," began 
 the widow, fiercely. " I never before saw anyone throw herself 
 at a man's head quite so distinctly as you did tonight." 
 
 "I am becoming like you, Madge, and begiu to think I have 
 no time to lose. Good-night 1 " - 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IN THE NATURE OF A CRISI& 
 
 Once at least in his history there comes to every man an afflic- 
 tion, a disaster, a great love or a great hate, which turns the 
 whole tide of his life. The condition he is i:i, the surroundings 
 he has, the means of escape, relief or peace which first offer to 
 him are more pregnant with greatness of result than the direct 
 physical or mental ei!ect of the crucial trial itself. We are often 
 told about afHiction purifying the heart, but after all it is nothing 
 but a l)ew).lderment which makes us look for a new path, any path 
 which happens to oiTer. Of course it depends partly on the per- 
 son, but no one at such a time, no matter liow strong, pauses to 
 hew an avenue of escape through rocks or over high mountains 
 or through the tangled forest. The strong nature may refuse the 
 first thing that otters, or on trying the first path may return to 
 its misery rather than pursue it, but bearing in mind these condi- 
 tions, one can understand that portion of the fatalist's creed which 
 declares that one's life is mapped out bv the gods at our birth, and 
 strug<;lu as we may, we cannot escape from their decrees. The 
 strongest evidence opposed to this idea is supposed to be furn- 
 ished by the sudden changes in men's lives when to the onlooker 
 chcir course seems to have been suddenly diverted and made to 
 run in an almost opposite direction. To those wiio do not under- 
 stand tlic motives which impelled the first half of such a life or the 
 circumstances which change it, the fact of so great a change 
 being made excites admiration for the strength of character 
 which could accomplish it, and makes one believe that fate is 
 entirely in one's own hands. 
 
 The impulses which caused Dell Browning's change of conduct 
 
140 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETUEAIiT 
 
 were partially known to Tully, but even that which he saw he 
 mlHinterpretcd, thougli its effect upon him was not perhaps 
 redu jed thereby. He thought she loved him, and vaguely imagined 
 that his attentions to Mrs. King had perhaps had the effect of 
 convincing her that she cared for him. He supposed that until 
 she imagined she was about to lose him she had not known her 
 own heart ; tliat she had betrayed the weakness of womankind in 
 loving most that which seems least accessible, yet this did not make 
 her less lovely in his eyes. Some men have a wonderful aflinity 
 with bad women. In the hands of women who are not good nor 
 altogether wicked, and as to the control of men are strong, weak 
 men are taught occasionally to approach greatness. Again women 
 are not really lovable to certain men until they betray feminity. 
 Stephen Tully, by what seemed a sudden revelation of Dell's liking 
 for him and a womanly weakness which could forgive what she 
 could not excuse in him, and a tenderness which at the moment 
 of decision pleaded and won his case, was lifted from the depths 
 of despair to a sight of the heaven he thought he had lost. In the 
 old days when he exulted in his strength, it would have brought 
 a smile of self-conceit and heartless satisfaction, but now love had 
 been denied him so long, he had suffered so much, he had 
 abandoned the cynical path where his self-love could not be in- 
 jured, and he had partially separated himself from his old com- 
 panions because their raillery was so bitter, and he had been in 
 such a maze of perplexity, tliat the brightness of her smile was 
 heaven to him it seemed so great in comparison with her past 
 treatment of him that, at once, like a storm-tossed ship, he felt 
 with gratitude that he was riding in smooth water, though the 
 thought that his happiness and security were but momentary 
 brought a crowning bitterness. If what Killick told him were 
 true, his carelessness had been the cause of the loss of a consider- 
 able portion of Dell's fortune. He did not think so meanly of her 
 as to imagine that the loss of a few thousands of dollars could 
 estrange them, bui- he feared that his dereliction of duty would 
 frighten her. He knew, too, that Killick was at the bottom of 
 the fraud, and that he had not yet revealed the strongest and 
 most strangling meshes he had woven. 
 
 As Tully walked rapidly away from 25 Mowbum Street, the 
 first joy of his reconciliation with Dell slipped rapidly away from 
 him, and he began to feel Killick's coarse fingers encircling his 
 throat. And Coral He could not but think of her. Would Doll's 
 love for him be strong enough to forgive his misadventures with 
 his handsome bookkeeper? How much would Cora dare attempt 
 in order to separate theml 
 
IN THE NATURE OF A CRISIS 
 
 141 
 
 Ho waa in the breakers again ; tlie brightncas was beliind him, 
 evcrytliinK beyond liim gloom. 
 
 Yc^, wliat had he to fear? Had not Dell at last relented, and 
 did not her apparent forgiveness include everything? Truly, the 
 loss of her money, vvliich was the only one of his recent sins 
 unknown or unsuspected by her, would not appear so heinous as 
 many others which had not proven unpardonable. 
 
 Ho had resolved to tell her what Killick had said; to ask her 
 forgiveness. He had already made two ineffectual attempts, but 
 she had skilfully turned the suly'ect. In spite of everything he 
 i)cgan to be hoppful aj!;a!n, and strength ciimo to him In the 
 shapn of a resolution to discover just how far ICillick had en- 
 snared him and what Dell's losses would be. This determination 
 involved something within the line of his experience. Profes- 
 sionally he knew himself to be clever ; as a worker, when he 
 liked, he was indefatigable, and now that he had set himself a 
 task lie undertook it with alacrity, and determined that the morn- 
 ing of the morrow would see him bearding the lion in his den, 
 demanding from Killick what proofs he had, denouncing him as a 
 conspirator and daring him to go an inch further. 
 
 In tlie morning Tully hardly felt so brave, but he had love's 
 eagerness In his heart and could not bear to defer the conflict 
 which was to decide where he stood In the firm of Killick & Tully 
 and in his love-making with Dell. 
 
 Killick came down late. The brandy he drank the night before 
 in his private room, when Cora had obtained possession of tne 
 Moore will, together with the excitement, had made him over- 
 sleep himself, and when at half-past ten he reached the oftice he 
 was not in the sweetest of humors. Though he had walked most 
 of the way, when in the car completing his journey he was alone 
 and had opportunity for reflection and self-examination. He knew 
 he had made an utter ass of himself, and t it made no difference ; 
 he had calculated to ac^. just as he did. Ivillick was the sort of 
 a man who was willing to make a fool of himself with avidity if 
 he could find pleasure in that direction. That he had almost been 
 free from folly was simply because he had been able to see no 
 pleasure in it. There are plenty of men who live and die staid 
 and virtuous, because they have never been able to find amuse- 
 ment in forbidden paths, fear and inexperience having made their 
 initia'ory attempts anything but delightful. Custom and social 
 and religious surroundings seemed so much preferable after some 
 escapade in a strange city that they had returned to the fold 
 wiser froui their little coltisli pranks in forbidden fields, but per- 
 chance It some experienced tempter, a man of Mie world and 
 
w^ 
 
 142 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 ih 
 
 i.;i 
 
 intimate friend of vice, liad led these men by tlie hand to the 
 allurements where danger and detection need not have been 
 feared, and hilarity and reckless diarsKard for the morrow had 
 prevailed, they had been forevermore enamored of the ways of 
 wickedness. 
 
 Killick'ti experiences of this sort had begun when wealth had 
 been accumulated, and were not of such a llattoring dencription 
 that he dared either trust himself or those with whom he might 
 mingle in a career of folly, yet he had tormed a taste for a life 
 which he had not hitherto enjoyed, and liis idea was that with the 
 l}eautiful Cora, he could spend the rest of his days in deliglitful 
 dallyings and visions of loveliness and travels in which he would 
 be the envied buD watchful husband. He was wo ut, embit- 
 tered, and anything that olFered him a change, a pleasure, 
 was temptation enough. He was thoroughly con u that he 
 was making a fool of himself, and that if he did not make a fool 
 of himself, Cora would make a fool of him ; but he had set apart 
 a portion of his life for that sort of thing and calculated that he 
 was now ready to enter in upon it. 
 
 Twinges of neuralgia and a disordered digestion made him sul. 
 len. A recollection that he had some old scores to settle before 
 he flitted to Europe with his fair mistress, made his crackling 
 lips settle themselves into a fierce and curveless line. He must 
 get rid of Tully and complete the financial ruin of the daughter of 
 his old enemy. Col. Moore, too, must be dispossessed and humili- 
 ated before he could feel that the firm of Moore & Killick— though 
 it had not existed for thirty years— had been properly dissolved. 
 The thought that all his revenges had been so astutely prepared 
 and that his enemies were within his hand, made him smack hia 
 lips, a disgusting sight, for their fevered surfaces adhered to one 
 another, and he seemed to tear them apart with a crackling noise. 
 What a revolting spectacle he was, as he sat alone in the down- 
 town car, his hands clasped over the head of his umbrella, his 
 meaty eyes dulled as his soul looked in upon himself with thoughts 
 which deepened the lines of villainy about his eyes, and nose, and 
 mouth. 
 
 "I will attend to Tully first! I shall give him his walking ticket 
 this morning," he thought, " and l>efore my notice expires I shall 
 have him tangled so fast that he cannot resist. Next week I will 
 pull the props from under that loan society and see it come down 
 and crush that haughty old aristocrat, Klingsville. Yes, and bring 
 down some of Digby Browning's wealth, too, and Col. Moore will 
 have to walk the plank the week after I I shall start the suit against 
 him just before I sail. Yes, my fine fellows, you can call me 
 
 ^11 
 
XN THE NA TUBE OF A CRISIS 
 
 143 
 
 warty Killick,' but I shall make you all sorry I Yes, you will all 
 curse the day I was born, and with Cora I will be havlnp; a delight- 
 ful excursion in the land of eternal summer." 
 
 Killick looked up and observed the conductor of the car watciiinx 
 him throuf<h the window. He frowned; the conductor grinui<>. 
 " I will complain of that rascal," he muttered, " as soon as I {.< t 
 the street car offices." Then his thoughts turned in upun hinihiif 
 again. "Pshawl Cora is all right. She is like all women— Mom y 
 —money will catch her. Yes, and she likes me well enough to kis^ 
 me. As far as a woman is concerned a man is a man and if she 
 is handsome and ambitious, any kind of a man if he has money will 
 answer, and if I can win hei I'll have a power over her that she 
 doesn't imagine. No, my damty Cora, you won't be an old man's 
 darling altogether, I will mix a little of the young man's slave with 
 it so that you will respect me and be careful of yourself." 
 
 When Killick entered bis office Tully was sitting at Cora's desk 
 opening the letters. 
 
 "Where is Miss Burnham this morning?" inquired Killick 
 gruffly. 
 
 "I don't know," answered Tully, with corresponding impolite- 
 ness. " She is evidently not here." 
 
 " Dooley," demanded Killick sharply, " go down to Miss Burn- 
 ham's and see why she is not at her desk this morning." 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ?" demanded Tully, holding a large 
 sheet of blue letter paper towards Killick. *' What is the matter 
 with the loan company? You told me it was all right the other 
 day when Stryde and I were consulting with you as to investing 
 Miss Browning's money in it." 
 
 *' Come into my room," snarled Killick ; " you are old enough," he 
 whispered, "not to discuss our private business before the clerks." 
 
 "Certainly," answered Tully quietly. "I want to have a little 
 talk with you anyway, and now is as good a time as any." 
 
 " Yes," hissed Killick ; " now is the proper time. I have made 
 up my mind to settle accounts with you to-day, and our conver- 
 sation has very opportunely led up to it." 
 
 When the door had snapped after them, and Killick had tossed 
 his overcoat on a pile of books and placed his hat on the desk, he 
 seated himself in his chair and began. "Now, Stephen Tully, 
 
 state your grievances, and do it d d quick, for I am going to 
 
 begin mine." 
 
 TuUy's left hand was shoved deep into his trowsers pocket, 
 while in his right hand he held the handful of letters, the blue 
 aheet, a fluttering reflex of the agitation which consumed him. 
 " I see by this letter, which corroborates the villainy of the state- 
 
144 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 ment you made the other day regarding the title of the Moore 
 estate, that you have been leading me to invest my client's money 
 in worthless securities. I want to know right now exactly what 
 this means. It seems not only a conspiracy against me, but against 
 Miss Browning. You claim to have me in your power. You can 
 do with me as j'ou please, but this whole matter must come to a 
 head now. I am tired of concealment and of being the partner of 
 an infernal scoundrel. I am bad enough myself, but the devil 
 himself wouldn't accept the blame of half of your villainies." 
 
 Killick slipped down in his chair to his customary attitude, his 
 fingers in a pyramid over his vest, and his eyes turned up to the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "lam glad," said he, "you have opened the conversation with 
 such elegant directness. What you have said will assist me to say 
 that I am sick of being in partnership with a scatter-brain fool 
 and drunken imbecile, whose next oflice will probably be in the 
 Kingston penitentiary. If you get yourself out of here quietly 
 you can be gone to-morrow, and go to the devil for all I care. If 
 you make a kick, I will make one which will be considerably 
 stronger. As far as Miss Browning is concerned, I am free to 
 inform you that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to 
 see her earning an honest living by scrubbing down the stairs and 
 cleaning the doorsteps of the poor-house. I hate her as I hated 
 her father before her, and her mother bijfore her. The RIoore title 
 isn't worth a continental. The property was left by will to the 
 second son, but not to his heirs, and as it was registered before 
 the new Act came in force, it reverts to the heirs of the eldest 
 son. Those heirs I intend to put in possession at once. The Trust 
 & Loan Co. is bankrupt, or will be, as soon as my claims are 
 satisfied, and as far as the outside public is concerned, I will 
 inform them that you were aware of the defect in the Moore title 
 and of the rottenness of the Trust & Loan, before you invested 
 Miss Browning's funds, and that you accepted largo commissions 
 for betraying your trust." 
 
 Tully with a hissing curse threvf the letters into a corner of the 
 room, and seizing Killick by the throat shook him as a lerrier 
 would shake a rat. "You white-livered scoundrel, if you do as 
 you say, you won't live another hour," but in his fierce raae Tully 
 bethought himself of the sweet face of the woman he loved, and 
 with a savage push he threw the old man into his chair and stood 
 towering before him. 
 
 "Killick, I oughL to kill you, but I won't. Go on and do your 
 worst. If you pull me down you will come dowr. with me. I 
 refuse to dissolve partnership with you until these things are 
 
IN THE NATURE OF A CRISIS 
 
 145 
 
 •e 
 
 straightened. I will take other means at once if you refuse, and 
 the benchers shall decide between us." He swung around, opened 
 the door, and stood face to face with Miss Cora Burnhain, who 
 was looking exceedingly pretty in a sealskin sacque and handsome 
 bonnet. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. TuUy," she exclaimed with unusual sweet- 
 ness. " Good morning, Mr. Killick ; I am glad to meet you 
 together, as I came in this morning to resign my position, and to 
 ask to be relieved from my duties at once." 
 
 Killick's collar had been torn by Tully's fierce fingers, and his 
 necktie so badly disarranged tliat it had lodged under his ears. 
 He was making a desperate elFort to adjust it when Cora Burn- 
 ham's unexpected resignation brought him to his feet. 
 
 "What is that you say," he demanded, "want to leave?" 
 
 " Yes, I would like to leave this morning. My mother and I 
 have determined to sell out our business and leave the city." 
 
 Killick's face turned an ashy hue, and his dull eyes had in 
 them a look of hateful threatening, but with a voice as sweet as 
 honey he begged Cora to ait down and give him a few words in 
 private after Mr. Tully had gone. 
 
 "I am in a very greac hurry, Mr. Killick, I shall see you later," 
 she answered nervously, at the same time keeping by Tully's side. 
 "Nothing could persuade me to remain another hour, so any dis- 
 cussion of the matter would be useless." 
 
 "It wouldn't be useless, Miss Buniliam, it is a matter of the 
 very greatest importance to you, as well as to me, that you should 
 hear what I have to say. 
 
 "I will remain if Mr. Tully stays, if not I must go." 
 
 Killick lost his self-possession and grasped at the girl's wrist 
 as if to detain her by force, but Tully took him by the coat collar 
 and led him to his chair. " I won't let you bully her. If you lay 
 a hand on her I will shake » ; life out of you. Miss Burnham, 
 come to your desk, and I wi'' pay you vour salary. You are well 
 out of this old reprobate's • utches." Then holding the door open 
 for her to pass out, with a defiant look at the shaken and dis- 
 ordered, ^ure in the chair, he followed. 
 
146 
 
 A BAB MAN'S SWEETHEABT 
 
 CHAPTFJR XXIIL 
 
 ALMOST PEUSUADED. 
 
 lu the few days that followed Tully was almost heart-broken. 
 The impossibility of tlnding out the truth of what Killick had said 
 left him wandering in the dark and magnified his fears. Killick, 
 too, was continually in a vicious temper, and never seemed so 
 thoroughly villainous before. He was buried in his office all day, 
 accessible to no one, and when he came out was flushed, and walked 
 as if tuorouehly exhausted. These signs rather encouraged Tully to 
 believe that his partner was treading on dangerous ground and 
 felt that a volcano was likely to burst forth beneath his feet; but 
 he thought in vain for the immediate reason of his partner's agitated 
 ugliness. 
 
 After making many ineffectual efforts to become possessed of the 
 facts, and fearful lesbthe delay might bring the denouement before 
 ho had made his confession to Dell Browning, be resolved to state 
 the case to her as far as he knew it and thus protect himself from 
 later developments, but with this determination to tell her all, again 
 came the sickening fear that she would despise him for his weakness 
 and neclect, but Step^jn Tully had at last achieved a victory over 
 himself and his fondness for delay ; he was in fighting humor, and 
 determined to face his mistakes and misfortunes, wjiatever they 
 mitrh^ be. consoling himself with the thought of Dell's love and 
 his faith that it would not falter. He had written her a note parti- 
 ally explai.Mng his diflicult position anU confessing much of his 
 personal gui.'t in the matter, but he could not send it ; he must 
 appeal to her j)er8onally ; he could not trust his case to a few cold 
 lines which might be fatal to his future. 
 
 When he called in the evening the maid ushered him into the 
 reception room, and convinced by the silver dollar he left in her 
 hand that his mission was important, hurried upstairs and told 
 Miss Browning that Mr. Tully wished to see her, ** particular anA 
 alone." 
 
 Dell was not lacking in courage and the spirit of adventure, but 
 the prospect of this interview frightened her. 
 
 "Wait a moment, Sarah," said she, nervously. "I want this 
 note sent over to Miss Bee McKinley at once. Send James over 
 with it." 
 
 "James is h'out, mum I" answered Sarah. "Drivin' the missus, 
 muml" 
 
ALMOST PERSUADED 
 
 147 
 
 " Then take it yourself, and tell cook to answer the door if anyone 
 rinRs." 
 
 •' Cook is h'out too, mum I " 
 
 "Take the note anyway. I'll answer the bell myself if anyone 
 conies. Ilurrvl" 
 
 "Yes, mum, I'll fly, I will indeed, mum ! ' cried Sarah, assur- 
 iuKly, but the memory of Tully's dollar and a chat with a friend on 
 the street made her absence much loDger tlian Dell expected. 
 
 She lingered in her room as lont' as she dared, putting a few 
 fluishing touches to her toilet, and never did mirror reflect a fairer 
 face or prettier dress than did hers. She wore a soft clinging silk, 
 dark in color, and scmi-transj)arent in texture, which revealed her 
 white throat and shapely arms and graceful figure, while retaining 
 to her the half nun-like look which made her seem so inaccessible 
 to Sfephen TuIIy, wlien at last she stood before him and extended 
 a white, slender hand whic.'i gave no response to his eager pressure. 
 
 "I have one preliminary request to make to-night, Miss Brown- 
 ing," said Tully gravely, as he stood beside her chair in the bright 
 drawing room. "That you will listen to something about myself 
 without thinking me either a fool or an egotist tor insisting on tell- 
 ing it. What I came t loncerns you so vitaMy that I dare 
 not tell you at once. you be patient while I make some 
 excuses." 
 
