LIBRARY Private 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF I 
 
 CALIFORNIA Qf , 
 
 SANDIEGO J FRED W. DAVIS. 
 
 No
 
 DERRINGFORTH 
 
 BY FRANK A. MUNSEY 
 
 VOLUME ONE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FRANK A. MUNSEY 
 1897
 
 COPYRIGHT, I8Q4 
 BY 
 
 FRANK A. MUNSEY
 
 AUTHOR S NOTE. 
 
 "When should a girl marry?" is the theme of this 
 story. It has to do with a single phase of the question, 
 not the question as a whole. The argument is directed 
 against the theory that a girl should get everything out of 
 life before marrying should have and see and do and 
 know it all. Marriage in such a case furnishes a girl an 
 escape from dropping back into the second tier, but it does 
 not bring back to her the freshness, the sweetness, the 
 innocence, the faith and enthusiasm that stand for the 
 highest possibilities of happiness. 
 
 FRANK A. MUNSEY. 
 
 New York, September /, 1897.
 
 DERRINGFORTH. 
 
 i. 
 
 "You know I love you, Phil, that I have loved 
 you as you have loved me, ever since we were chil 
 dren, but mama is not willing that I should become 
 engaged for at least a year." 
 
 This was Marion Kingsley s answer to Phil Der- 
 ringforth s proposal. 
 
 The color left his face. 
 
 Does your mother object to me ? " he asked, un 
 able to conceal his disappointment. 
 
 " No, indeed, she thinks the world of you, Phil 
 you should know that. 
 
 I have always thought so, but now 
 
 Phil hesitated, and Marion did not wait for him to 
 finish his sentence. 
 
 " You must still think so," she said. " It would 
 break mama s heart to know you doubted her loyalty 
 to you." 
 
 Why does she want us to wait, then ? Are you 
 and I not old enough to marry ?
 
 Mama thinks not, and besides, she wants me to 
 see something of society as a girl." 
 
 " And you? " 
 
 She looked up at him, and love and tenderness 
 were in her eyes. 
 
 " Can t you see don t you know that nothing in 
 all the world would make me so happy as to be your 
 wife ? This love is not new to you and me, Phil. 
 We have been lovers all our lives, and I have always 
 looked forward to the end of my school days, think 
 ing that you and I would then be more to each other 
 than ever." 
 
 " And now they have ended we are less to each 
 other," returned Phil. 
 
 " No, we are not don t say that, Phil ; it is hard 
 enough for me to yield to mama without your making 
 it harder." 
 
 " I don t want to make it harder for you, lit 
 tle girl. I know you love me, but I am so disap 
 pointed." 
 
 " I m very sorry for you, Phil, dear very sorry 
 for myself, but what can I do ? You would not have 
 me marry against mama s wishes, I am sure." 
 
 "I would not wish you to, and yet it might be 
 best. There was a touch of desperation in his voice. 
 
 "Phil! " 
 
 "I know, but we can t look into the future; we 
 can t tell what changes a year will make in us. To 
 day we love each other and are suited to each other.
 
 You have been free up to this time from the flattery 
 of society, and I have cared only for you. How will 
 it be at the end of a year ? 
 
 " I should be very sorry to think that in so short a 
 time your love for me would be gone," said Marion, 
 the tears starting to her eyes. 
 
 "I didn t mean that," answered Phil tenderly. 
 " I can t imagine that I could ever cease to love you, 
 and yet I have seen enough of life already to be con 
 vinced that the more a man mingles with people, the 
 more lovable girls he knows, the less is his devotion 
 to any one of them. The same thing is equally true 
 with women, and what is true of others may be true 
 of you and me, Marion. It is impossible for us to 
 realize it as applied to ourselves, I know." 
 
 " But it is different with you and me, Phil. We 
 shall never cease to love each other, and then it is 
 only a year think of that, dear, and help me to wait 
 patiently you will, won t you?" There was a 
 sweet, gentle pleading in her tones that Phil could 
 not resist. 
 
 " I will do anything to make you happy," he 
 answered, " but this delay is so unnecessary, so un 
 reasonable. Your mother was married at sixteen, and 
 you are nineteen now." 
 