 "Certainly," laughed Doll, ai \ion to make the exp! uatory 
 portion of the interview last until I'-i «.■ arrived. "Go into them as 
 fully as you like; I know they will be 'engthy If jou intend to 
 cover all your misdemeanors, but I hope you won't treat me as a 
 father confessor, and tell me what I shouldn t hear." 
 
 "You needn't fear. Miss Browning," answen <' Tully, uraw ing 
 a chair near her, "I shall take no advantage of our indulgence. 
 You and I have been separated by my indirectni s -no, that is not 
 the word— my folly, my wrong doing, my vain and stupid endeavor 
 to conceal my real self from you, I— I don't know how to phrase it, 
 and hardly dare speak of it as a separation lest yon mn rebel and 
 say we were never in such a relation that 'sepn " becomes a 
 
 justiliable term or one at all applicable to the ca v ui point, but I 
 must trust to your promise to hear me until you understand. I 
 beliovo, Miss Browning, you would have been kinder to me if you 
 had known the troubles and temptations through which I was 
 passing, but I cannot complain for I didn't understand myself. 
 Now, when I am face to face with ruin, I begin to comprehend the 
 amazing folly of my life btuI wonder that I have a friend or dare 
 hope for forgiveness. At any rate the end has come, and what I 
 fini forced to tell you to-night, if you are good enough to liateOi 
 
U8 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 while it may drive me from you forever, will be at least some 
 defence against the evil you will think and have thought of me, 
 and I shall feel happier that I have been able to tell you how much 
 more of a fool than a villain I am." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Tully, do you think this necessary or advanta- 
 geous? Let me play an accompaniment while you sing some of 
 your penitential hymns. I think it would answer the purpose 
 equally well and save time and— and unpleasant reminiscences." 
 Uell was thoroughly frightened by Tully's despondent seriousness 
 and determined to escape the ordeal if possible, but when she left 
 her chair to go to the piano Tully stopped her. 
 
 "Miss Browning, for Heaven's sake do not sneer. I was never 
 more serious— desparingly serious— in my life, and I implore you 
 to be seated and listen." 
 
 "If you insist, Mr. Tully, I must yield, but I really can't see why 
 I should be chosen to hear your confession. It seems painful for 
 you to speak, and I should much prefer not to listen. Why not 
 let everything alone and bury your past if you are not proud of it ? " 
 
 "My past— at least that portion of it which coccerns you— is 
 like Banquo's ghost, it will not down. I would to God, Miss 
 Browning, I could bury my past and begin anew. Please sit down 
 and hear me, and then you will understand." 
 
 Dell sank wearily into a deep, easy chair and bade him begin. 
 
 As he again drew his c'lair nearer to her, she could see a burning 
 flush on his cheeks, but his lipa were tightly closed, and in his eyes 
 there gleamed the light of a resolve she had never seen there 
 before, llis refusal to be restrained, and the spirit of the man, as 
 it flashed down on her, brought back the old feeling of liking, and 
 she recalled wiln a little inaudible sob the days when, in spite of 
 many rebuffs, he liad persisted in being so kind and attentive to 
 her. 
 
 " You expect to be bored. You won't be ; much of what I have 
 to tell interests you, and if I leave it until the last, it will be to 
 retain you as an unprejudiced judge and—" after a painful pause 
 he continued, " because I am ashamed— frightened to begin where 
 I should. Oh, Miss Browning, believe me, I am miseral)le— utterly 
 wretched and humiliated ; and at this moment, if I were not at last 
 sustained by an unalterable deleniiination to do what is right, 
 no matter what happens, I \ ukl burst into tears while I sit here 
 and watch the sweet good faio which, had I not behaved like a fool 
 and a villain, might not no ■ look so coldly on my misery! Try 
 just a little bit to lielp me hrough the confusion and bitternesn 
 of what I must say ! Give mo a look, now and then, of encourage- 
 ment—pity, even, that I may flnish without breaking down 1 " 
 
ALMOST PERSUADED 
 
 149 
 
 Tolly leaned over the broad, pillowed arm of Dell's cbair a^ he 
 dpoke, his voice trembling, and all the force of his stalwart man- 
 hood engaged ta the supreme effort of enlisting her sympathy. 
 
 "Go on," she said, with a gentle uplifting of her glorious eyes, 
 " and may yon never have a harsher Judge than I." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you for that 
 one ray of your old self which shone from your eyes just now. 
 I can begin and see my way through by the light of that one 
 kindly glance. My first trouble as you so often told me in the 
 old days, was the absence of some fixed principle of right and 
 wrong." 
 
 " I used to tell you that, but yet I hoped that after all you bad 
 some standard, undefined perhaps, but something by which you 
 measured your life and tried to keep yourself right. Had you really 
 nothing?" enquired Dell with awakening interest. 
 
 " Yes and no," answered Tally slowly, " I had a general im- 
 pulse to give as much pleasure and as little pain as possible, and 
 many, many times I have congratulated myself, and criticized others 
 who had a more arbitrary rule, that I was doing more to make the 
 world happy than they were. I don't believe I was ev^r inten- 
 tionally cruel or malicious, even my follies and vices were tempered 
 by a sort of determination to leave no one less happy than I found 
 them. Right now when I feel my life to be a miserable and worth- 
 less thing, I can look back without finding either man or woman 
 who has been wrecked by me, or even started on the road to ruin 
 —as far as I know or can judge — by any word or act r.f mine. But 
 as to adhering to any absolute rule of right and wrong, 1 never did ; 
 I thought such rules made for weaklings, incapable of judging 
 for themselves. As for rac I imagined anythmg and everything 
 proper which could be carried through without detection as to 
 myself or evident injury to others. I never thought of conse- 
 quences or how results must accumulate nntil I would be inextric- 
 ably involved in intrigues and devious paths, from which I should 
 be unable to find a road that I could travel with safety. Such a 
 time has come to me at last. I can still argue that had everybody 
 acted as I acted, I would, perhaps, be free from entanglements. 
 But others who may plead as I do that no harm was intended 
 beset and threatened me, and now I am forced to ilight or a choice 
 of the strait path, thoueh it leads over mountains of trouble for 
 myself and tliose who have been foolish enough to trust to me for 
 guidance. I still contend that bud everyone done to nie as I did 
 to them I would not be where I am— stay," cried Tully, his face 
 flashing painfuHy, "I am wrong. There nasliei on my mind the 
 firs!; cause of my wornt trouble and it was a violation of my own 
 
150 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 rule, a reckless disregard of where the coarse I chose might lead 
 me. I can find little comfort in blaminfr others and as I try to 
 excuse myself I can see that my one hope of escape was that others 
 would do right though I did wrong. This hope was groundless, and 
 bad as I am I fell into the hands of two ruthless scoundrels, Henn 
 the broker and J. J. Killick, now my partner, then the broker's 
 solicitor. This was while King was alive, and if ever a man went 
 through purgatory I did. My first venture in wheat speculation 
 was in the mad hope that I might suddenly make some money to 
 pay up interest due on real estate, in which I was concerned. I 
 never was a hard drinker, that is to say a drunkard, though in 
 the whirl of making money in land, I began to drink far too much 
 and once when too exhilarated to have good judgment, I went 
 beyond my depth and got swamped. It was while trying to save 
 myself that I t>orrowed a client's money to keep up my margim 
 then I went to Henn and fried wheat, using without permission 
 King & Tully's check. Do not turn away from me, Miss Brown- 
 ing, believe, oh ! for God's sake believe, that I dare tell you all this 
 because I have repented and am determined to make everything 
 right and henceforward prove myself a man ! Speak to me as I 
 prostrate myself before you in my shame ! Do not cast mo out 
 unforgiven and heartbroken 1 " 
 
 Tully had never realized the shame, the crime of that hour until 
 looking in the sweeh face before him, he saw mirrored there the 
 horror his narrative excited. Down on his knees beside the chair 
 his face buried in his arms he implored her not to turn away from 
 him and when at last her hand gently touched his head he raised 
 his face, deeply seamed by the torture of humiliation and peni- 
 tence, poor Dell could hardly restrain her tears. 
 
 "Please, Mr. Tully, don't feel so badly. I shall not chide you 
 when your own conscience is so bitter an accuser." 
 
 "Dell," cried Tully staggering to his feet, his hands upon his 
 throbbing forehead, "your kindness unmans me more than your 
 censure could. I could grovel in the dust at your feet and still 
 fear that you had not understood what it costs me to tell you 
 thisl" 
 
 " Compose yourself, Mr. Tully," said Dell soothingly, as she rose 
 from her chair. "Some other night you may tell me the rest; your 
 agitation adects me very much, I can stand no morel" 
 
 "Yes, you must, you must hear the rest; I can never nerve 
 myself to begin again 1 Please do. Please, please, for my sake and 
 your own, hear me out. I will be ca!nii;r, and when I have done 
 I shall go— go forever, unless you send for mel" 
 
 Dell dropped back into her chair, and Tully, after a few hurried 
 
ALMOST PERSUADED 
 
 151 
 
 furns up and down the room, recovered enough self-possession to 
 begin again : 
 
 "By sacriMcing every dollar I had in the world I was able to 
 return our client's money without my folly, my sin, my crime 
 being discovered by anyone except our bookkeeper, of whom you 
 may have beard. Miss Cora Burnham suspected what I was doing, 
 and in a pinch I had to take her into my confidence. But the 
 firm's check had not been redeemed, my credit was gone, and I 
 was about to ask John King for a loan with which to cover it, 
 when Cora Burnham came unexpectedly to my rescue." 
 
 TJie sound of a woman's name mixed up with his confession 
 turned Dell's sympathy into something akin to anger, and the 
 eyes which had been soft with pitiful tears grew cold and dis- 
 trustful. 
 
 "Spare me, Mr. Tully, any description of your love affairs,' 
 said she with sudden hauteur. " It would be an unwarrantable 
 confidence and one exceedingly unpleasant for me to share." 
 
 "It was no love affair. Miss Browning, I assure you. Miss 
 Burnham had received favors from me, and she and her mother 
 advanced me money enough to free me from my shameful pre- 
 dicament. In the first burst of gratitude, I oflored her my hand 
 and she accepted it. This new folly upset me worse than the 
 one from which I had just escaped. Cora Burnham and her 
 mother had long been trying to marry me— not for love, but for 
 ambition. They were anxious to get into an assured social po- 
 sition, and simply chose me as the means of achieving it. I 
 could endure the daughter, for she is an honest woman and above 
 reproach ; but the artful, scheming old mother was unutterably 
 repugnant to me. I delayed the marriage, repaid the money, 
 sought by every means in my power to escape the hateful alliance 
 into which I had rushed, but without avail. Cora was deter- 
 mined I should fulfil my contract, and every time I weut near 
 the mother I had to endure her reproaches and upbraidings. I 
 did not dare to abruptly break off the engagement for fear of 
 exposure, and my life was made miserabJe by the nagging of 
 those two women. Then Killick, immediately after King's death, 
 forced me into a partnership with him, under threats of having 
 my gown taken from me for using a client's money in specula- 
 tion. He had surrounded me with every conceivable danger, and 
 to gain time I plunged deeper into the toils. Cora Burnham, the 
 day I sang at the Gospel rally in the Pavilion, taunted me with 
 my past, and told me if I did not fulfil my promise she would 
 publish me as an embezzler. I was wild with thoughts of my past 
 »nd fearful lest I might lose you, but still hopeful until I looked 
 
152 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 over the hundreds of faces and missed yours. Then I lost cour- 
 age, and feeling that everything was gone plunged again into the 
 dissipation I bad intended to forsake. Can you understand my 
 position or excuse my folly? I know you hate deceit, but candor 
 is but a small virtue compared with my vices. Yet I have hoped 
 that when you found yourself able to help a lost soul like mine 
 you would be merciful. Have I hoped in vain ? Can you offer me 
 a spark of hope, give me a word to show that all is not yet lost?" 
 
 "Poor fellow," whispered Dell, sadly. "If you have sinned 
 surely you have suffered. So far you have been weak, but no one 
 has been wronged, if, as you say, your— your book keeper did not 
 really love you 1 Your life is still ahead of you and can be made 
 what you will!" 
 
 " God bless you for that, God bless you I Sinful as my lite has 
 been I have never yet told a woman I loved her. I have not dese- 
 crated the word or the sentiment, and if it would not seem like 
 Satan professing godliness I would tell you how much I adore you 
 and adhor what I have done," cried Tully, stopping in his excited 
 walk before Dell and holding out hin hands in an outburst of grati- 
 tude. "When I have completed this task, if you do not thrust me 
 from you, if you do not laugh at my penitence and scorn my vows 
 of a better life, I shall try to prove that you, to-night, have saved a 
 man's soul. Oh, Dell I Dell 1" he sobbed, covering his face with his 
 hands. " Never since my mother kissed me good night and touched 
 my face with her soft hands as she tucked me in my crib, have I 
 felt the power of a good woman's love. Never until my love for you 
 awoke in me the good which was so nearly dead did I care if there 
 was a heaven or fear lest there might be a hell. But," stammered 
 he, as he pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, " I must finish ; for- 
 give my weakness, and do not suspect me of trying to win your 
 rardon by shedding unmanly tears." 
 
 Dell was greatly moved. His fierce denunciation of himself, and 
 despairing tears were intensified by the graceful dignity with which 
 he bore himself. Stephen Tully in his passion of grief and repent- 
 ance was still every inch a man ; in him tears did not denote weak- 
 ness or fear ; they were but signs of desperation. 
 
 "Then when Killlck came into the business," ha began, seating 
 himself again, " he at once laid himself out to tie me hand and foot. 
 His creature, Dooley, and Cora Burnham made it an easy task, and 
 in a month he had his hands on every scrap of my business, and 
 knew the details of it as well if not better than I did. You can 
 see how, in my reckless mood, despairing of ever being able to assert 
 my independent manhood again and convinced that you were lost 
 to me forever, I did n^watch myself nor him as I should — •" 
 
ALMOST PERSUADED 
 
 US 
 
 The sound of footsteps in the porch and the faint ringing of the 
 bell in the kitchen startled Dell. Relief had come at lastl She 
 sprang from the chair, esplaining that the housemaid was out, and 
 ran to open the door. 
 
 " Why were you so long, Bee?" whispered Dell. 
 
 " I just got your note and ran for my life," Bee replied, with a 
 queer smile. "I hope he hasn't been hard to entertain. You don't 
 look half glad that I came so soon. Oh, you deluded girl 1 I believe 
 you are sorry I came at all ; I can see it In your eyes." 
 
 "Hus-s-sh, Bee I If you had been five minutes later, 1 should 
 have sent for Jack to come down stairs." 
 
 Bee only lauG;hed and gave Dell another quizzical smile. 
 
 Tully was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at a 
 picture, when they entered the drawing-room ; and when he saw 
 who it was he took Bee's hand, and with a half frown told her 
 she was a most unwelcome guest. 
 
 "Beti, I was trying to tell Miss Browning what I had suffered 
 and what I will do if she says there is anything in me worth saving. 
 You are her friend ; persuade her that in the language of the old 
 revival hymn : 
 
 " While the lamp holds out to burn 
 The vilest sinner may return." 
 
 Good-night, Miss Browning, goodnight. I have trespassed so much 
 on your time, I hardly dare ask if I may come back to-morrow even- 
 ing and finish what I was telling you, but desperation nialccs one 
 l)old as well as miserable, and I bog of you not to refuse ? " 
 
 "Not to-morrow night, Mr, Tully, I shall be out, but on Saturday 
 evening if you desire," answered Dell kindly. 
 
 " It will only be an extra day of misery, but I can stand it. Per- 
 haps afterwards I shall be glad that sentence was deferred. Good 
 night, Bee ; good night, Miss Browning,"— and after he was alone 
 with Dell in the hall—" tell me you do not despise me, that you can 
 understand my temptations and will be merciful ! " 
 
 " I will try," she answered, but her eyes said more, and Tully's 
 heart leaped within him. Surely the evil days were passing and he 
 would yet be happy. 
 
 ■ • • • I • • 
 
 Up in her dressing-room Dell sobbed in Bee's arms for lialf an 
 
 hour. 
 
 " It is my first attempt at deceit, Bee ; it shall be my last." 
 
 " Yes," answered Bee solemnly, "I think your next performance 
 
 will be marrying him. I knew how it would end, and just as long 
 
 as you live I'll be everlastingly telling you it turned out Just as I 
 
 expected." 
 
154 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 SOCIAL AND RKMUIOUS CONVKNTIONALITIBB. 
 
 Mrs. Flambert, in pursuance of her match-making project, called 
 on Rev. Dr. Strong, her favorite clergyman, and insisted that he 
 should visit Dell and indirectly urge TuUy's suit. 
 
 "Doctor, you know Tully well enough to understand him and 
 no one can do as much to quiet Dell Browning's scruples as you 
 can. Poor Tully, he is nearly mad and going down hill for no 
 other reason than bis failure to get Dell to forgive nis follies." 
 
 "But, my dear Mrs. Flambert, it is none of my business, and 
 if you will pardon my bluntness— none of yours. Suppose now we 
 succeeded in persuading her to marry Tully and he turned out 
 badly, would we be able to forgive ourselves for the part we had 
 in wrecking her life while trying to save his?" 
 
 "I am willing to take my share of the risk and yours, too. 
 I'm sure of him 1 Poor boy, how generous he has alway4 been 1 
 The poor in your parish and you yourself have reason to remtmber 
 hlra ! Beside I don't want you to say a word about Tully. Give 
 her a lecture on something that will lead up to it and make the 
 way easy for him. Tell her all men are wild and foolish some- 
 times, and those who are brave and sincere are the ones who get 
 most blame because they are not hypocritical enough to try and 
 conceal their conduct. I know you believe this, for I've heard 
 you say 30 — yea, and preach so, too, only not so boldly as you talk 
 when you are alone in your study. You ask me for charities, 
 and I give you the money without a question because I think 
 you know who needs help better than I do. When I'm sick I go 
 to a doctor, because I think he knows better than I do what will 
 cure me. When I'm feeling sinfal and selfish, and want to be 
 good I come to you because you know what I should do. Now in 
 this matter I come to tell you what to do, because I as a woman — 
 an experienced woman— know better than you do what is good tor 
 Stephen Tully and Dell Browning, but if you refuse I'll lose con- 
 fidence in you and when you ask me for Mrs. Fay's next quarter's 
 rent I'll say, ' No, Doctor Strong, it's none of my business, and par- 
 don me, none of yours.' Now then 1 " 
 
 "Now, my dear Mrs. Flambert, if you will rest your excited 
 conversational powers long enough for me to get in a word edge- 
 ways, I'll say what I would have said five minutes ago. I have 
 no objection to calling on Miss Browning and casually letting her 
 
SOCIAL AND RELtGlOUS CONVENTIONALITIES 155 
 
 knew that so called bad men often have the best hearts and with 
 proper influences make the best churchmen and most desirable 
 husbands. If you had not gone ofF into one of your fits of enthu- 
 siasm I would have volunteered everything you ask me to dol I 
 would indeed 1 " laughed the doctor in his easy and indolent good 
 nature. "I visit the sick and dying to give them counsel and 
 comfort and I suppose it is within my province to offer advice to 
 young people on marriage and baking bread and all that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " Doctor, you are a dear, good man, and if you will hand me 
 your check book I'll give you Mrs. Fay's rent and twenty dollars 
 for extras. But," exclaimed Mrs. Flanibeit, picking up the pen 
 to sign her name, " put it strong 1 She's awfully conventional and 
 thinks people ought to be sent to misery at once if they kick over 
 the traces." 
 
 " I'll do my best, Mrs. Flambert, though I'd rather go and sit 
 up all night with a smallpox patient tlian mix in your matri- 
 monial schemes. But that you are such an incorrigible match- 
 maker and the most persevering scold in the church I would 
 refuse. By the way, has your Imsband found work for poor old 
 Tomkinsl" 
 
 " No, but he shall this very day if we have to take him ourselves. 
 Now put on your hat and see Dell. On your way back you can 
 drop in and see Flam. He was asking me why you had net been 
 around for so long." 
 
 "Tell him if he hadn't sent me that case of wine I wouldn't 
 have staid away— now I can have a decent glass at home." 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Strong, rector of St. Titus', was a largo, stout man, 
 lazy and big-hearted and steeped in the fumes of tobacco, but he 
 was an omnivorous reader and one of the most lovely characters 
 in the city; the friend of the poor, the victim of every itinerant 
 fraud, and the confidential adviser of the erring. His influeiHic 
 was nevertheless all for good, and there were mt-n as well as 
 women in his parish who could not speak of him without tears, a 
 choking of their voice, and a fervent "God bless him." 
 
 He asked for Miss Browning and when she stood before him, 
 her hand in his, he began by telling her how she reminded him of 
 lier father. His kindly face was full of sympalliy and somehow 
 she wanted to cry. 
 
 " Ah 1 he was a good friend of mine. Miss Browning, and of 
 the poor. By the way, if you can spare time will you go over and 
 see poor old Mrs. Tonikins. They are friglitfiiily poor, and the 
 poor body told me she hadn't had a drop of tea for a week." 
 
 Then they drifted into a discussion of the difliculty of making 
 
156 
 
 A UAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 the rich appreciate their duty to the poor, and how many pro- 
 fessing Christians were satisfied with a form of religion and never 
 sought for the spirit of Christ's teaching. 
 
 "Yet these," said he, in his easy, IndiiTerent way, "are the 
 ones who demand most of others. For instance, I asked Mr 4. 
 Chandler the other day to look after a poor woman who was too 
 sick to work, and she inquired how much my elgars cost me a 
 year ; and asked if I denied myself a glass of wine at dinner if it 
 wouldn't keep a cot in the Children's Hospital. I told her prob- 
 ably it would, but she would have thought me impudent if I had 
 asked her to sell her carriage and give it to the poor." 
 
 " How mean of her," exclaimed Dell, who knew that the doctor 
 would at any time take the coat from his back and give it to a 
 shivering beggar, 
 
 "Oh, not at all," answered the doctor, placidly. "I know I 
 waste money in tobacco; we all waste it in something. My d <ir 
 Miss Brownino;," said he, taking a sudden tack, "we would all 
 be happier if we were satisfleu with less for ourselves and 
 demanded less from other people— not only in material things. 
 You know we make ourselves miserable trying to observe the 
 convontionalities ourselves, and— with singular perversity— in 
 struggliT'g to be uncharitable enough to hate those who are bold 
 enough to defy the social laws which chafe us, and against which 
 our souls arc in perpetual lebellion. Without taking the pains 
 to examine either ourselves or the customs which we insist upon 
 other people observing, and which outwardly we ourselves observe, 
 we go through life with the harness of useless duties rubbing into 
 our ilcsh until we are as galled and sore as an abused cart horse 
 tugging bin load of coal or refuse, with his collar sinkin? into the 
 raw of his shoulders." 
 
 Dell was interested. She liked to hear the doctor talk, and 
 took pains to lead him on. "What is the cause of it?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "The evening of the nineteenth century seems to show the most 
 complete reaction from the noon of chivalry, when the best men 
 were proud of but little except physical courage and courtesy. 
 The lower classes cared little for the latter, but were natural and— 
 to a great extent — brutal. Nowadays men have learned to be 
 courteously brutal to their equals — brutal without courtesy to 
 the poor— and have eliminated courage from the requisites of 
 their knighthood. This is the most appallingly cowardly age I 
 So much so t'lat I am beginning to esteem the prize-ilghter and 
 the rollicking dare devil fellows who good-naturedly despise ail 
 conventionalities! Don't look so incredulous; what I say of 
 
SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS CONVENTIONALITIES 167 
 
 eowardice is true in every walk of life. Let me begin with my 
 own cloth : Clcrfi^raen are afraid to nmoko or take a glass of 
 wine lest the church-going Mrs. Grundy may say It is a bad 
 example or an extravagance, worse still, they dare not teach 
 what they believe, and are too cowardly to deny what they are 
 expected to affirm. Look at the creeds; they remain pmctically 
 unchanged, and when the candidates for the ministry are being 
 examined they have to accept the doctrines that even the most 
 old-fashioned never preach, and which those in the pews do not 
 believe and have not believed for many years, except in the com- 
 fortably vague sense that they hold to their church and, in a 
 genera! way, to all its dogmas. Some of us parsons try to quiet 
 our consciences by loud professions, others by cunning sophisms 
 and evasions. When we preach on delicate topics and approach 
 points which both clergy and laity profess and disbelieve with 
 singular unanimity we switch off just before we reach the 
 ticklish place, and the congregations give a sigh of relief; first, 
 for their own sake, lest in a fanatical moment we may insist 
 on something they are not prepared to openly reject, anU yet 
 would be very uncomfortable to have held up as essential ; 
 secondly, for our own sake, lest we dare speak out In meeting 
 and deny a doctrine and get into trouble by so doing. In this 
 way we have to do things which we know are shams, assume 
 pious airs, for instance, just as heartless mourners cry at 
 funerals, because people are looking and expecting certain things. 
 These conventionalities are keeping honest men out of the pulpits 
 and driving the sincere and thoughtful out of the churches." 
 
 *' You couple yourself with those you criticise. Why don't 
 you put your theory into practice, and act as you feel and 
 believe?" asked Dell, with an unpleasant feeling that Dr. Strong 
 was robbing her of some favorite illusions. 
 
 " Because I am too cowardly," he answered with a sigh ; 
 "because I am incapable of self-sacrifice; because the age in 
 which we live teaches us that orthodoxy is infinitely preferable 
 to martyrdom. If I lived up to my convictions— or down to them 
 —the people would think me godless ; if I preached as I th'ak, I 
 would be bounced by the bishop, would lose my living and ny 
 friends, even though the latter agreed with me ; I would get n\y 
 family Into trouble, be miserable myself and accomplish nothing 
 in trying to stem the torrent of organized humbug. I quiet my 
 conscience by talking to prudent people as I am talking to you, 
 and in this way am doing my share to prepare the world for the 
 revolt which cannot be much longer delayed. If I were brilliant 
 enough to amuse people and be a leader, I might dare ; but I 
 
1S8 
 
 A SAD MAN'S SWEETHEAttf 
 
 am only praised as a preacher because I am not always too laay 
 to irepare ray sermons nor to Imprudent to keep my parishioneni 
 from their dinner." 
 
 " Doctor, you shock me by your cynicism and lack of— of " 
 
 "Courage— Ko on and say it. I admit it, and should not be 
 too thin skinned to hear it said. But examine yonrself and your 
 actions and see if you are not almost as bad. I accept the con- 
 ventionalities of a religious organization, you accept those of 
 society — those to which you hold are without even the traditions 
 which make it really an awful thing for one cf us to break away 
 from a doctrine. Many of the most unjust things we uphold are 
 forced upon U3 by the laity— at leaf.c you force us to retain them. 
 Even if I proved you wrong you would not dare to rebel. With 
 you the fops and dudes, the noodles and nobodies, the butter- 
 tlies and scandal mongers are the Qrst to be pleased, or the shaiu 
 called "society" is wrecked. For instance, if a woman is detected 
 in a social sin, she is consigned to outer darkness, and as far as 
 this world can make it so, everlasting punishment is inflicted 
 on her. We preach the doctrme of eternal punishment for the 
 same result— fear. It is a good thing for weak people. You dare 
 not reach down and try to lift a branded woman out of h.<)r misery. 
 I dare not reach out the arms of my human pity and er,-»ress a 
 belief that a man dying In his sins can ever escape hell. Whyl 
 Because we are afraid of getting our hands burned, and so, while 
 you persist in trying to keep society good by making frightful 
 examples of those who sin, we continue to misrepresent God as 
 one who inflicts infinitely more barbarous punishments. What is 
 the result ? Both of us drive people into the hell we have prepared 
 for them. Ostracism is the remedy provided for sinners alike by 
 fashionable churches and fashionable society. Our sinner is 
 told of a hell he can't believe in, or from which he feels he can't 
 escape ; your place of torment is filled in the same way. We 
 both inflict all these horrors without reducing the number of evil 
 doers or cleansing by the fire of fear the minds of evil-thinkers." 
 
 "Doctor," asked Dell, appalled by the picture he had drawn, 
 "what then if we were without these conventionalities?" 
 
 "The new order of things would bring new restraints— -nobler 
 and purer onej, I hope. The maiden is pure because she loves 
 purity and her pure home. The wife is now true to lier husband 
 because she loves him, not because she is afraid of exposure and 
 ruin ; fake away the penalties and tlie true woman will be true 
 siill ; leave the penalties and the false wife will be false still. 
 The Christian is a Chris l.an because he loves God and His IJIessed 
 Son, and tries to act as much like Christ as he can ; I don't 
 
mmmmm 
 
 wmtmmmmmmm 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END 
 
 159 
 
 : 
 
 
 believe there will be a single soul in heaven that took refuge in 
 Christianity to escape brimstone. When love is thi law there 
 will be no unjust punishment for sinners here or talk of eternal 
 punishment for them hereafter, and there will be no solemn 
 warnings needed except the sight of those who are buffering the 
 unavoidable consequences of wrong doing. Th ;re will always be 
 a hell for the vicious but, my dear, we need have no hand In 
 lighting the fires, nor sliould we try to preach that God is prepar- 
 ing them." 
 
 "What— what then is our duty. Doctor?" faltered Dell. 
 
 "To save every perishing soul within reach; if that soul calls 
 out to you bend down and touch it with your pure hand and 
 show it the way to salvation ; don't pass it by on the other side 
 as people generally do in traveling the Jericho road of to-day." 
 
 *' But might we not imperil our own soul in seeking to reclaim 
 another?" she asked with a half -guilty feeling that she was 
 thinking of Tully. 
 
 " If our motive is right there is little or no danger. You at 
 least should not f<;ar. Your face is the mirror of a pure heart," 
 answered the clergyman tenderly, as he rose to go. " If yon do 
 God's will. He will take care of you and give you sti-ength to 
 endure to the end.' 
 
 "Did I do wrong?" Doctor Strong asked of himself as he 
 walked homeward, "was I preaching evil that good might come? 
 Wny biiouid I try to wed that sweet, innocent girl to a man like 
 Stephen Tully? Yet she would save him 1 But at what cost? I 
 must watch him and if I have been wrong— and why do I feel 
 ashamed if I have no', been— I will yet try and guide her right." 
 
 As he went on his way, there went up from his heart to the 
 infinite heart of God, a fervent prayer for guidance, and who shall 
 say It \ aa not heard ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE tEOINNING OF THE END. 
 
 When Killick was loft alone in his room after receiving Cora 
 Burnham's notice of departure, he sat sliakiag his tlst in useless 
 fury at the door and muttering curses which had she heard them 
 would have frigHtened the fair object of his wrath. 
 
 " Yes, curse her and him ; a few soft words have won her back 
 to iMjTulky's fool. Why did she pretend attachment for me? Did 
 I tell her anything?" he thought to himself in quick alarm— 
 
160 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " nothing but that Moore business. I wonder if those papers are 
 all right." 
 
 Hurriedly trying to unlock the vault door which led into the 
 room he was surprised to find it already unfastened (Ralph Moore 
 had slipped the bolt from the inside). He hurriedly examined the 
 lock which was uninjured, and then ran to the safe in which his 
 precious papers were stored. He tried the door. "Ah," he mut- 
 tered to himself, "this is locked at any rate. I wasn't quite 
 crazy last night though I must have been very near it to have left 
 that outer door open." He knelt, still trembling, and tried the 
 combination, but the ponderous door did not answer to his touch. 
 
 Again he tried it, with even greater exactness, still the door - 
 refused to move. 
 
 "Great Heaven, what ib the matter with the door?" he gasped. 
 
 Perspiration stood in great beads on his face. " I can't be wrong 
 about that combination 1 I wouldn't be likely to forget it after 
 using it a hundred times." 
 
 Still again he tried it, and the failure made him^ attempt other 
 arrangements of the numl)ers, his throbbing brain eager to believe 
 that in a moment of excitement he had started it wrong. Still 
 there was no yielding of the door. Then he liunted in his cabinet 
 where he had hidden the hastily scrawled memorandum of the 
 combination in a cipher which was as familar to him as his 
 A B Cs. He seated himself on the floor before the safe, mopping 
 away the perspiration which was now trickling in streams over 
 his purplish and warty face. Carefully beginning with the three 
 times around to thirty, he followed the written directions and 
 turned the knob forward and back and pulled. No use. His 
 one hand dropped on the carpet beside him. He felt dizzy, unbut- 
 toned h\9 collar and staggering to his feet took a glass of brandy. 
 Standing there with the empty glass on the table before him, 
 gazing at the vault, his brows knitted, his teeth clinched, his 
 lips twitching spasmodically, he was a picture of satanic rage and 
 fear. 
 
 Refusing still to believe that anything could have gone wrong 
 with the combination, he tried it again and again, between each 
 attempt squatting on the floor like a fierce beast in a cage. Then 
 he tried to think what he should do. He dare not send for the 
 nxakers of the safe, it would disclose the existence of the room 
 and his occupancy of it, and for many reasons he did not desire 
 to have that made public at the present crisis, with Theodore 
 Kahn under arrest and a revival of the old suspicions against 
 him likely to be aroused by the coming trial. He decided at 
 last, and rising from the floor with many fierce oaths, be ar< 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE END 
 
 161 
 
 ranp^ed his disordered apparel and, putting on his overcoat and 
 hat, went out. A few minutes later he was closeted with the 
 maker of the safe, smoothly telling him that a client had been 
 accused of attempting to rob his own safe in order to account for 
 a failure to seHle with his creditors and to successfully defend 
 him, he desired to be instructed in methods which would be 
 employed by a skilled cracksman, also to be shown how an 
 amateur would likely go to work. When he left the foundry he 
 thoroughly understood the modus operandi of safe blowiiu?, and 
 had several cartridges in his pocket together with a full set of 
 tools. The rest of the day he spent in drilling, and that night 
 had ther^ been anyone in the outer oiBce, an explcs'ou could 
 have been heard. The ruined combination yielded easily and in 
 another moment he had the empty box, which had held the 
 Moore papers, in his hand. Then it dropped to the iloor, to be 
 crushed a moment afterwards by his heavy form as he fell in a fit. 
 
 The first rays of the winter morning were streaming through 
 the window when he recovered consciousness. Chilled and stifT 
 he could barely rise to a sitting position, and then was unable to 
 understand his surroundings. The open door of the safe, the 
 broken wood of the box, seemed like something seen in a dream, 
 but with his s'owly returning mental powers came a realization 
 of his loss, a comprehension of the trap into which he had been 
 led, and the fear that other documents might be missing urged 
 him to a desperate effort. At last he succeeded in struggling to 
 his feet ; but the room swam about him, it grew dark, and only 
 by clinging to the safe was he able to save himself from falling. 
 
 Again his brain seemed to regain its power when in the bright 
 sunlight. The cut glass brandy decanter suggested something 
 which would perhaps enable him to recover himself, but as he 
 tried to move, that awful and sickening dizziness came back. He 
 slowly reached out with one hand and could touch the table, and 
 when the swirling blood again seemed to recede from his brain 
 he pulled himself over and again stood in sick dizziness waiting 
 until he dare venture another movement. At last he had \V. 
 brandy in his hand; he could scarcely swallow, but the s;.'. • :. 
 lants revived him, and though he lurched forward like a drun ^ , 
 man he was able to close the safe door, put the brandy back in 
 the cabinet, hide the tools with which he had been working and 
 then staggering out to his private office, locked the door behind 
 him telephoned for a carriage and was driven home, fearful to 
 remain any longer lest the dizziness against which he fought 
 should overpower him. 
 
162 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 While Killick had been trying to open his safe, Ralph Moore 
 had been closeted with Lawyer Chandler, who, after examining 
 the papers taken from Killick's safe, declared there would be no 
 trouble in obtaining possession of the property. 
 
 The old gambler insisted that proceedings should be begun at 
 once. 
 
 "I am getting to be an old man," said he, "and I have been 
 poor long enough, while my rascally relations have enjoyed what 
 should have been mine." 
 
 " Don't you think it would be wiser to for send your nephew 
 and try and arrange a compromise? If you allowed him a small 
 amount I have no doubt he would rather accept it than take the 
 chances of a lawsuit." 
 
 ''Not a -^ent. I want it all, and I want it quick. If you don't 
 take right hold of it and rattle it along, I'll go to someone who 
 will." 
 
 "Now take my advice, Mr. Moore, and don't be too rash. Get 
 the proofs of your birth. If possible hunt up someone who can 
 identify you so that we will have such a strong caHc that the 
 Colonel will yield at once. You tell me he knows of the existence 
 of this will. If 80, we can threaten him with prosecution for fraud 
 in mortgaging property which lie knew did not belong to him. 
 You can do all I suggest to day, and we shall begin tomorrow. If 
 you need any financial assistance in the meantime, I will be able 
 to advance you enough to keep you going." 
 
 "Well, yi u might give me a couple of hundred right now," said 
 Moore eagerly. " I confess I am pretty short." 
 
 Chandler gave him a check, and as Moore put it in his pocket 
 ho repeated the question which had been about the first one he 
 had asked: "You are certain Killick won't proceed against me 
 for robbing his safe?" 
 
 "Yes, I am positive of it. He can't honestly account for the 
 possession of that will. He was no doubt a partner in the fraud 
 perpetrated on Miss Browning, and will keep quiet. You need 
 have no fear of him." 
 
 " At any rate," suggested Moore, " my daughter can swear that 
 he gave it to her, if it is ever necessary, can't she?" 
 
 " Of course, of course," answered Chandler, " there are a dozen 
 ways of getting out of it. Don't let that trouble you." 
 
 It did trouble him, however. 
 
 As his old companions had long said, he was losing hia nerve. 
 Recognizing that he was growing old, a constant fear beset him 
 that he would end his life in prison, and this had stayed his hand 
 in many a crooked game. It was at the beginning of the period 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE END 
 
 161 
 
 when he first began to lose his reckless confidence in himself that 
 he bad married, with the resolution to be cautious and begin the 
 process of saving dimes enough to make him comfortable when 
 too old to be any longer attractive as a companion or a partner. 
 The resolution to resume respectability had been ruined by his 
 brother's scornful refusal to advance him money enough to start 
 him in business, and after the failure to establish himself in some 
 reputable way of living came the desertion of his wife and child. 
 After that his luck had been bad. He had not courage enough to 
 attempt desperate things, and a gambler who is not desperate is of 
 necessity a failure. During the few years before he returned to 
 his wife, and appears as a minor character in this story, he had 
 subsisted on the friends with whom he had lavishly spent his 
 money in other days, and had become little better than a sporting 
 tramp. 
 
 One can easily realize the plaasure it was for him to find a com- 
 fortable home and immunity from the danger he had been contin 
 ually running by frequently transgressing the law and mentally 
 feeling its clutches. It had been a flashing up of his old spirit 
 which had led to his operations in KiHi.k's private room and the 
 seizure of the documents in the safe, but now that the long-coveted 
 fortune was within his grasp the fear of prison haunted him 
 unceasingly. 
 