 " That is just it. Mama feels that she had no girl 
 hood herself and is determined that I shall not marry 
 without having some of the pleasures that other girls 
 have."
 
 "But what does all that amount to ? Hasn t her 
 life been a happy one? " 
 
 "Yes, exceptionally happy; but she cannot get 
 over the feeling that she missed something that never 
 can be made up." 
 
 " There is such a thing as a girl s getting it all in a 
 very short time," replied Phil sententiously, "and 
 then she has no enthusiasm, no sweetness left in her 
 soul." 
 
 " Why, Phil, I never heard you talk so extrava 
 gantly before." 
 
 " I never had occasion to draw such a picture be 
 fore, but it is not an imperfect likeness of the blase 
 girl whose youth and freshness have been dulled by 
 her insane desire to see it all to miss nothing."
 
 II. 
 
 PHIL DERRINGFORTH was two years old when 
 Marion Kingsley was born. She was as sweet a baby 
 as one could wish to see, with bright blue eyes and 
 dimpled cheeks. Phil was a promising boy with good 
 features and strong body. The Derringforths and 
 the Kingsleys were neighbors ; they were also close 
 friends. As Phil and Marion grew older they were 
 as brother and sister. The quarrels between them 
 were singularly few. She seemed to realize that his 
 greater age entitled him to superior knowledge. Phil 
 was of the same mind, though for one of his boyish 
 tendencies he was exceptionally polite to his sweet 
 little companion. There is much in the inheritance 
 of a fine fiber a natural courtesy, a thoughtfulness 
 for others. These characteristics were Phil s, and 
 they had been supplemented by careful training. 
 Marion, too, was equally well born, equally well 
 bred. They were devoted to each other ; unhappy 
 without each other. It had been love from in 
 fancy. There is nothing sweeter than such love, 
 starting almost with life itself and developing with 
 
 5
 
 the growth of the children, changing its character 
 as they change, but ever strengthening and broad 
 ening until it ripens into the deepest sentiment. 
 
 Marion learned to like the sports that Phil liked. 
 She cared nothing for dolls. A game of ball with 
 Phil or a dash on her pony suited her best. " Our 
 boys " they were called by their parents, and Marion 
 liked the term. Phil was her ideal. There was no 
 other boy in all the world like him, and to be classed 
 with him as a boy was joy enough for her. She 
 learned to row, to run races, to jump, and to climb 
 trees. 
 
 The chase after a woodchuck or the snaring of a 
 partridge gave her no less pleasure than Phil. Many 
 was the tramp they took together across country, gath 
 ering wild flowers, hunting squirrels, and robbing the 
 nests of bees for the tiny cells of honey. Often they 
 would get stung, but Marion would bear the pain 
 as bravely as Phil, and they would laugh away the 
 tears that sometimes forced theniselves into their eyes. 
 In the winter, when Phil and Marion were in their 
 New York homes, they studied together and played 
 together. They read the same books. Phil liked tales 
 of adventure; so did Marion. The ordinary " girl s 
 story" did not possess enough action to satisfy her 
 healthy nature. 
 
 At twelve Phil was sent away to a military school 
 where the discipline was strict and exacting. He did 
 not take kindly to the machine life at first, but in due 
 6
 
 time, like most boys, became very fond of it. The 
 separation from Marion troubled him most, but he 
 wrote her many letters and received many in return 
 from her. He became more fond of her during his 
 absence than he had ever been before. 
 
 The fall and winter went by; the summer came, 
 and Phil and Marion were together again in the 
 country. He taught her to drill, and the old sports 
 of previous summers, with their ponies and boats and 
 tennis, made the weeks fly by all too quickly. The 
 vacation was over at last, and Phil and Marion were 
 again at their respective schools. The attachment 
 between them was stronger now than a year before, 
 and each season it grew deeper and broader and more 
 mature. Phil had taken excellent rank in school and 
 had risen to be captain of a company. At eigh 
 teen he graduated. Marion was present to witness 
 the exercises. Phil acquitted himself well. Marion 
 was proud of him. He was the tallest and handsom 
 est and cleverest fellow in his class, she told herself. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley shared her pride. They were 
 scarcely less delighted with Phil s achievements than 
 his own father and mother. He was like a son to 
 them, as Marion was like a daughter to the Derring- 
 forths. Each family expected, as a matter of course, 
 that some day Phil would marry Marion. 
 