 Cora had quickly recognized this and determined that it should 
 in her hand be the means of forcing her father to act as she 
 dictated. Now that wealth had come to her, the old bitterness 
 against TuUy died away, and in its place came a spirit of proud 
 hopelessness which, while it did not add to her happiness, made 
 her more gentle and forgiving. She knew when her father proved 
 his claim to the family property it would establish lier socially, if 
 it did not in the meantime transpire that her father had been 
 forced to adopt the role of a burglar, and she the part of an 
 adventuress, to secure what belonged to them. Thus, after Ralph 
 Moore's first interview with Chandler, the control of the case fell 
 into Cora's hands, and she conducted it with an energy and 
 secrecy which had the double object of establishing their rights 
 an<^- lu wio booe of again saving Tully and bringing him back to 
 her— of involving Killick deeply in the fraud which had begun 
 in the registration ol the false memorial and ended in the loan of 
 Miss Browning's montv to her uncle. On the afternoon of the 
 day that Killick had Loen driven home from his o£9ce, in the 
 wintry dawn. Lawyer Chandler called upon him to confront him 
 with the evidence which had been obtained, but was informed 
 that Mr. Killick was ill at his house and would probably not be 
 
164 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 back at his office for a week. Chandler could not lose the oppor- 
 tunity of settling some of his old scores with Tully by bullying 
 him a little with vaeue threats of what he proposed to do. 
 
 " I have evidence in my pocket," said he, as he sat in Tully's 
 private room, "which will make your partner a sicker man than 
 he is now, when I get a chance to show it to him." 
 
 "Indeed," said Tully scornfully, "I am not responsible for Mr. 
 Killick's conduct and I am very doubtful if you are smart enough 
 a lawyer to catch him tripping." 
 
 "It Is not a question of my smartness, Mr. Tully, but of his 
 rascality, and I am afraid your firm will present a very sorry 
 appearance when this matter gets into court." 
 
 "Mr. Chandler," answered Tully with dignity, "if there is a 
 matter you desire me to look into, present your case at once. If 
 you are simply amusing yourself by a little loud talk go to some- 
 one you can frighten. As for me I am entirely indifferent to 
 anything you can do or say, and the consciousness that I have 
 done nothing of which I need he afraid, emboldens me to 
 request you to go to the devil." Mr. Chandler retired in a rage 
 and would have taken proceedings at once, but Cora restrained 
 him. "Go up and see Mr. Killick at his house," she suggested, 
 "perhaps he is only shamming." 
 
 Chandler went, but the doctor met him in the hall and forbade 
 any intrusion upon his patient. 
 
 "He is a very sick man, Mr. Cliandler," whispered the doctor 
 in the tone of oily importance which fashionable physicians are 
 so fond of assuming, "and I doubt very much if he ever leaves 
 his bed. Apoplexy, my dear fellow, and symptoms of brain 
 softening. Came home this morning after being absent all night, 
 in a terrible condition ; must have had a violent shock. Absolute 
 quiet is the only thing that can save him. I have forbidden 
 anyone to be admitted to his room except the nurse. I will walk 
 down street with you, Mr. Chandler, if you don't mind. Not 
 going my way? No? Good morning, sir." 
 
 Chandler's report of Killick's condition alarmed Cora, and after 
 a lengthy consultation with her father it was decided that 
 nothing should be done until he either recovered, or until they 
 could be sure he would never act as prosecutor. 
 
 Nor did Cora feel free from personal responsibility. The 
 thought that she had been justified in acting as she did, did 
 not relieve her from a horrible fear that she was, indirectly at 
 least, the cause of Killick's condition. " Mother," said she 
 bitterly, "how often we have talked about wealth and position. 
 Now we have them both within our reacli and yet we are more 
 
 hi 
 
 8(1 
 
THEIR TROUBLES ARE NOT YET OVER 
 
 165 
 
 miserable tlian ever. T teel as if I had murdered that old man, 
 and there is no telling what happened in his room or how the 
 affair would look if he died and an inquest were held. Likely 
 enough both father aud I would be implicated and disgraced." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham could give her but little comfort ; the same 
 fear had been passing through her mind as for hours she had sat 
 bolt-upright in the squeaking rocking-chair, picturing the most 
 dire disasters. 
 
 "I feel," said she, "likj running away." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THBIU TROUBF-ES AltK NOT YKT OVER. 
 
 Dell's relations with Mrs. King had, day by day, grown more 
 embarrassing. The widow lost no opportunity of bein<? sarcastic 
 and disagreeable, while Dell had ignored even positive rudenes-, 
 in her efforts to conciliate the angry woman. As long as Dell felt 
 she was doing her duty for duty's sake, her pride consented to be • 
 trampled upon, and she was not supremely miserable in the sac- 
 rifices she was making, but when her attitude towards Tully 
 changed she felt that an actual rivalry existed between her and 
 Mrs. King and her continued residence in the home of her late 
 guardian would therefore be impossible. The thought of being 
 accused, when the facts became known, of having pretended to be 
 actuated by a sense of duty when in reality it would appear that 
 her love for Tully had been the true reason for her conduct, was 
 insupportable. Of course she had not told Mrs. King that duty 
 Instead of inclination had prompted her actions, but yet she had 
 hoped the perverse woman would see it in that light, and in a 
 dozen ways she had tried to prove tliat she had estranged Tully 
 from her for her own good. Now that the moral support of an 
 unselfish intention had been withdrawn, how could she meet 
 Madge's sneers or endure the manner which, as plainly as words, 
 reminded her, "you are a guest in my house; you know what 
 would make me happy and are robbing me of it ; how dare you stay 
 under my roof and treat me thus?" 
 
 Tortured by these thoughts and her fear that Tully, though 
 repentant and persuasive, was after all, a dangerous man, she 
 was poorly fortified against the assault Mrs. King made upon 
 her resolution. Dell was sitting in her dressing-room, feeling 
 weak and nervous, when she hoard a knock, and Madge with tear- 
 stained face and heart-broken mien, hesitatingly opened the door 
 
166 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 and asked if she mif<ht come in. Dell guessed what was coming 
 and, with sinking heart, begged her tearful visitor to be seated. 
 
 " Dell I Dell I ' sobbed Mrs. King, dropping upon her knees and 
 burying her face in Dell's lap, " I can't stand this another hour, 
 I'm going mad ! I know I've treated you shamefully, but I couldn't 
 help it, I love him so 1 Oh I do love him so, so much I You have 
 no idea how my whole future is bound up in him, how I think of 
 him every moment, dream of him, feel the touch of his aand, 
 see the look in his eyes, and long for just one word from him, 
 but now you have taken him from me, and he never even looks 
 at me. Oh, Dell 1 Dell 1 do please give him up to me. You don't 
 love him and I do— I love him better than all the world besides- 
 better than my soul. Dell, please, oh please give him up to me 1 
 On my bended knees I beg— I implore you to let him love me!" 
 
 Dell's hand rested lightly and tenderly on Madge's bowed head, 
 but her face was turned away from the humiliating sight, and a 
 deathly sickness was creeping into her heart as she listened to 
 the pitiful petition. 
 
 " Madge," she said, as the kneeling woman became more vehe- 
 ment, "get up, you degrade yourself by acting in this way." 
 
 I'.ut Madge clung to Dell's knees and refused to rise. "Take 
 pity on me," she begged, while Dell, with both hands, sought to 
 gently push the uplifted weeping face from her. 
 
 "Pity me I" she cried. " For God's sake, pity me. For the sake 
 of the years we have spent together, for what I have tried to do 
 for you, pity me, Dell, and let me have him. For John's sake, if 
 you loved him, g " 
 
 "Madge, how dare you breathe your husband's name!" ex- 
 claimed Dell, in horror, struggling, but ineftectually, to release 
 herself from the embrace of Mrs. King's arms. "How dare you 
 profane the name of your noble husband by urging my love and 
 respect for him as a reason why I should consent to you marry- 
 ing another I " 
 
 "I dare do anything, say anything, to win Steve Tullyl I care 
 for nothing and nobody in the wide world bun him I I don't care 
 what sacrifice I make ! " 
 
 "Madge," cried Dt-^', impatiently, "you at least are sacrificing 
 my respect by going on in this way. I could not have thought it 
 possible for a woman to so far forget every sense of dignity and 
 common sense." 
 
 " I tell you I don't care for anything or any one but him," cried 
 Mrs. King, trembling with excitement. "Even if he were your 
 husband I would love him still, and if he asked me I would go 
 to th« ends of the earth with him. You talk of forgetting 1 I 
 
THEIR TROUBLES ARE NOT YET OVER 
 
 \bl 
 
 have forgotten everything but him. You will never know what it 
 is to love as I do. You don't know what you are doing in coming 
 between us," she cried, growing still more hysterical, "For God's 
 sake, promise me to cease ulaying the coquette. I know you are 
 doing it because you thiuk it is your duty ; but it isn't your duty ; 
 it isn't for my good ; it will be my ruin, for I intend to keep on 
 loving him, no matter what happens." 
 
 Dell by a quick, angry movement escaped from Mrs. King's 
 smbrace and stood looking scornfully at the kneeling woman who, 
 with her hands clasped before her, seemed utterly regardless of 
 her distraught appearance, 
 
 " Madge," answered Dell, scornfully, " you are acting like a 
 crazy woman, and talking in a wicked way that you will be 
 ashamed of in your calmer moments. Say no more, but get up 
 and bathe your eyes." 
 
 As Dell reached down to assist her to rise, Mrs. King seized 
 the proffered hand, and after struggling awkwardly to her 
 feet, stood before her fur a moment as if ashamed, and then 
 began to cry. "I won't go," she sobbed, "till you promise that 
 you won't come between ua again. Promise me, Dell— how can 
 you refuse? You know how I love him, and you know you don't 
 like liim a bit." 
 
 Dell made no answer. 
 
 "You don't like him, do you?" persisted Mrs. King, with a 
 quick indrawing of her breath. "You don't love iiiiu J" 
 
 A flush had stolen into Dell's pale cheeks before she answered,' 
 " It should make no difference to you 'v I did not, it would not 
 be at all different If I did." 
 
 Mrs. King's tears suddenly ceased, her eyes flashed, and with a 
 fierce fling she threw Dell's hand from her. " Oh, I see, you do love 
 him. If I had thought so I wouldn't have made such a fool of myself." 
 
 Dell's face paled, but she still made no answer. 
 
 " Well, I have made a fool of myself," sneered the widow, 
 with a forced laugh, " iu believing that you thought I ought not 
 to marry him, and that it was a sense of duty which made you 
 try to separate us. Oh, I see it all now," she cried with a short, 
 harsh laugh, ** you want him yourself. Well, you shan't have 
 him, you little hypocrite. I have been a fool indeed, to beg of this 
 fine saint that her sense of duty should give way to gratitude. 
 I could lash myself for kneeling and imploring you— yo«— for 
 anything." 
 
 "Have you done," inquired Dell, coldly. 
 
 " Yes, I have done with you, and the sooner you leave this 
 house the better!" 
 
168 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "Madpco," retorted Dell, hotly, "I have sought to do you no 
 harm, 8-nd no matter what my motive may have been, you should 
 thank anyone who tried to save you from your madness." 
 
 " You needn't try to save mo from my madness any longer. 
 I am quite competent to take care of myself,"— and with diRnity— 
 "when may I expect the pleasure oi your absence?" 
 
 " Madge, you know as well as I do that your husband provided 
 In his will that I might remain here until I came of age if I so 
 desired, and tho' ,'h I realize that our relations hereafter can 
 never be as the„ ave been in the past, yet I do not propose to 
 create a scandal by leaving until I can do so on some reasonable 
 pretext." 
 
 "Then I will go and stay away until I know you have left. 
 I won't live under the same roof with you, nor breathe the same 
 air that you do." Mrs. King had worked herself into a towering 
 passion and strode out of the room with as much outraged dig- 
 nity as if she had discovered Dell purloining her spoons. Her 
 carefully calculated tearfulness, the grovelling way in which she 
 had implored Dell to abandon Tuliy, and her threats of the dreadful 
 and shameful things she was willing to do if thwarted, had been 
 a complete failure, and the humiliation of her defeat, intensified 
 by the discovery that Dell was herself in love with Tuliy, left 
 her no avenue of graceful retreat and, standing at bay, she made 
 matters worse by flying into a fury. The moment she had slammed 
 the door of Dell's dressiiiK room she began to regret her hasty and 
 Insulting words, not that she was sorry for having wounded her 
 companion, but she realized that if Dell left the house the prob- 
 abilities wore that Mr. Tuliy would cease to be a visitor. In her 
 boudoir she sat down intending to write a note requesting Dell to 
 remain with her, but instead scrawled a message saying that she 
 proposed leaving the city for a few days and hoped that Miss 
 Browning would look after the house until her return. With 
 Sarah's lielp a trunk was soon packed and she hurried away, 
 ashamed even to say good-bye to Dell. "Give that note to Miss 
 Browning when she comes down to dinner," said Mrs. King at 
 the door, "she has a bad headache and I won't disturb her." 
 
 Poor Dell, she had a headache indeed, and a heartache as well. 
 Motherless almost from her childhood nnd bereaved of her father 
 years ago, she had grown up self-reliant, but never before had she 
 been called upon to face the world and trust to its tender mercies, 
 without some strong hand to guide her and a luxurious home in 
 which to find refuge. She thoroughly understood that even if Mrs. 
 King recalled her ofTensive words, 25 Mowburn Street could be no 
 longer, in any sense, her home. The sentiments which had 
 
Til Kin THOUIihES A Hi: NOT YET OVER 
 
 169 
 
 prompted the inHult would remain, the rivalry between them, 
 the hatred Mrs. Kinj? would feel towards her for having deprived 
 her of Tully, would make it impossible for them to be friends. 
 Where could she go? She must certainly leave the city, for if 
 she remained, a change of residence would cause very'disagreeabie 
 comment. It would be quite easy to pass the winter in the south 
 with some friends who had gone lo Florida for the season, but the 
 thought of wandering from one hotel to another without any home 
 brought upon her an agony of loneliness, and many and bitter were 
 the tears she shed as she thouglit of her deaa father, and the kind 
 and considerate guardian who had striven to shield her from the 
 woes of orphanage and bestowed upon her a love as pure and 
 tender aft a father's. After hours of mental torture she rang for 
 acme tea, and dressed to meet Mr. Tully. 
 
 When he came his kindly inquiries, excited by her pale face 
 and despondent manner, made her grateful and gentle in her 
 reception of him. 
 
 "You look lonely to-night," said he. "You are different from 
 your usual self, and yet somehow, it makes the chanp;e easier for me. 
 Something tells lue what you have been suftering,and though I would 
 lay down my life to save you from sorrow, yet I confess the thought 
 helps me that perhaps something has happened which may assist 
 you to understand how one may be misunderstood, may suffer and 
 rebel, and still find it impossible to escape from the consequences 
 of a mistake, or— as it has been with me— worse than mistakes." 
 
 As he spoke he caught sight of the tears which filled her 
 eyes, and a great wave of pity seemed to sweep his ruder self away. 
 
 "Forgive me," he whispered bending towards her, "if I have 
 recalled a painful thought or some trouble you have been seeking 
 to forget. It is brutal of me to be glad that sorrow has touched 
 your heart. I cannot hope that any fellow feeling could make you 
 wondrous kind to me. My only hope is that the pure and gentle 
 woman has within her heart mercy to forgive the sins which in 
 my prayer I ask to have forgiven. But never, Dell, have you 
 seemed so gentle, so saintlike, as to-night, when your heart is 
 softened by some sadness which I dare not ask you to let me share." 
 
 She looked up at him so tliankfully that his heart gave a great, 
 joyous bound, and the impulse rose within him then and there 
 to ask her if u\\e loved him, if she would be his wife, but his con- 
 demnation of himself interposed, and he drew (juickly back. 
 
 "I have no right to say what is in my heart, what was on 
 my lips, until I have told you all— I have been the means of losing 
 part of your fortune"— said he, impetuously— "do not start from 
 me. I was innocent of evil design, but careless in not protecting 
 
 i 
 i 
 
170 
 
 A TJAI) MAN'S SWEKTIIEART 
 
 yon profiHMionaliy. The first niiHtake wek in len'ling that nioiu^y 
 to Col. Moore. I have siiue found out that KillicK Bent Mooro to 
 Stryde, who in turn suei/OMtcd the loan to me. If I had done my part 
 —if I had heeded Stryde's wjirniiiK to look into the title myself, 
 I Rhould have discovered the Haw which is likelv to make the 
 security worthless ; but I didn't. I trusted Killick's creature, 
 Dooley, and the title was passed. Then the Trust and JiOan 
 Company's bonds were bought, and again I find that Killick 
 with fiendish malevolence, had led us to purchase worthies;! secur- 
 ities, though they were supposed, even by the banks, to be aS good 
 as gold. Killick has been engineering a scheme whereby hundreds 
 of thousands of dollars have been loaned by the company on worth- 
 less linds and on farm property rated for twice what it is worth, 
 and, now ho is safe and his gains secure, he is exposing the frauds 
 of the company which, I fear, will fail. The greater part of your 
 money is thus invested, and though some will remain, the balance 
 will likely be swept away. I have been a dupe, but that is no excuse 
 —1 have none 1 The shame of it makes me wish that I were dead." 
 
 Dell's countenance liad been a curious study as with shamed, 
 flushed face ho told the story of her losses. Poor Tully could 
 hardly finish, his voice trembled so, and when at last he had 
 finished he dared not raise his eyes to hers lest there he might 
 read his condemnation. 
 
 "It doesn't matter," she said slowly. '*No doubt it is tor the 
 best. Don't feel so sorry ; it is much less serious than if you bad 
 been dishonest or had injured someone who was unable to bear It. 
 Money is a very small part of what is necessary to secure happi- 
 ness. I believe I shall be happier without it." 
 
 " Don't 1 oh, don't speak so gently, so forgivingly 1 " exclaimed 
 Tully, in great agitation, " I could bear reproaches, anything better 
 than your kindness. I feel so covered with confusion and shame, 
 I see myself in my true colors— the heartless, reckless fool, the 
 dupe, the betrayer of a sacred trust— the " 
 
 "Please, Mr. Tully, don't think of it again unless a memory of 
 what you sutrer now is ever necessary to keep you from future 
 mistakes. I have been proud and idle, how can I reproach you if 
 you have added thoughtlessness to your love of pleasure. Now I 
 must turn towards a more useful life, and I shall sincerely thank 
 Grod that this happened, if it is the means of starting you on a 
 better career." 
 
 Her slender hand rested gently on his as she spoke, and the 
 mrgnetism of the touch brought hope to his heart. He lifted his 
 i)owed head and looked into her eyes. 
 
 "God bless you I God bless you! and forgive me," he exclaimed, 
 
f^Sn:':v^P 
 
 K I LUCK'S DEATH 
 
 171 
 
 chokingly. "I am not worthy of your kindneHH, but you have 
 redeemed me and if the rent of my life can show my gratitude, 
 my lov«, it Khali be devoted to proving that you have Raved a soul 
 and made mo a man," 
 
 " If so, what a tritle my Iohs will be compared with the gain 
 to yourflelf and to the world I" Bald she, almost gaily. "I will 
 always be glad that 'it happened, for if you try you can be a great 
 man, and, what is ever so much better— a good one." 
 
 " Do you believe in me, Dell," he cried, eagerly. "Do you really 
 think I can be as you say?" 
 
 "Yes, I am sure," she answered— then after a pause— "now." 
 
 "Then will you share my life with me, Dell? Will you help me 
 to live as I ought ? " he whispered. " Do not say no ; give me some 
 hope. Let me cling to these gentle hands, my love, and I will be 
 anything, everything you would have me be !" 
 
 She did not withdraw her hands from his passionate grasp, 
 but looking into his eager eyes as if to read his thoughts, she 
 answered. 
 
 "Do not overrate my strength. I, too, am weak but togethri, 
 with God's help, we may be kept from falling!" 
 
 She spoke with a solemnity which forbade a caress, and rising 
 to her feet, they stood face to face, then raising his hand, before 
 heaven he vowed that his life should be devoted to her. 
 
 "And to God, dear," whinpered Dell. 
 
 "Yes and to God who has dealt with me in such infinite 
 mercy," he added, and then he stooped reverently and kissed her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ku^mck's death. 
 
 Killlck grew worse instead of better. His mind wandered when 
 he was quiet, and he muttered strange things about the suits in 
 which he was engaged, and the trip to Europe which had so largely 
 occupied his mind. Mrs. Killick was a hopeless invalid, constantly 
 confined to her room, and had long ago ceased to expect either affec- 
 tion or fidelity from her husband ; but had "she heard him whisper- 
 ing tender things to his bookkeeper, and repeating over and over 
 again the name of his false charmer, she would have found her 
 revenge when the paroxysms were coming on, and with frothing 
 mouth ';e cursed Cora and vowed the most fiendis'h vengeance. 
 His " spells," as the nurse called them, were awful to witness, and 
 after each attack he became weaker in body and more unsettled 
 
 I 
 
172 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 mentally. Lawyer Chandler hp^riug these reports and auxious to 
 force Tully into a defence of ais partner's rascality, at last pre- 
 vailed on Cora Burnham to brinj; the suit against her cousin, 
 assuring her t lat at first there would be no publicity, and the 
 probable success of their case would be largely enhanced by Kil- 
 lick's inability to assist in Col. Moore's defence. Her father 
 insisted, and with sinking heart Cora yielded, but with the stipu- 
 lation thf>.t nothing should be done without her consent. 
 
 Col. Moore was served with the writ and he at once repaired 
 to Kiilick to demand an explanation, and in the absence of the 
 senior partner and impelled by tb* report that Kiilick vi^as dying, 
 he finally confessed the whole matter to Tully. 
 
 "From your ow.i explanation of the matter. Col. Moore," began 
 Tully, fiercely, " ^ gather that you and Kiilick conspired to defraud 
 my client. Hh-.i. she was, and is still, a client of our firm makes it a 
 serious matter forme, and though, according to your own admission 
 you are an unmitigated scoundrel, I am also bound to act for you as 
 if I were convinced of your honesty. I wish you to understand my 
 feelings in this matter and to know that 1 will do nothing for you 
 except what is absolutely necessary ^o defend your title to your 
 estate, in the hope of being able to sive Miss Browning from loss. 
 You tell me you saw the will in Killick's private vault and that he 
 promised to give it to you when you paid him the money, and then 
 refused. How do jou suppose the will fell into the hands of your 
 uncle Ralph? Do you imayine Kiilick gave it to him V 
 
 "It would be just like him," answered the litfle Colonel, sul- 
 lenly. " He would have given it to me if ho hp-l not intended to 
 use it again. Isn't it possible that they haven't got the will at all 
 and that this is a blulT? Can't you see if it is gone?" 
 
 Tully sat silently turning the matter ovor in his mind. Here 
 was a good opportunity to get his hands u.: Killick's papers — 
 papers, too, which were necessary to jjfotect the firm's clients. 
 Would he be justified in searching his partner's safe? Tully's code 
 of honor had been an easy cne, and a month ago he would not 
 have hesitated avi instant, but would Dell approve of it? Surely it 
 would be in the interest of justice! Yet it would be taking ad- 
 vantage of Killick's sickness! 
 
 " Yes, I can search for it, hut i must engage some one to act aa 
 Killick's attorney in the matter. Stay where you are for half an 
 hour and I will send for Judge Rivers ; we will follow his advice." 
 "Great Heavens," exclaimed the Colonel, "don't get old Rivers. 
 If he finds out what it is all about 1 might as well give up my case. 
 Get some lawyer whose mouth will be abut by the fact that he is 
 acting for a client. ' 
 
KI LUCK'S DEATH 
 
 m 
 
 'Well, then, I'll get Donald Scott; he used to be Killick's counsel 
 —will he suit you? I suppose I might do it myself, but I propose 
 to take no chances, a vould let the matter stand over till Killick 
 is either well or dead, only t^^an the honor of the firm is involved, 
 and I am not prepared to shonkler any of Killick's rascalities." 
 
 As a further precaution, TuUy sent for Strydc, and while waiting 
 for Scott he told hitn how they had been swindled, and feared 
 that the Loan Company's bonds were bad. 
 
 " If it is as you say," said Stryde, firmly, " I will replace every 
 dollar she has lost by our mistakes. I am not rich enough to do 
 this at once, but I will never rest till it is all paid. If you can lielp 
 me it can be done instantly, and no matter whether we find this will 
 or not, if it is in existen.ie, we can do nothing but accept the facts 
 as they are and make no attempt to defraud the genuine heirs in 
 order to protect ourselves. However, I think it is quite within 
 your duty under the circumstances to look for the will in the place 
 Col, Moore specifies ; it is doubly a firm matter as it concerns both 
 your client and Killick's." 
 
 Donald Scott took the same view of the matter, and Dooley, 
 who had been despatched for the keys, returning at the moment, 
 they were quickly in Mr. Killick's room and hod the vault door 
 open. Neither Moore nor Tully had revealed their knowledge of 
 cha inner room, but waited to see the effect on their companions 
 when the portiere instead of a row of shelves revealed itself. 
 
 "This is certainly a very odd revelation,' exclaimed Scott, 
 pushing aside the curtain and entering. "' I— I am almost sorry 
 I consented to this search, but we may as well continue it. 
 Where did you say the document was kept?" 
 
 "In the safe yonder," answered Moore, "but I am afraid we 
 can't open it." 
 
 Tully tried the lock, the door swung open and disclosed the 
 ruined combination. Scryde at once exclaimed : 
 
 'The safe has been blown open. See, there is where it was 
 drilled." 
 
 "There," cried Moore, pointing in consternation to the empty 
 space, " is where the drawer was from which he took the will ; 
 it is gone ! " 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the old counsel, " there is something wrong 
 about this ; there has evidently been foul play of some kind ; the 
 whole matter should be placed in the hands of the police." 
 
 " I agree with you," answered Tully, who was thankful beyond 
 measure that he had been so cautious. " If you will remain here I 
 will go down to headquarters and report the matter to the detec- 
 tives." 
 
174 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 As he hwrried through the streets to the police station, he felt 
 sick at the thought of the shameful publicity which would be 
 sure to TuUow, but grateful that in his resolution to do right, no 
 matter what might be the result, he had providentially saved 
 himself by calling in so many witnesses. 
 
 The two detectives detailed to look into the matter searched 
 the room and found the broken drawer and the drill and cartridges. 
 Finding the name of the safe makers on one of the " bits," one of 
 them went down to make inquiries, while Tully, with his com- 
 panions, returned to his room for consultation. Strydc left them 
 and Tully dismissed Moore with instructions to come back next 
 day, and then Scott and Tully sat alone gazing oddly at each other. 
 
 "This is a queer business, Tully ; tell me what it means !" 
 
 " It would take me a long time, Mr. Scott, but as you are acting 
 for Killick in this will business you may as well know all about it. 
 It is a rascally affair." 
 
 When Scott had beard him through and rose to go, he took 
 Tully's hand and held it for a moment. 
 
 " Young man," said he, " you are in a difficult position, but you 
 have begun right. Put the case concerning your partner's papers 
 before one of the courts and be advised by the judge. I suppose all 
 documents in the office not marked private are in the custody of the 
 Arm. In the morning I will coidc over and see that Killlck's inter- 
 ests are not injured. In the meantime have one of the officers 
 remain in charge. By-the way," added Scott, turning back as he 
 was leaving, " why don't you go over and see Chandler, and get him 
 to postpone action in the Moore matter for a few days, and by that 
 time Killick will either be dead or able to talk." 
 
 Chandler was not only communicative, but abusive. " Your old 
 flame. Miss Cora Burnham, will have a chance to get even with you, 
 now that she is the heiress and you the beggar, and if she takes my 
 advice, Killick and Tully will be in jail before many days," 
 
 "What has Cora Burnham to do with the case?'' demanded 
 Tully, swallowing his rage as best he could. 
 
 "Oh— ho— so you don't know that her right name is Moore, and 
 it is her father who is the claimant. She will have very much 
 more money than Miss Browning, and— my gay young man— less 
 mercy." 
 
 "Chandler," cried Tully, furiously, "you are a cowardly whelp, 
 and if I had you wheie I could do it decently, I'd give you the kick- 
 ing you deserve. Understand one thing, however, that I have done 
 nothing wrong in this matter, and would not touch it were it not 
 for Killick's sicknos-". And," said Tully, threateningly, as an idea 
 struck him, " you may have biggf-r work cut out for you in this case 
 
KTLLICK'S DEATH 
 
 175 
 
 than you expect— something in the shape of burglary and murdei', 
 you know I " 
 
 "You daren't open it up?" retorted Chandler, incautiously. 
 " You've too much to lose 1 " 
 
 " I have nothing to lose ; Killick is a dying man, and dead men 
 have nothing to conceal." 
 
 The blow was well aimed, and it brought Chandler to his senses. 
 His private spit« had carried him too far, and his sudden attempt 
 to hedge laid him still more open to Tully's " bluff." 
 
 " Whatever accusation you may bring against my clients will 
 fail '-^ cover up your tracks, but we are not anxious for a flght ; 
 we would rather have a settlement. My client is old and wants his 
 rights at once. I tell you this because you can make the Colonel 
 abandon this suit and keen out of trouble yourselves— do you see?" 
 
 " Yes, I see. You want us to give Col. Moore the worst of it so as 
 to save ourselves. If you were a younger man you'd get your nose 
 pulled for an answer, but as you are too contemptible to touch. 111 
 tell you that you will get what the law gives you and whati it gives 
 it to vou, and I am willing to take the worst you can give me ! " 
 
 Stephen TuUy as he glared ^leflance at Lawyer Chandler had in 
 his face that unflinching determination and honest courage which 
 can never be assumed, and Chandler, who was but a weakling, 
 recognized it and asked himself if he had been mistaken in his 
 theory? Had llalph Moore and bis daughter been imposing upon 
 him? As he thougl ' jf the advances he had made to them he 
 became thoroughly frightened and rushed to their house to con- 
 vince himself that they had not gone. 
 
 The stock and business of "Mrs. Burnham, Fashionable Milliner," 
 had been sold, and Cora and her mother, for the first time in many 
 years, were idle. Anxiety and idleness together made tnem utterly 
 miserable, and gave birth to fears and ill temper which rendered 
 the place so uncomfortable that the husband and father declared 
 " he wouIq rather be a boarder with Satan himself," and had gone 
 to spend the afternoon in the little back room of his favorite saloon. 
 Their evident r.iarm and distress, when Chandler hurriedly entered, 
 made him still more suspicious, and before he left them they would 
 have been willing to throw up the whole case and leave the city 
 rather than face TuHy s vague charges of " burglary and murder." 
 
 It is generally supjxised by detectives that if those who commit 
 murder, or, indeed, a minor crime, were to go about their business 
 as usual and act as if nuthuife had happ-'-ned, the arrest of culprits 
 would decrease much more than lifty ner cent. It is only the most 
 artistic and practiced criminal who can by self-possession and long 
 experience rc=<train himself from those peculiar preparations and 
 
176 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 efforts at coacealinent which ho gencrallj mark the guilty. lu 
 other affairs the same impulse produces proportionately similar 
 results. The anxiety wliich follows vvroiiK doing or conspiracy, 
 becomes a consuming fire if in idleness or in a ne>v occupation one 
 has unusual opportunities for rellcciion. Even if one has done 
 right, if the action is unprecedented or in violation of conven- 
 tionality, the mind, dwelling on the public verdict which may 
 follow publicity, is apt to get into a terribly morbid condition. 
 Things known only to the one who is wondering what people will 
 say, seem all at once to have become known to everybody, and the 
 world and the people in it assume a new attitude. Thus one's past 
 history seems to suddenly become a book open to everybody, and 
 a desperate fearfuluess as to one's ability to conduct himself 
 with suflicient propriety to avoid being a conspicuous target 
 of ridicule or criticism, becomes a question of grave doubt. 
 This peculiar mental condition is more unusual with women 
 than men, except in one relation. Men indifferently reared 
 form habits and indulge in methods of expression which unfit them 
 for refined society, and no amount of effort, after these habits have 
 become fixed, will effect a change. Women> on the contrary, with 
 few misgivings, will adjust themselves to a chanee of fortune, both 
 in dress and conversation, and feel themselves quite competent to 
 accept the responsibility of sudden riches and the social duties that 
 wealth entails. But in the one relation of womankind to mankind 
 they are alvays at a disadvantage, and are fearful lest some mistake 
 or mad adventure in lowly life will rise up against them when their 
 social horizon broadens. This was particularly true of Cora and her 
 mother. Unexpectedly discovered in the position of wealthy women 
 of good family, they talked to one another of their past, and won- 
 dered how people would regard what may be called the ""^iHy 
 episode. They had almost satisfied themselves that it was unkui Tn 
 outside their own limited circle and would be over'ooked as one of 
 the hardships of the struggle to obtain their rights, when KilHcl 's 
 illness and the necessity of pushing their claims to the re estai'-s 
 
 made them conscious that a wider publicity must ; tlio result of 
 the law suit, that their father might be iniprisom for burglary, 
 and— worst of all— that an accusation might possibly be brought 
 against her for being the cause of Killick's sicknesj, turned Ci s cold 
 with terror. She imagined all sorts of terrible things happening iu 
 Killick's oflice; the fear that perhaps her father had struck and 
 injured the old lawyer, or that a coroner's inquiry might develop 
 such a suspicion and the clerks might be examined as to her rela- 
 tions with Killick, and the tear that she miurht coaie out of the trial 
 smirched by suspicion and damaged by what she v/ould be forced to 
 
KILLICK'S DEA ril 
 
 177 
 
 admit, robbed the prospective wealth of any fhann. Cora Burnham 
 belonged to that class of women wlio are essencially selfish and 
 passionlesa. ihe eliRhtest temptation would cause her to deviate 
 from right except In any way which m;p;ht involve her reputation and 
 future prospects. She was 'jne of those dangerous women whose 
 impulses are controlled by ambition rather than affection; a woman 
 not perhaps dangerous to herself, but to men. Now when whe saw 
 a great social future as one of her possibilities, it seemed terrible 
 thf»c all might be ruined by diflcJosures which would appear much 
 more damaging than the facts warranted. 
 
 Her father too had been drinking heavily, was irritable and 
 impatient ; her moCher, also, was fretful, despondent, and contin- 
 ually inquiring of Cora if she thought they would all have to go 
 to Jail. When Mrs. IJurnham asked this uuestion of her husband 
 he would very impolitely but forcibly tell her to go to a place never 
 mentioned in polite society. The once well organized household 
 was in a continual turmoil, and Lawyer Chandler was most unfavor- 
 ably impressed by Cora's reticence whin he questioned her as to 
 wbat had taken place between her and KilUck. 
 
 TuUy, on the other hand, when he returned to his oflico was 
 informed by the detective that there was little or no doubt 
 that Kllllck had himself blown open the safe, and, as he sat in his 
 room thinking over the strange occurrences, he guessed very cor- 
 rectly that Cora and her father had obtained possession of the 
 papers and either changed or injured the combination so that the 
 safe could not be opened, and as the detective suggested, the sight 
 of the empty drawer after the labor of drilling through the steel 
 had brought on the apopleptlc fit in which Killick had fallen and 
 smashed the box to atoms. He determined to go up to Killick's 
 house and if his partner had a lucid interval to ask him what he 
 should do with his private papers. When he got there the under- 
 taker was fastening the flowing folds of crape on the door knob. 
 At last the desperate schemer had closed his career and TuHy need 
 no longer fear the machinations of his wicked partner ! Thi niivse 
 met him in the hall ; she was largo and portly and had the sympa- 
 thetic face and gentle manners of a lady. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she answered, when he questioned her, "his death 
 was a truly awful one. He recovered consciousness about half an 
 hour before he died, and asked the doctor if he were likely to 
 recover. He told him no. It was Impossible, and at once he de- 
 manded writfng materials that he might make his will ; but he had 
 not written a lino before he was taken with another spell and 
 struggled in the most awful agony until he died. You had better 
 go up and see Mrs. Kllilck, sir; she needs someone to advise her. 
 
178 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 Poor woman, she is low enough hirself, though I munt say she 
 takes the death of her husband much more quietly than I should 
 have expected." , 
 
 In a bright front room, Tully found Mrs. Killick propped up 
 OD many pillows, pale, hollow-eyed and patient, her thin white 
 hands trembling on the coverlid ; her wealth of brcwn hair but 
 slightly silvered with gray, though over fifty winters had touched 
 with their chill and sorrow the poor lady whose life had been 
 particularly sad and loveless. Tully had never seen her before. 
 It was not Killick's habit to introduce his business friends at his 
 house, but when he made himself known, she expressed her 
 pleasure that be had come, 
 
 " Dr. Strong," she said, " is making ail the arrangements for the 
 funeral. He has been such a good friend to me, and until I can 
 advise with him, take charge of the business and do with it as you 
 see fit. My husband has not been a good man," she said, her 
 breath coming in short gasps, " I know ho has wronged many 
 people, and I am sorry he died without being able to make his peace 
 with God. He was a rich man, wasn't he, Mr. TuOy?" she asked, 
 turning her thin face towards him. 
 
 " I always understood him to be a very wealthy man, but, of 
 course, I do not know his private afl'airs." 
 
 " If he has left me power to do so, I desire to right every wrong 
 he has perpetrated. I haven't many more days loft, and I can 
 assure you, Mr. Tully, I won't l>e sorry when the call comes for me. 
 My life has been full of trouble, and the nd of it, thank God, will 
 be welcome. I have sent word for I>r. Strong to come, he will see 
 you and tell you in what way you can serve me. Goodbye." 
 
 As he held out his hand to say adieu to her Tully's eyes filled 
 with tears, and when the thin white hand clasped his and she 
 looked up at hiiH, he hont reverently down to hear what she had 
 to say. 
 
 " You are a young man, Mr. Tully," said she ; " your life is 
 nearly all before you : don't make riches your god. Be true to 
 yourself, tak** warning by my poor husband's life and awful 
 death— and do not think me harl-hearted because I profess no 
 sorrow at befnj; left a widow. It would be impossible," she gasped, 
 "after what I have suffered, not to feel a sense of the coming of 
 the great and glorious dawn and of being relieved from a union 
 which has been one of terrible trial. It seems almost like the 
 first glimpse of Heaven to be free from him. 1 speak this way 
 to you because I like your face ; you are young and noble looking. 
 Bo worthy always of a woman's confidence. I know you will be, 
 you coulda't btj otherwise, and God will bless you by bestowing 
 
KILLICK'S DEATH 
 
 179 
 
 on you, if you liavcn'L it now, a Kood woiiifin'^ love. Good-bye 
 again, I will send for you soon." 
 
 It was a snd scene, and Tully hurried back to his office, wonderina;, 
 when that pure woman had dared to be glad that she had been 
 relieved from a partnership with Killick, if he, too, might not feel 
 that Providence had intervened to save him. 
 
 On his desk lay a letter. The handwriting to him was strange, 
 and yet there was a look of familiarity. Could it be— yes, It was 
 Dell's. He opened it. 
 
 "My dear friend," it ran, "I have been mi'itnkcn, you too made 
 a mistake, thinking that because you bad lost my fortune you must 
 offer me your hand and sacrifice your future and yourself in com- 
 pensation as you did once before. I made the mistake of accepting; 
 I am sure your motive was good and generous, but it is all another 
 mistake. Now you think you are in love because you pity me and 
 feel that you are responsible for some, at least of my misfortunes. I 
 used to charge you with being egotistical ; I now feel certain that it 
 was I whose vanity made your deboiiair life seem so selfish, con- 
 ceited and loveless. It is I who have been eaten up with conceit. 
 When you aoked me to love you, to be yours, I imagined that I 
 yielded because I desired your moral and spiritual improvement, 
 and accepted you as a part of my duty, I must go back to the flr^t 
 deceit I practiced on myself. When I thought there was a danger 
 of your becoming reckless, and knowing that Mrs. King was fond of 
 you, I feared that both would forget the duty you owed to my guar- 
 dian who is gone, and for whom I had such a high appreciation and 
 respect, and— and I somehow believed that you oared for me, and to 
 save us from the scandal which a hasty marriage with Mrs. King 
 would have occasioned, I tried to win you away from her. It was 
 presumption, promoted by a false conception of my own feelings, 
 and a feeble striving towards the path of duty which still appears 
 clear, though It now seems to lie in a different direction. I have 
 deceived myself. You will not think that this confession iseasiiy 
 made ; you are too generous to think that it is made for effect. 
 Now I know that through all those months I loved you, and I 
 believe that when I endeavored to win you a^vay from Mrs. King, 
 in my inmost heart I did it because ray selfish soul longed for your 
 companionship. You confessed to me ; I must t^onfess to you. Bee 
 McKinley was In my confidence; I told her that when I got you 
 away from Mrs. King I would scorn tlic offer of marriage I believed 
 you would make, and prove to her as well as to myself how shallow 
 and hearilesH you were. Everything has turned out so ditFerently. 
 I feel now that I was weaker and more selfish than you were, that 
 you generously made an offer which you did not mean. I c«n 
 
180 
 
 A BAD MAN a SWEFTIIEAlir 
 
 clearly see that you oflercd me your hand because you thought it 
 was your duty. Can you uiKkrstand what I have written? lean 
 hardly comprehend myself what it nuans. This separation from 
 you, the abandonment of the hope wiiUh defined itself amidst the 
 clouds of misunderstandings which had held us apart. One thing I 
 see clearly— and believe me in this, I have made up my mind— I 
 must relract my promise. I cannot be your wife. My atonement 
 will be bitter as it is, but it would be stHl more bitter if I permitted 
 you to make the sacrifice you have ofiered. Before this letter 
 reaches you, I shall have joined some friends who are leaving? for 
 the South, where we will spend the winter together. Do not ask 
 me to change my mind. I cannot — I must not. Let your future be 
 guided by the impulses which have proven you so manly, while I 
 have been so self deluded and weak. Achieve tne great possibilities 
 in store for you. Be what God intended you should be, but forget 
 your old friend, Dki.l." 
 
 When he had finished reading the letter, he sprang from his seat 
 and rang viciously at the telephone. Something was wrong with 
 the wire— there always is sorncthing the matter when one is in a 
 hurry. At last he caught the central oOice, and they gave him the 
 wrong number, as is customary. He rang again and again— the 
 wire was crossed. In a passion of fear and desperation he pulled 
 on his coat, ran out and hunted for a carriage. Of course there was 
 none. When trembling with anxiety and haste, did one ever find 
 a cab? He at last found one and was driven as fast as a bribe 
 could persuaiTe the driver to go, but he reached 25 Mowburn Street 
 too late— not a few moments too late, but hours too late. Dell had 
 gone I 
 
 CHAPTKll XXVIII. • 
 
 TIIK TKST OF HICK l.OVE. 
 
 The impulse which caused Didl to write to Tully had been grow- 
 ing within her from the moment lie kft her on Mio eventful night 
 of her engagement. Though it had grown late before he departed 
 she at once sent for Bee McKinley and coiilided, amidst tears and 
 blushes, the result of her attempt to rescue Mrs. King. 
 
 "I told you so, Dell," cried Bee, with enthusiasm, "but I'm 
 sorry I did because you will begin to suspect your motives and 
 fancy all sorts of terrible thi>)gs. I can see you are at it now and 
 that you sent for me to confess, so begin and I'll show you what 
 an auntie I can be to you 1" 
 
Till-: TEST OF IIKR LOVE 
 
 181 
 
 "Oh, Beel" HiKhcd Dell, " why did you discover my trouble so 
 quickly, it makes me feel as if you had suspected me all along. 
 Didn't you now ? don't be afraid ; tell me just what you thought?" 
 
 "There now, just what I thought !" exclaimed liee, her brow 
 afrown, " you have begun to question yourself to me and no matter 
 what 1 say you will suspect yourself of having been a fraud. Dell 
 Browning, if you go back on me and my advice, hereafter we must 
 meet as strangers, I'm discouraged with you. It seems as if you 
 were determined to be unhappy and to make everybody else so. 
 Now state your grievance and I'll decide, but remember if my 
 decision is not accepted as final we part for ever." 
 
 Bee's tragic intensity seemed to arouse Dell for a moment, but 
 her beautiful face lengthened and the lovely eyes saddened as she 
 sat and thought before she replied. 
 
 "Don't try to be facetious, Bee, because what you say increases 
 my fears," she said, after a long pause. " He told me about that 
 girl— his bookkeeper— Cora Burnham, I think her name is ; you've 
 heard of her, I know, and it seems to me as if she and I were to be 
 put on the sam3 plane— as if we had indeed been considered 
 together, and Tully decided that I had the strongest claim, and 
 proposed to me on that account." 
 
 "But, Dell, he wooed you long before he felt that your property 
 had been lost by his carelessness. How do you account for that?" 
 
 " It may have been my money, then. He was poor and anxious 
 to establish himself, and had never analyzed his motives. Later, 
 when he began to see his mistakes, he resolved to make amends 
 where his follies had done mcst harm." 
 
 "I'm going home, Dell Browning! No, I won't stay another 
 minute. You are in love and unreasonable. We shall quarrel if we 
 try to argue it out ; I could almost pull your hair now. Happiness 
 comes and ofTers itself to you and you deliberately sit down and try 
 to find excuse for refusing it. I " 
 
 "Don't, Bee ; do be reasonable yourself and talk it over." 
 
 "I won't!" retorted Bee, sharply; "it's useless. A blind man 
 could have seen that Tully has been in love with you for more than 
 a year, and if you are determined to wreck him and make yourself 
 unhappy for life, you must do it alone. I wash my hands of the 
 whole business. Good night 1 " 
 
 " Bee, will you go like this when I need a friend so badly?" cried 
 Dell, almost in tears. 
 
 "Yes, lam yoingjust like this," answered Bee in a hurt tone. 
 " What you need is not my advice, but something to bring you to 
 your senses. If you regain consciousness any time to morrow, send 
 for me. Mamma told me to hurry l>ack, but I would have dis- 
 
182 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 obeyed her if I could have been of use to you. Ah it is, I cannot ; 
 good night, again. Never mind sending anyone with mo." 
 
 When Hce liad gone Dell's thoughts, witli that perverse ten- 
 dency which always brings reaction after moments of joy or exal- 
 tation, more strona'ly than ever impelled her to renounce Tully 
 and hasten away from the fascination of his presence. Tears 
 blotted two letters but the third was sealed, and then she wrote a 
 note to Mrs. King saying that on the morrow she would join some 
 friends who were gomg south. For fear she might change her 
 mind, she had Sarah go with her to mail them and was surprised 
 that no relief came to her even after it was impossible to reverse 
 her decision. 
 
 *' You look poorly, mom," Sarah hinted, synipathetically, when 
 they returned, " I "ope there haint notbink the matter, mum 1" 
 
 " No, Sarah, there is nothing the matter. I have a headaobe, 
 that's alL I'm going away in the morning to be gone a long time 
 and will need you to he p me pack my trunks " 
 
 " Not for good, mum, I 'crpe," cried Sarah in alarm. " It'd break 
 my 'eart, mum, it would, indeed,'' and the poor girl burst into tears. 
 
 "Don't speak of such a thing, l^irah," said Dell, startled into a 
 more reserved attitude. " I'm goin^ south with some friends and 
 though I hardly know when I may come back, I'll be certain to 
 return some time." 
 
 The packing of Dell's numerous belongings began early in the 
 morning but was yet unfinished when Mrs. Flambert made her 
 appearance. 
 
 After a sleepless night and the worrying work of the morning 
 Dell looked utterly miserable. Dark circles were about her eyes, 
 her hair was disordered and her gown rumpled. 
 
 " Lord bless me, Dell, what is the matter with you," demanded 
 Mrs. Flambert, when she met her. " You look as if you had been 
 crying all night— not about that rascal, Tully, I hope?" 
 
 Dell raised her eyes steadily to meet Mrs. Fhimbert's gaze, and 
 the two women looked at each other with a strange ret.erve. Mrs. 
 Flambert's face was unrea?lal)le when she was silent, and Dell's 
 pride had, for the moment, come to her rescue. 
 
 " I— I don't know why I should look so woe-begone," began Dell. 
 " Or why you should think I had been cry " 
 
 A sudden softening of Mrs. Flambert's handsome, almost reck- 
 less, face, a filling with tears of the brilliant eyes, and trcmbi'lng 
 of the full red lips, startled Dell from her proud but ineiTectual 
 attempt to ignore her sulTering, and in a moment they were weep- 
 ing hysterically in each others arms. 
 
 P^lectricity, telegraphy— nothing grosser than women's intui- 
 
THE TEST OF HER LOVE 
 
 183 
 
 tiontt, than wonioii's nerves, will evtr brinx human beings into such 
 InHtantaneouH conununieation an the feminine altliiity when there 
 i8"HomethinK wronK." and love seeks lo llnd it out or repair the 
 damage. 
 
 "You have hr-ard," whispered Mrs. Flambert, "I know jo\i 
 have. 
 
 "Heard what?" questioned Dell with alarm. 
 '• About Tully I " 
 
 "No; nothing. What is wrong?" she asked wltli a sudden 
 haskiness and liardening of her voice. 
 
 "Really, Dell, have you heard nothuiK?" 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "About the villainies he and Killick have been into?" 
 "No ; notliing," answered Dell, her voice atrowing steadier, her 
 eyes calmer and her head uplifting itself with sudden prido and 
 resentment. 
 
 " I have been wrong/' said Mrs. Flambert, brokenly. " It seems 
 after all that he is a scamp unworthy of confidence, and I could 
 have sworn to hln honorable intentions." 
 
 "What has happened?" questioned Dell, withdrawing herself 
 from Mrs. Flantbert's embrace. 
 
 " Why, Flam came home late last night and told me about the 
 way Tully had used Teddy Griusby in pretending to act for him 
 while Killick was helping the Kahns to secret their stock and 
 abscond from the town. Then came an account of how Tully had 
 helped Col. Moore and the Loan Company to rob you, and my blood 
 boiled, but when I found out that Tully had managed the whole 
 thing 80 as to have Cora Burnham made the heiress— or her father 
 for the time made the hei^' of Col. Moore's estates— I was wild. 
 I've always told Flam that KIlHck was a scoundrel, but he never 
 believed it till yesterday, and then went down to the ofHce and 
 demanded a settlement. Tully told him he knew nothing of his 
 affairs and that Killick was sick and had not l)e6Ji down. Flam 
 told Tully he believed they were a pair of consummate scoundreln, 
 and Tully replied that he could believe what he liked, as far as he 
 was concerned he had never handled a dollar of Flam's money 
 and never wanted to Flam is wild and has been trying to see 
 Killick this morninp already but the nurse refused him. He 
 believes that the old villain isn't in tlie city at all, and that there 
 is going to be a terrible crash, what with Killick's frauds and 
 Tully's foolish speculations, and he is after them both hot-foot. 
 I'm sure I don't know what will come out of it but I came to tell 
 you that I was wrong and you were right when you refused to have 
 anything to do with Tully." 
 
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134 
 
 A HAD BIAS'S SWEETHEART 
 
 " Bat your husband had nothinR to do with Tully," arftuod 
 Dell, her fare tluHliini^. "Killick may have wroiiKcd hint wkhout 
 Tully knowing anything about it." 
 
 "Ye*, my dear, but Tully has wrongud you, has lost your prop- 
 erty; Killick can't be l)lanied for that. ' 
 
 " I don't know at)out tliat," answered Dell ; " ho may have been 
 to blame for ererything." 
 
 " But he wasn't, child," retorted Mrs. Flambert, uneasily. "Kll- 
 lick had no control over your estate. Surely, since 1 saw you, you 
 have not changed in your estinialion of Stephen Tully?" 
 
 " Yen, I have," answered Dell, boldly. " I am sure he is honest ; 
 I can't believe wliat you say ! " 
 
 " You— you haven't proinisod to— you aren't engaged to him?" 
 she asked confusedly. "It can't be that I liuvo been the means 
 of— of— of bringing you together ! " 
 
 "Yen and no." answered Dell, steadily. "I will tell you all 
 about it. but first of ell, let me say—/ love him I It is all over now, 
 but I have found out my own heart, and it is his. I believe in him 
 and love him, and since you have t )ld me what you have, I am 
 «)rry I wrote to him as I did " 
 
 When Dell had confided her troubles to Mrs. Flambert, that 
 kindhearted woman made her promise to abandon her Southern 
 trip for a few days and stay with her. 
 
 "Get a cab and drive over to our house. Say nothing to your 
 servants, ai.d when Mrs. King comes home, we'll either fix things 
 up or you can go on to New York and join your friends, as they 
 don't start for a week. In the meantime you will know the truth 
 about Tully and whi re you stand lliiancial'y. After all, Dell, I'm 
 glad you stick to him so bravely; everything may turn out all 
 right, but I'm afraid it won't." 
 
 Dell promised to go to Mrs. Flambert's ai;d had resumed the 
 packine of her trunks, whm Hov. Dr. Strong called to see he.* 
 
 "I have l)een uneasy," said he, looking do\. n into her aad face, 
 "since I was here last. I may have given you advice in a general 
 sort of way, that you may have applied in a particular case— par- 
 ticularly so as at hia-t I intended that it should inlluence you In 
 your judgment of our mutual friend Tully. Mrs. Flambert advised 
 me to do as I did. Like Adam I lay t he sin on the shoulders of Kve. 
 You see, child. I really feel it is ne< essary to confess, at.d in con- 
 fessing I have to tell you how I came to intcrfure, test you may 
 resent the Impertinence of my interference so strongly that you 
 won't listen to my advice. Mrs. Flambert, however, did not advise 
 me to come this time," said the Doctor, patting the little hand that 
 still lay unresistingly in his. "I want to talk to you as if I were 
 
THE TEST OF HKIi LOVE 
 
 185 
 
 vo ir father. It i» bccauHC I lo.'cd him, and he trusted me, that I 
 liiM' reproached iiiyHelf lest, in my eaKerncHS to please the Flam- 
 l.fiiH-aiul to p'ease niyHclf I confesH I may have liclped to bniiK 
 you to a wroMK deciHion. I have heard sucli dreadful things of 
 Tully in the last day or two, that he and his partner, Killick, are 
 mixed up in the most o'.traneous frauds, in some of wliich even 
 your money has l)een saciiflccd and you " 
 
 "Could you tell me a specillc instance, Doctor? Rumors are so 
 vague and unjust sometimes." She looked up at him so pitifully, 
 the tears diuiming those glorious eyes which were often so proud 
 and unyielding. 
 
 "Ah, my poor little girl, I see that you are woundei. I was afraid 
 when Mrs. I'Iaml)crt told me just now you had engaged yourself to 
 Tully, that you had done it simply to try and savo him ; but I see 
 your heart went with your hand, my little one, and it will be a 
 thankless task for me to be the harbinger of evil tidings, but I 
 am anxious to save you from any heart aches which may come of 
 a publicity which you, from a mistaken sense of loyalty, may 
 seek to share with Tully— not 'seek to share'— but will have to 
 share, if you strive to shield him." 
 
 "But the Instarce, Doctor, tell me what you have heard if you 
 think I should know it," she Insisted, her lips ceasing to tremble 
 and taking on a firmer expression. 
 
 "Well, there is the case of ilahn with whom Killick was mixed 
 up some time ago. I heird by accident that Teddy Grigsby went 
 to Tully and engaged him to watch Theodore Kahn's brother, and 
 Instead of him takii'g active measures he and Killick arranged to 
 give the KahuK an opportunity of secreting their goods and robbing 
 Grigsby. As it happened, Teddy, who Is a smart business man If he 
 Is such a slow, queer sort of a fellow otherwise, took vigorous 
 measures himself and brought them to justice. Again, the firm 
 has made an eirort, a successful etlort I am afraid, to break the 
 Trust and Loan Co., whoso bonds I am told you hold in very large 
 amounts, and it Is said they will share tlie protlts of depreciating 
 the stock. Worse still, tJiey have got poor Klngsville. the president 
 of the company, into a (Ix where be will be absolutely ruined both 
 financially and in reputation. They have swindled, or at least 
 report loys they have er.trapped Col. Moore, and by secreting the 
 will which was in their possession, made him give you a worthless 
 mortgage, the entire sum out of which you were defrauded being 
 returned to them as a price of the!- lence. If these things are 
 true you will be rendered almost penniless, and there is no telling 
 where Mrs. King's money may have gone. In a very short time the 
 facts will bo dip-i'>s.id ; meanwhile pray take my advice and refuse 
 to see Mr. Tully.' 
 
186 
 
 A n.lD MA.X'S SWKETItEAItT 
 
 "Woulfl you think better of )iim, Doctor, If I told you that lio 
 had not eoiu'caled tliese things from me; that ho had described all 
 the tranHactious of which you have heard, and shown ntu that lie was 
 the dupe and tool of the conscicnrcless wretch with whom he has 
 been in partnership? And I beiiovod him, Doctor, every word he 
 told me I believed was true." As she spoke she raised her head 
 proudly, almost defiantly, as if determined to f.-xcc the world and 
 hold to faith and love. 
 
 "Yes, child, I can understand that he may have told you, but 
 we must be worldly in this matter, must look at the motives which 
 Impelled him to the confession. The crisis has been coming and he 
 must have known that he could conceal It from you but a llttlo 
 longer. Was it not the most natural thing In the world for him 
 to prepare a way of retreat \ Just think now, did he come to you 
 and tell you these things in self deft nee or to counsel with you 
 after the first wrong had been perpetrated as to the course he 
 should pursue in future? Wasn't it alter all the evil had been 
 done? Did he make any struggle after the discovery of the first 
 mistake— if you are charitable enjugh to call It a mistake— to set 
 himself right, or even tD undo the wrong." 
 
 "It was not until a lew days ago that I would permit him to 
 speak to me ; he had no opportunity to do as you say," answered 
 Dell, quickly. 
 
 " liut, my child, he might have written." 
 
 " Yes ; but remember. Doctor, he only made the discovery of the 
 web that had been woven aljout him a few day« ago. Then he came 
 and told me everything, and the disclosures wtiicli have since been 
 made were caused by his determination to force Killick to rectify, 
 as far as was In the firm's power, the wrongs they had done. I am 
 sure, when everything is known, tha» what he told mo will be 
 found to be true." 
 
 "1 hope 80, I hope so, but I fear not," said the Doctor, slowly. 
 "I fear not, my poor little friend; I fear not," and he sighed 
 heavily and shook his head. 
 
 "But I don't fear. I know, as sure as I live," cried Dell, both her 
 hands pressed tightly over her heart. "I am as sure as I am that 
 there Is a heaven that he told me the whole truth ; that he was 
 innocent of any intention to do wrong In the things of which you 
 tell me. He made a bad mistake some time ago, before poor Mr. 
 King died, which placed him In Killick's power ; but as to defraud- 
 ing his clients, or trying to rob me, or being in Killick's confidence 
 even, in the wirked things that that repulsive old man has been 
 perpetrating, I am sure he will be proved innocent." 
 
 "Possibly, possibly, but you can afTord to wait a few days," 
 
THE TEST OF HER LOVE 
 
 187 
 
 .lUHwercd the Doctor, hia voice Hf.d and increduloun. "Don't be 
 laHh, run away out of the city on a visit until thin^n take nhape. 
 Come now, you can do that wifhout appearing unfaithful." 
 
 " But could I do it without hiiny unfaitliful \ It he ever needed 
 .1 friend he needs one now. If, when you told me I should reach 
 own and try to raise the fallen, no niatttT who or where, you 
 meant anythiuK, you must Ipl'^vn that I litvc a 'iuty now to him 
 to help and ntrenKthen hini rnd prevent him from becoming reck- 
 less in tiis IcHpair," retortr<i 1 ell, qu'ckly. 
 
 *' Yes, bu" ray ilear, it is unneceni^ary to f-actiflce yourse f." 
 
 "You told mo the last time you weie li- re tliut if one does right 
 and truHtH in God with a pure heart, evil cannot come. Can't I 
 trust in liiin now atul dare to do right!" 
 
 " Hut wait, wait my child, for a day or two. If he loves you he 
 will be Htronij and make the light as well without you as with you. 
 lie won't kn )W that you have heard that everything has become 
 public and can't be wounded by thinking you false to him." 
 
 " iiuc I should bu false to him, nevertheless, and to myself. I 
 wuuKi p;o to him now. Doctor Strong this moment but the letter— 
 I he letter I sent him last night, it— it makes it impossible." 
 
 "In what way," ask<'(i the clergyman, with surprise. 
 
 " I was :>frai'i he hnd asked me to marry him because he had lost 
 my money and was anxious to «?o what he could do to save me from 
 poverty and the c >n8e(|uences of his mistakes. I was afraid that 
 it was his generosity laiher than his love that prompted the olTer. 
 lie told mo of his trouble with that Miss Durnham, that she saved 
 him once from the exposure of the mistake which got him into 
 Killick's power, and that in a burst of gratitude, knowing that she 
 cared for liiiii, he promised to marry her. I was afraid he had done 
 the same to me and would perhaps repent it ns he did in the other 
 case. I was oh, so unhappy, so utterly mist-rable, and I have been 
 so self deluded that I wrote to him that I would not see him again." 
 
 "I sympathize with you," answered tlie Doctor, his broad hand 
 resting upon the plaits of her brown hair, " but it almost seems as 
 if Providence had guided your pen. It will now be easier for you to 
 evade him for a few days until your friends find out to what extent 
 he is a partner in Killich's guilt." 
 
 "Doctor, I know I should look up to you for advice in this 
 matter, yet I feel that I am doing wrong in not going to him and 
 oflV-ring him my sympathy when he needs it so badly. I feel like 
 a coward, for I do not need to wait to have his truth proved. I 
 believe in him absolutely. Since you tell me that he is in trouble, 
 I can understand that his oiler was not prompted by a desire to 
 make atonement, but l)ecause he loved me." 
 
188 
 
 A VAii -i/.i-vvs s\vekhii:art 
 
 ' You are ri«lit, my little frieiul, ' replied the Doctor evasively ; 
 "you should look to nie for advice at a time like this, ind I advise 
 you to wait. ' 
 
 "Only for a little while thounh. Doctor ; only for a little while," 
 a.sked Uell, pitifully, " it won't b;- for lon^. will It ?" 
 
 "\o; only a day or two,' answered the Doctor, cheerfully, "and 
 I assure you ii will l).- hettt-r foreveryone concerned. It will relieve 
 my conscience, and you will not be walking in the dark." 
 
 *' I am Koi'iK to Mrs. Flambert's. She was here this morning and 
 asked me to stay witii her a little wliile. .She feels as you do. I 
 suppose I would \k very headstrong lo refuse to listen to you." 
 
 And so it happened that Doll had left 25 Mowburn Street when 
 Tully came to seek her. 
 
 CHAITFU XXIX. 
 
 THK iiMiit 111 luKi; Tin; hawn. 
 
 During the day followiiiK Killiik's death Tully was surprised to 
 find his ollioe besifge<l l)\ clients anxious to olitain sight of mort- 
 gages or to obtain a statement of account. He thought It strange 
 that at a time of allT tion people with whom they had been doing 
 business should l>e so anxious to have a statement, but early in th? 
 afternoon he heard the rumors which had been the cause of some- 
 thing very much lik^- u "run" on th.?ir ofJire, and had no dilliculty 
 in tracing them to Chandler. In every instance he had been able 
 to satisfy those who had called that ever\ thing was all right, shown 
 them the papers, the contents of which they took pains to state 
 they had forgotten and from which they wished to refresh their 
 memory. There was plenty of money in the bank to the Arm's 
 credit, and as soon as Tully found the meaning of the excitement 
 it was not a dillicult matter to quiet his clients. Stopping the 
 stories them>elves, however, he knew would Ijc a difTerent matter. 
 That the linn was susjactcd of having been engaged in crooked 
 business and his own re]iutation was involved ; that the death 
 of his partner had left him to bear the burden of Killick's 
 wrong doing, Hta;.'gere(l him, Afttr long years of recklessness 
 his name and reputation must now be the target for all mud- 
 throwing envy ! The newspapers, too, would discuss tha matter, 
 and if Cora Durnham felt inclined to complete her revenge, 
 now was certainly the time she would act. So at last everything 
 would have to come out and the villainous record of his partner 
 would become so associated with the stories of hia own dissipat- 
 
THE JIOVR llEFOJiE THE DA WN 
 
 1C9 
 
 t ion and irregularity that forever afterwards he would he tainted 
 and bcsniirclud hejord hope of ever IniiiK uhlc to rehahiliinte him- 
 «elf. How could he ever hold up his head in llie city afja-n f The 
 thouKht of all these thinK** made his brow darken and he ground 
 his teeth with a fierce determination to flglit it through. 
 
 "If Dell were only wi»'- me 1 could face a thousand furies," he 
 said, half aloud; and with the thouxht of her the scowl left his 
 handsome face, and throwing him elf l>ack in his chair he almost 
 SBiiled as the idea 8ugKe.-*ted itself to him that, blackened by 
 calumny and rendered friendless and poor by loss of business, 
 Dell CO 1 not suspect him of olTerir.K himself as a sacrifice for 
 having w ^ted her fortune. " 1 -.hall be able to convince her, thank 
 God, that she is the one making the sacritlce, and I the one 
 receiving the favor." As his thoughts thus turned in a more 
 hopeful direction, he was beginning almost to congratulate him- 
 self that his persecutor was dead and that Providence, after all, 
 was directing his future and bringing him safely through the 
 trial, when IVddy Grigsby's tall and ungainly form appeared at 
 the door of h.s private room. That his errand was not a pleasant 
 one was evident from his extreme embarrassment and a woful and 
 intensified awkwardness, which made it almos impossiMe for him 
 to seat himself in the chair which Tu'.ly had pushed toward him, 
 without falling down. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Grigsby," inquired TuUy, with 
 the cheerfulness which he had all day assumed in the presence 
 of his clien ., "you come in with the graceful and funereal manner 
 of a kind hearted sl.crilf who linds it his painful duty to take the 
 prisoner out and hang him. Unburden yourself, old fellow ; don't 
 feel afraid of hurling me. I have had a siege of it ail day and can 
 stand almost anything now." 
 
 Gr=gsby sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, anxiously 
 scrutinising Tully's face. He pushed hi spectacles close up to his 
 eyes, fidgeted about with his hands and then began: 
 
 "I hear that you are In trouble, Tully— that Killick's deatn has 
 disclosed a series of frauds and— and- and villainies in fact ; which 
 Is likely to ruin you and everyone whose money you have been 
 handling. Is It true, Tully I Has Dell Browning lieen robbed of 
 the money left in your care for her ■' " 
 
 " Grigsby," answered Tully, steadily, " Killick has not been 
 doing the straight thing, but if God In his wisdom ever struck a 
 man down In order to defeat his plans for the ruin of others, he 
 has done it In the present instance. I do not believe Killick 
 expected to die, I don't Imagine that his plans were so matured 
 that his death will not defeat them. He was »n exceedingly 
 
190 
 
 A liAIi MAX'S SWEETHEART 
 
 wealthy man and I haven't the slighteHt doubt that everything 
 we owe we shall be ahtu to [tay. That he contrived for nonie 
 diabolical reason of his own to liave Mina Browni.g'H money 
 invested in worthlcHH necurities I admit. I shall endeavor to make 
 our lirm responsible; if thiscftnnot l>c done I will devote the rest 
 of my life to repaying the money I have been the instrument of 
 losino;, and 1 can assure you, old fellow, that it was carelensneas 
 and not fraud on my part." 
 
 " Then you have lost her money, have you?" demanded Grlgaby, 
 straightening up. 
 
 " Yes, I fear that the most of it is gone." 
 
 "Then Tully, all I have to say to you is, that you are no friend 
 of mine, that you deserve the worst that has been said about you. 
 You are too good a lawyer to excuse yourself by calling it a mis- 
 take. I would never have believed It of you. It will take evidence 
 which I am afraid you can't produce to convince me that you are 
 not an infernal rn'^ral." 
 
 " I think I shall be able to produce that evidence, Teddy," 
 anuwered Tu'ly, sadly. "As an old friend, as one I have loved 
 as a brother, withhold your judgment for a little while." 
 
 "I can't, Tully, I won't," cri?d Grigshy. "You have always 
 iMsen able to talk me over, I have always felt som.'how that you 
 had a license to do things which I would have considered criminal 
 in myself, but I can't forgive this." 
 
 "Teddy," whispered Tully, putting his hand on Grigsby's 
 shoulder and standing erect before him, " 1 love Dell Urowning. 
 You know that for years she has been my ideal of a good and 
 beautiful woman. Why should you think me scoundrel enough to 
 try and do her an injury? Have I been so brutal, so heartless, so 
 utterly without conscience, that you can believe this of me?" 
 
 Teddy faltered. He could see the tears in Tully's eyes. 
 
 " I can only judge a man," said ho, " by his actions. Yours have 
 l)een those of a man who didn't care what happened, so long as it 
 didn't happen to him. I can't change my opinion, though I wish to 
 God I could. Will you be kind enough to give me all the papers in 
 your ofTlce belonging to our firm ? Our acquaintanceship and busi- 
 ness dealings must end." 
 
 " It shall be as you say, Teddy. I now know that I am without 
 a friend." 
 
 He went to the vault, selected the papers, insisted on Grigsby 
 glancing over them, and then with a quiet dignity which im- 
 pressed Teddy in spite of himself, bade him good evening. Return- 
 ing to bis private otrice, he stord at the window looking down on 
 the street below, bis heart heavy and his eyes almost uaable to 
 
TllK HOUR liEFOtii: TUK DAWS 
 
 191 
 
 restr.'i 1 lli'- tears. "If (Iri^Hby believes it,'* he thouKht, "I need 
 hopt' mr no riicrcy from public opinion. Dell herself will believe 
 nie mmiy." 
 
 Ill' lieard the door open Hharply IK-Iiind him, and turnint; around 
 he Ht ).)d face to face with .Tohn Stryde. 
 
 " sVhat Is this I hear. Tally ?" demanded Stryde, his voice treni 
 ulcus with excitement and anger. 
 
 " I don't know what you have heard," answered TuUy, bitterly ; 
 " u(i liiuK good, I presume." 
 
 " 1 have heard that you have souandered every cent of trust 
 money in your possession ; that Killiek'H death has brought things 
 to a crisis ; that the firm is bankrupt, and that you and that dead 
 villain have used me as a dupe, and that not only Dell Browning's 
 money, but Mrs. King's has been s(iuanderod." 
 
 *• If you will sit down I will talk the matter over with you," 
 answered Tully, detlantly, " but I have endured so much to-day 
 that 1 can't enter into any discussion with a man who insists on 
 stigmatising me as a rascal before he knows the facts. Chandler 
 haH been circulating all sorts of infernal lies, and this office has 
 '<een n pandemonium all day. I would like to have your good 
 opinion, and I certainly expect that even if I have forfeited it 
 you will not do any talking until you know what you are talk- 
 ing iil)out. All that has been done is past and no amount of 
 talking will alter it." 
 
 " But has the money been lost ?" insisted Stryde, hoarsely. 
 
 " I am not aware of a cent of Mrs. King's money having been 
 lost or misapplied. As far as the investment of Dell Browning's 
 money is concerned I was as innocent of any intention to do wrong 
 as you were. I am as anxious to make reparation as you are. To- 
 morrow after the funeral Scott and I Intend to go into the matter 
 thoroughly. My whole day has been employed satisfying my clients 
 that their affairs are perfectly straight. If you will join us to- 
 morrow afternoon we will look into this matter. In the meantime, 
 Stryde," added Tully, bitterly, " in your righteousness do not judge 
 me too harshly. If you are a Christian act like one until I am 
 proven unworthy of even that mercy which God is willing to show 
 to the vilest sinner." 
 
 "You have no reason, Tully, to speak to me in this way. I am 
 not an old woman ; I don't go about tattling scandals. I have 
 asked you a business question— give me a straight answer." 
 
 " My answer, Mr. Stryde, Is, that this firm Is perfectly solvent; 
 that while Killlck has been manipulating stocks and following out 
 •OHIO infernal scheme to ruin me and half a dozen others, he has 
 made money at every turn. As far as I am aware his estate will 
 
 
192 
 
 A n.\i» MA.\s s\\i:i:i'iii:M{i' 
 
 vaiisfy ten times over every eliiini timt cnn ho brought B(rninst the 
 liriii. I am uerHOiially uiinwiue of a cent of iinIeljUdiiesH to any 
 l)ody whicli in not covered by our balance in tlio (tank . and though 
 no doubt you will refuHe to believe nic, I UHsure you that I have 
 (lone notliing unjiroressional ; was not implicated In any irregularity, 
 except a8 I told you I wan cureless in looking into the title of that 
 Moore property. We nliall go info this matter to-morrow ; it 
 would be UBcKss for me to endeavor to hide anything from you 
 now, an the facts will then bo disclosed. In the meantime, any 
 Mian who says to you that I have been doing anything crooked, if 
 you arc a friend of mine, you etn stigmatize an a nlanderer ; If 
 >ou are not a friend of mine, you can HUggcst that he had better 
 Mold his tongue till he knows the factH." 
 
 With a crusty "Good evening," Stryde gave Tully a look full of 
 suspicion an<l left the room. 
 
 It was after six o'clock, and the clerks had all gone. Tully sat 
 
 his oilice, bruised and dejected, after his interview with Grigsby 
 A Stryde. The gas had not been lit in his private room, and in 
 the half darkness he lay l>ack in his chair thinking with bitter 
 hopelessness of the task before him. 
 
 " If she were only here to help mo," ho thought, " I wouldn't 
 care for the rest of the world ; but to have everyone against nie, no 
 one to whisper a word of encouragement, and even Grigsby cutting 
 my acquaintance, it is enough to drive a man to desperation. A 
 month ago it would have driven me to drink. Funny, I hadn't 
 thought of drink through all this worry ; it never struck me as the 
 easiest escape from this load of shame. I must be getting some 
 strength, for temptation doesn't come to me as it used tc, and 
 today, whenever there has been no one here to bully and berate 
 me, my thoughts have all turned to her. For her sake I could be 
 stretched on the rack if I were only sure tliat she loved me, and if she 
 stood by with her hand in mine I could see every dollar either of us 
 ever had or expect to have sunk to the bottom of the sea and be 
 supremely happy. She can't know what I have to undergo or she 
 would have sent me some little message to make me brave. How 
 gentle, how loving she was; what a lrt*avon this troulilesome earth 
 seemed when for that sweet moment it held no one but Dell and 
 me. And yet— and yet— she is gone. I cannot plead with her, I 
 cannot explain the frightful things she will hear. Every hour may 
 be fixing a great guli between us," 
 
 The torture of this thought seemed insupportable ; he rose from 
 his chair and walked excitedly up and down the room. If he lost 
 her what would become of him? Could he make the fight alone t 
 For her sake he would try. He stopped for a moment and looked 
 
THE HOUR BEFOHK THE DA WN 
 
 W 
 
 out upon the briKhtly illuminated street, liU arm leaning L.^.. 
 against th« caHing of tlio window, and hi» face resting upon ic ; 
 though hiM lipH \ver« tightly drawn and Ins brow was knit with 
 deep deterininalion, his eyen liiled with tiarH and a chokine sob 
 told how bitter was the tlioiiKht of a future from which the angel 
 of hope would be forever absent. 
 
 "I shall never give up," thought he. "It may take years yet, 
 but I shall make her believe in me. As long as I know that she is 
 not entirely lost to me I can keep on trying. I can live on, though 
 every day be a new misery, and at last God cannot but forgive me, 
 and give her to me. ' 
 
 He did not notice the sleigh which stopped in the street below, 
 nor heed the steps ascending the stair. 
 
 *' Is Miather Tully In, d'ye say, mum t 'Dade I don't know, mum, 
 but there is somewan in his ofllco, mum, and I'll ask who it is, it 
 your leddyship would loike me to, but I'm thinking who'ver It Is 
 would loike to be alune, mum, for he is wandering up an' down the 
 room in the dark, mum !" 
 
 The sound of the voice of the old Irish woman, who was cleaning 
 out the ofllce, startled Tully, and he turned away from the window, 
 hurriedly wiping his eyes, to face the intruder. He opened the 
 door in answer to the old Irishwoman's knock, and as she stood 
 l)owing apologetically before him, her sleeves and nkirts rolled up, 
 she explained, " There is a leddy, sor, two av thim, sor, would loike 
 to see ye, sor." 
 
 " ?^iow them in, Mrs. Murphy," he answered, at the same time 
 feeling in his pocket for a match, and npcaking loudly enough to 
 discourage a long interview. " It is after business hours, but I 
 suppose at a time like this I must refuse no one." 
 
 The match did not light, and he was trying another, when a fur- 
 robed figure entered the door. The lighted match dropped from his 
 Angers and he sprang forward and clasped the outstretched hands 
 of Dell Browning. 
 
 " You here ?" he cried. " I had expected it aa little as the com- 
 ing of an angel from heaven." 
 
 "The scrub, scrub, and swish of the discreet old Irishwoman's 
 brush on the remotest part of the floor, nhowod that she did not 
 propose to be a witness of the interview. Mrs. Flambert, who had 
 accompanied Dell, had dropped into a chair by one of the desks, 
 and there was no one to see the clinging of Dell's arms about her 
 lover's neck, or to look with unsympathetic eyes on the kisses, 
 tender and reverential, which Tully pressed upon the beautiful face 
 upturned to liis. 
 
 " I could not stay away, dear. When I heard the terrible stories 
 
 N 
 
IM 
 
 A liAh MAN'S SWL'/rniEAKT 
 
 that people are tolling, I know how ui-just tliey wore to yoii. It 
 seems as if some iiowcr, stroiim-r tlian my own, forced me to roinc 
 and tell you that I love you. I knew how hard tlivHo things must 
 be to bear, and I felt like a coward that I was not helping you to 
 bear them. When I found you were in such trouble, I understood 
 that you had not asked me to marry you to help me out of my 
 difilculties— and I came to you 1" 
 
 Tully, poor fellow, could not speak. As she looked up at him, 
 her glorious eyes so lull of devotion, when he found the prayer, 
 which had been pc' ,a(f through his heart all day, answered Just 
 as h! suffering bad become almost insupportable, his strength gave 
 way and the tears streamed down his white and haggard face. For 
 a few moments his only answer was the passionate clasp with 
 which he held her close to his wildly beating heart. 
 
 Dell seemed to undiirstand, and yet she longed to be assured iu 
 words that her coming was welcome. "Can't you tell me, she 
 whispered, "that you are really and truly glad to see mef" 
 
 "Dell, my love, I cannot speak," he answered, unsteadily. "It 
 seems almost like sacrilege for me to attempt to tell you how much 
 your coming means to me. It is almost an if you were the mes- 
 senger of God's forgiveness, and one can hardly imagine the sinner 
 who hears in his ears at Judgment the voice of God's mercy look- 
 ing up and being able to thank Him for it." 
 
 " Were you sorry when you thought I had gone away, did you 
 miss me very much?" she asked, still anxious to hear assurances 
 of his love. 
 
 "Sweetheart, need I tell you? Is there not something better 
 than my words assuies you that it was desolation to mo? Through 
 the long nights I thought of you, dreamed of you, and prayed that 
 we might not be separated; through this evil and bitter day I have 
 been sustained by thoughts of you." 
 
 " Oh, my love I Can you forgive me for not coming to you 
 sooner)" whispered Dell. 
 
 " Forgive you, my sweetheart ? Do you know what this means? 
 Do you understand that your coming to me, though it strengtheas 
 me, must not mean that you are to assume any part of my burden 
 Just now. Tou have given me the strength of a giant to bear the 
 trials before me, but you must not share them with me. I can't 
 tell what may happen. Some of Killick's victims may seek to be 
 revenged on me and cause my arrest. I cannot tell what he has 
 done. I do not imagine that he lias transgressed the law, he under- 
 stood it too well ; but he may have come so near the debatable 
 ground that I, as his partner, will be liabln to some process in 
 tended to accomplish a revenge and indict disgrace by impriaor 
 
TlIK IlOrii HE FORE THE DA WN 
 
 195 
 
 menl. I rep-.*at now what I told you before, that I have done 
 nothing wliich need make me fear invvHtiKation. Until It is all 
 over I Hlia'n't ank to Hee you a^ain ; I must not Hee you aKain." 
 
 Dell'H arniH were Htiil uhuut IiIh neck. " Dear," she murmured, 
 her lipn cloHe to hU, " I shall mcc you every day If I bi-" to go to the 
 Jail to see you. When I decided that I buiieved in you—'' ough long 
 before that I knew I loved you— I cast in my lot with yours, and 
 unto the end I will be fairhful." 
 
 "Sweetheart,' answered Tully tenderly, "impose nr 'turden of 
 duty on yourself. I am now strong enough tu stand alone until 
 thiv tr'xible is over. I would feel unmanly i( I laid on your should- 
 ers any of the burden that I should myself bear. The 1: now ledge that 
 you love nie, and that when all is over I can claim you, is sufficient." 
 
 " For you, perhaps, but not for me," answorod Dell, her face 
 beaming with the devotion which meant that no sacrifice would be 
 too great tu ha made for him she lovod. " We must not again bo 
 separated." 
 
 The rustling of skirts in the outer office, and a short premoni- 
 tory courIi, announced Mrs. I'lamliert's approach, but the lovers 
 did not move. After ti>e daik days and the great trials through 
 which they had passed, they felt no shame in their affection. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! you are a pair of very interesting spoonies," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Flaniliert, as she stood in the doorway. " I endeav- 
 ored to announce my coming with sufficient distinctness to have 
 you prepared to receive me. However, I can excuse it ; it is a long 
 time ago. but I was that way once myself. You must not stay any 
 longer, Dell ; it will pxcite public remark if my sleigh Is kept at the 
 door of Mr. Tully's olflce any longer. You may come up with uer 
 if you like, Tully ; but I want you to understand that I advised her 
 with all ray hitheito unsurpttHsed powers of persuasion to keep 
 away from here. I am not sure that you are as proper a young man 
 as I used to think you." 
 
 "I hope you don't believe the rumors about me, Mrs. Flambert. 
 When I was really a bad man you saved mo from bein;; worse by 
 believing in me. Now that I am trying to do right I hope you 
 won't desert me." 
 
 "Oh Tully, Tully, you rascal, you can always wheedle me— but 
 other people \ How are you going to persuade them that you have 
 done what is right?" 
 
 " To-morrow shall prove me innocent of any wrong doing. I may 
 have been a fool— Killick's dupe- but in this case I am not so black 
 as I am painted. I shall not come up to-night, but to morrow night, 
 after the examination of our affairs by some gentlemen I have 
 appointed for that purpose, I shall come and tell you the worst." 
 
196 
 
 A HAD MAN'S SWEET HE ART 
 
 " I want to ask you Bonictliinft, Tnlly," oxclaimed Mrn. Flambert, 
 lier voice chaiiKing, " are you in tiie good or l)ad KraccH of Mrs. 
 Killick ? '• 
 
 "I am sure I can't tell you, Mrs. Flambert. I never saw her till 
 yesterday, but she seems to be a pure and gentle woman. Why do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " Because she sent for Dtll to attend the funeral, and says that she 
 has something of importance to communicate to her afterwards. 
 What can it be?" 
 
 " I haven't the slightest idea, Mrs. Flambert. Surely she can't 
 be in her scoundrelly husband's plot to ruin Dell and myself. She 
 seems incapable of anything of the kind." 
 
 " Well, I don't know what it is, but Ur. Strong made me promise 
 to bring PeU. !f yon come up at night we will be able to tell you all 
 about it. Come now, Dell, we must go." 
 
 " Good night, doar," s-aid Dell, and as Tully bent down his head to 
 kiss her she whispered, " no matter what it is, it can't separate us.' 
 
 CHAPTKU XXX. 
 A s( i;ni; kkom a kui.nko life. 
 
 The funeral was ovor ; the repulsive face of James Killick was 
 forever hidden from the gaze of bis fellow-men by the coflin lid. 
 Those who assumed to mourn for him had carried him to his last 
 resting-place. The opintssive odour of flowers and the solemn voice 
 of the clergyman seemed yet to linger in the desolate room. Dr. 
 Strong, who had not been the cfticiatlng clergymen, he being 
 a favorite of Mrs. Killick, but not of her deceased husband, 
 together with Dell Browning and Mrs. Flambert, were sitting by 
 the bedside of the invalid widow. 
 
 Dell was irresistibly attracted by the sweet faced woman who 
 lay propped up by pillows, and the hand ( lasp which united 
 them introduced a silence which lasted for several minutes. 
 
 "My dear," said the invalid to Dell, "I have been told you are 
 proud and unforgiving, but in your face I see nothing but a gentle- 
 ness and love which encourage me to tell you a story which I was 
 forbidden to tell while my husband was alive. I am your aunt. 
 Twenty-five years ago your father and I loved one another as 
 brother and sister seldom do. He was ten years my senior and 
 devoted himself to me and my liappiness. When he marriid I was 
 lonely, and James Killick, who in his infancy had been taken from 
 a foundling asylum ar.d adopted by my lather and cared for almost 
 
A SCENE FROM A RUINED LIFE 
 
 197 
 
 as kindly as if he had been his son, returned to our house to look 
 after father's afTairs, he having lost his first wife. He had won my 
 confidence and I soon, foolish girl, thought that I lored him. By his 
 toddress and ability he had gained a place in our huuschold which he 
 was not originally intended to have, and when he returned with the 
 experibfice of a man of the world, he had a power which you would 
 hardly suspect him of possessing. Lying here and thinking about 
 the past I cannot conceive the supreme folly, the forgctfulncss of 
 the mean traits of his character, which induced me to listen to his 
 proposal that we should run away and be married— we both knew 
 my proud old father would never consent to such a mesallia: ce. 
 But listen to him I did, and a life of misery tias been my reward. 
 My brother— your father— was furious. He sought us out, knocked 
 my husband d-^wn and beat him unmercifully in his passion. When 
 he found out tnat we were married he cast me off, and swore that 
 he would never speak to me again. My father, too, was irreconcil- 
 able, and he died soon after without forgiving me. When Killick 
 heard that your father, who had left England, had settled in 
 Toronto he followed, dtJlermined some day to be revenged, for he 
 iiated your father with the most deadly hatred and vowed that 
 he would live to sec both him and you beggared. A few weeks 
 ago he boasted to me that at last he had succeeded. Is it true?" 
 
 " I am afraid I have lost some of my money, but not all of it. 
 I really don't know yet," answered Dell, hesitatingly, 'but it 
 doesn't matter. I have plenty of friends, you see ! " 
 
 " Mr. Killick often boasted to me that he was a very rich man. 
 It seemed to give him pleasure to tell me about it, and then say I 
 should never enjoy any of it. He is dead now, and I should speak 
 no evil of him ; but he Iiated me, from the day your father beat him, 
 almost as fiercely as he did my brother. He died trying to make his 
 will. Even if he had already made one, Dr. Strong .Is me he could 
 not leave all his property away from me— and there may be enough 
 in my portion to repair some of the mischief he has done. If there 
 in, you shall not be poor, my dear. I shall not live to need any- 
 thing very long. 
 
 "Poor fl.unty, you must not talk about money or dying. Think 
 of living and being happy. Now that— that— that your husband's 
 persecutions have ceased there is nothing to prevent you from 
 getting well. I have no father or mother ; you can be both to me." 
 
 Dell had seated herself on the side of the bed, and the invalid 
 threw her arms about her, and Dell, in response, had caught her 
 aunt's wasted form in her embrace. 
 
 " An exceedingly strong likeuess," whispered Dr. Strong to 
 >tr8. Flambert." 
 
 ■ i: 
 
us 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "Tea, Mrs. Kfllick looks as Dell may twenty years hence, but I 
 hope the poor child won't pass through such trials as that unfor- 
 tunate woman has endured." 
 
 "Thoufchts of money have never troubled me, my dear Dell, 
 until now,'' continued Mrs. Killic^ ; "but I am very anxious to 
 know whether Mr. Killick left any will, and in what condition his 
 property is. We shall know this afternoon, for Mr. Tully and 
 HO'ne gentlemen he has called in to represent me are going all 
 through his papers. Mr. Tully seems to be a gentleman, I never 
 saw him until the day before yesterday. I have been afraid Mr. 
 Killick would spoil him, but when he came to me ho seemed so 
 manly and good-hearted, I trusted him at once. Do you know him!" 
 questioned the invalid, to whom the outside world was a blank. 
 
 " Yes," stammered Dell, blushing to the roots of her hair. No 
 matter how many years a woman has been away from society and 
 from contact with her sex, she never forgets how to read her sistur- 
 woman, but Dell's tell-tale face would have been an open book to 
 the most obtuse. 
 
 "Ah, I seel And does he love yout" 
 
 Dr. .Strong and Mrs. Flambcrt found it convenient to look out 
 of the window, while Dell pressed her flusLod cheek against the 
 pale face of the sufferer and whispered, "Tes, he has told me so.*' 
 
 " So my sweet little girlie has already made her choice, and it 
 is not a bad one. I am sure he will be kind to you. He has his 
 faults, Dell. We bedridden folks can often read faces better than 
 those who see so many that they never mark the difference. But 
 you can manage him. I will tell you some day Just how I think 
 you ought to do it, but for fear that 'some day' should never 
 come, I wi;i tell you one thing now. Always be strong ; be his 
 model of what is right in thinking and doing, but never be cross 
 and scold. But you couldn't scold, could you? After he went 
 away the other day, I could not forget his face. I wondered 
 what nis wife was like, or if he had one, and how he treated her, 
 aua how a woman could best succeed with such a man. I have 
 BO little to think al)out, you know, Doll. Every strange face in my 
 room bait been a rare glimpse of the outside world. They have 
 been very few. Mr. Killick did not like it, and the orders have 
 always been to the servant at the door to say that I was not well 
 enough to see anyone, though a very few who insisted have 
 occasionally come in to give mo something to think about. I would 
 just like to live two or three little months longer to see you happy. 
 My lesson has been such a bitter one that perhaps I might assist 
 you to i)egin right. I began wrong, but I have tried to dn right and 
 be patient, though, my dear, my patience has sometimes been 
 
A SCENE FROM A RUINED LIFE 
 
 199 
 
 exhausted, and I have had to suffer for It. Couldn't you come and 
 stay with me, Dell I But no, something terrible might be disclosed 
 by my husband's death, and you shall not share my disgrace. It 
 will only be a little longer— I must not be selfish. Wait till we 
 know the worst." 
 
 Dell protested her disregard of public opinion, but Mrs. KillicK 
 would not listen. " Nothing must be said of our relationship. I 
 disgraced the family once, I sha'n't do it again," and no persuasion 
 •jould move her from this resolution. 
 
 After they had gone, Mr. Tully and Mr. Scott returning from the 
 cemetery called to obtain permission to look through the papers in 
 Mr. Kiilick's desk in the library Leneath. 
 
 " You may look through them, Mr. Tully, I want Mr. Scott to 
 remain witli mo for a few moments. You will find writing mater- 
 ials over there," said she to Mr. Scott, weaiily. "I want to make 
 my will ; it won't take you long. Everything I have I leave to my 
 niece, Dell Browning, my brother's daughter, and if it exceeds fifty 
 thousand dollars she is to use what is required of the remaindei 1 1 
 recompense all those my husband has directly injured by defrau.l- 
 Ing them of money. You understand what I mean, don't you, Mr. 
 Scott?" 
 
 " Yes, madam," answered the stately old lawyer. In flfteoi 
 minutes the document was lAepared, and the nurse and man- 
 servant were called in as witnesses. As she said good nij^ht to the 
 two lawyers she whispered faintly, ' Now if I die all will be well.'' 
 
 In the ofHce, assisted by the senior clerks, all tlie paners in Mr. 
 Kiilick's safe wer^ carefully examined. No will could be found and 
 but few papers which at all compromised the dead man. Ills 
 private account book, caretully kept, proved him to be worth over 
 halt a million dollars, nearly a hundred thousand of which had 
 been obtained from his manipulation of the Loan Company's stock. 
 The thirty thousand he had received from Col. Moore hatl been duly 
 entered. Without further knowledge of his transactions it was 
 impossible to find any traces of criminal or even Improper methods. 
 
 It was nine o'clock before Tully rang the door bell at the many- 
 gabled Flambert mansion. He was elated by the lesult of the 
 search ; he, at least, would not be disgraced. Lawyer Scott, with 
 professional reticence, had told him nothing of Mrs. Kiilick's will, 
 and there was not a sordid Impulse within him, when a few 
 mome<its later, Doll entered the reception room alone, and lie 
 caught her in his arms, exclaiming : 
 
 " My darling, all is well ; we can pay everything we owe, and 
 there will be no disgraceful disclosures Involving the firm ; even 
 your property, I hope, will be saved I" 
 
200 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 "I'm so glad for your sake," answered Dell, lookinR lovingly 
 up into his excited face. " You have sufTered so much, f on were 
 80 long cominK, I was afraid something was wrong." 
 
 "It is all over now, my sweetheart. To day shuts out the past. 
 I begin a new life, and with you by ray side I can make it such that 
 you won't be ashamed to share it with me." 
 
 " Look out, young people, I am coming," cried Mrs. Flambert 
 in the hall. "I am Just dying to he«r the news; I can't wait 
 another minute. Mr. Tully, what is the result of your investiga- 
 tion) Is Mr. Killick as bad a man as I have always thought him, 
 or has he died rich and left his memory to be respected?" 
 
 "He died rich, Mrs. Flambert, and his memory, as far as lean 
 find out, will not be any more cursed than that of the ordinary rich 
 man, whose entrance into heaven is described as likely to be so 
 difficult. As far as I can find out by examining his papers there 
 is nothing against him except some stock manipulation and his 
 scheme to deprive Dell of her money." 
 
 " And you— now honestly and truly, young man— are you out of 
 the woods I " 
 
 " Tes, thank Heaven, I have nothing to fear. There is no act 
 
 of my own of which I am ashamed, that is " looking appealingly 
 
 at Oell and blushing painfully," since long ago. I feel poititive that 
 everything will come out all right. Do you know old Killick was 
 worth a half a million dollars 1 Scott and I figured it up in his 
 private account book. That ought to be enough to protect the 
 firm from any claims which may lie brought against it." 
 
 " Then you are a free man, are you, Tully," inquired Mrs. Flam- 
 bert, looking at him searchingly, "and can marry Dell without 
 being afraid of bringing disgrace upon her for your actions either 
 past or future." 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. Flambert, the past is rolled up like a scroll. I am 
 not afraid that it will ever appear against me. The future, with 
 God's help and Dell beside me, I have vowed shall bo worthy of the 
 pure love I have won ar d the pure wife— It won't be long, will it, 
 Dell, before you arc my wife?— on whose name any disgrace of mine 
 would leave a blot which would burn into her soul more than it 
 would into mine." 
 
 " Dell," exclaimed Mrs. Flambert, with a burst of her old enthu- 
 siasm, " would you mind if I kissed him just once, and onl. on the 
 cheek ? I feel like a mother to that young scamp, and I Relieve that 
 at last he has learned nenf-c enough to l>ehave himself." With this 
 Mrs. Flambert threw her by no moans slender arms around Mr. 
 Tully and kissed his check with a muternal fondness, which proved 
 that she had no mere fears of his future. 
 
A SCENE FROM A RUINED LIFE 
 
 m 
 
 Dr. Strong, too, who had been unable to resist the impulse to 
 hear the news, came in and congratulated Dell and Tully on the 
 result. " I really don't know, ray young friends, whether I dare 
 claim any credit for myself ; I've been on both sides of the question, 
 don't you see ; but then we poor parsons have to bo with both 
 factions for society's sake," he added, with a quizzical side look at 
 Dell. 
 
 The astute Mr. Scott next morning so managed it that the daily 
 papers wheji announcing the funeral of James J. Killick, also 
 chronicled the fact that he iiad died worth at least half a million 
 dollars, and the clients of the old firm felt no more uneas'ness. 
 As Cora Burnhani scanned this paragraph in the murning paper 
 she told her father that It would be much better for them to effect 
 a settlement with Col. Moore than to engage In a law suit, if the 
 honor of bo wealthy a firm was implicated. 
 
 '•I know Tully," said she, "too well to Imagine— under present 
 circumstances— that he would permit any imputation to rest on his 
 professional honor, and if this matter comes to a fight it will be 
 iijpossible for us to win in the protracted law suit which would be 
 the result." With this in view they held a consultation x.. the 
 afternoon and instructed Mr. Chandler to offer Col. Moore fifty 
 thousand dollars to abandon nis title to his estates and acknowl- 
 edge them the heirs of the English propert}*. Astounded at his 
 good fortune he consented, and the matter never went into court. 
 Mrs. Killick, after a searching investigation, sent her check to the 
 Loan Company for the amount which her husband had secured by 
 the fraudulent loa(^ given to his tools, and as the sum amounted 
 to nearly a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the company was 
 saved from ruin. Tully notined Col. Moore when he became aware 
 of the settlement which had been effected between him and his 
 uncle, that the mortgage made to Miss Browning would be can 
 celled, as it was evident that Mr. Killick had received the money, 
 and thus the calamities which impended over the firm of Killick & 
 Tully faded away ; and when a few months later Mrs. Killick suc- 
 cumbed to her long Illness, Mrs. Stephen Tully was left heiress to a 
 sum which made her one of the wealthiest women In the city. 
 
 Cora Burnham, with her fathrr and mother, sailed for England 
 to prove their title to their property there, and have not since 
 returned. 
 
 Mrs. King's widowhood shows no sign of mourning, and the 
 gaiety of her house suggests her effort to forget her old folly and 
 find opportunities- for new ones. Poor little Jack, who had been 
 sent away to school before Dell left 25 Mowburn Street, sees little 
 of bis mother, but once a week Aunty Dell calls upon the little 
 
202 
 
 A BAD MAN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 fellow and brightens his life by her careRses and loving remem- 
 brances of their old acquaintanceship. 
 
 It was once esteemed the duty of a story teller to dispose— either 
 by death or marriage -of all the characters who incidentally appeared 
 in his pages, but I might say in bidding my readers adieu that 
 when people are not disposed of in life it would be folly for the 
 writer to settle their future in fiction. Bee McKinley is still 
 unmarried, though it is her own fault. John Stryde is devoting 
 himself more vigorously than ever to his missionary work— and 
 incidentally to Bee McKinley ; while Stephen Tully has not shown 
 the slightest sign of relapsing into his old habits, but is alike faitt< 
 ful to his resolution and true to his sweetheart. 
 
 1^ 
 
 o'l 
 
 /- 
 
 V 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 TIUC END. 
 
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