 When the summer vacation was over Phil went 
 into his father s office to begin the career of a busi 
 ness man. Marion spent three years more in school, 
 
 7
 
 and then graduated well up in her class. She had 
 developed a good deal of talent for music. Her voice 
 was sweet and well trained, and she played the violin 
 with considerable skill. She was tall and willowy. 
 Her eyes were intelligent and pleasing. The lines of 
 her face were good, and her coloring was exquisite. 
 It was this that added most to her beauty. 
 
 With her development into womanhood, developed 
 also the ambition of her mother. The Kingsleys had 
 abundant means, and their position in society was 
 high. There was nothing they could not do for 
 Marion ; nothing they did not do that promised to 
 be for her interest. The six months that followed 
 her graduation were spent in Europe with her father 
 and mother. On her return she had a brilliant com 
 ing out and was launched successfully upon the social 
 swirl. She was very much admired ; very much flat 
 tered. All this confirmed Mrs. Kingsley in her de 
 cision that Marion should have a year and more of 
 girl life before marrying. 
 
 "You are quite as pretty as any of them," her 
 mother told her, "and are far more accomplished. 
 Your singing and playing alone will give you the 
 greatest advantage. You will make friends and so 
 cial connections that will be invaluable to you. You 
 cannot understand this as I do, my child you can 
 never know what I missed by marrying so young." 
 
 It was only a few weeks after Marion s debut that 
 Phil formally proposed to her. 
 8
 
 For months before Mrs. Kingsley had been at great 
 pains to prepare her for this. It had been done by 
 clever tact, by delicate suggestions, by examples of 
 social successes. These efforts were not without effect 
 upon Marion. Her ambition had been kindled. She 
 began to take an interest in society matters and in so 
 ciety people. The names and triumphs of reigning 
 belles were now familiar to her. 
 
 " Both your father and myself are very fond of Phil, 
 as you know," said the ambitious mother, "and 
 hope to see him marry you some day, but not now. 
 I cannot allow my daughter to lose the best part of 
 her life, as I did, and besides, I do not believe in ear 
 ly marriages for girls. Twenty five is quite young 
 enough." 
 
 " Twenty five ! " repeated Marion. " You would 
 not expect me to wait six years for Phil." 
 
 Mrs. Kingsley was thoroughly sincere. Few mothers 
 ever loved their daughters more than she loved Marion. 
 It was this love that prompted her to urge a late mar 
 riage, believing, as many do, that this was the true 
 secret of happiness. But nothing of this sort was ever 
 said to Marion until her school days were over. Mrs. 
 Kingsley had a high appreciation of the value of cult 
 ure, and had devoted herself to her daughter s inter 
 ests in this respect. She had read with her, studied 
 with her, and brought such influences around her as 
 would tend to make her more thoughtful, more studi 
 ous. The best instructors in music and other branches
 
 had been freely employed. Marion showed the effect 
 of this careful training. She knew nothing of the 
 lighter novels. Her reading had been confined to 
 standard authors. Her knowledge of history, biog 
 raphy, and the best fiction was far greater than that 
 of most girls. Her association with Phil, too, had 
 been helpful to her. He was a thoughtful fellow, and 
 she had learned to look at things as he looked at them. 
 Her mental grasp was that of the masculine mind, 
 while in her personality and manner she was as deli 
 cate and refined as any of her sex. 
 
 When Phil proposed to her she was both very glad 
 and very sorry. It was just what she expected him to 
 do, just what he should have done. She felt deeply 
 gratified ; she felt a just sense of pride in receiving an 
 offer of marriage from so fine a fellow. She loved him 
 more than ever. 
 
 Phil had been in his father s office three years, and 
 already had an interest in the firm. His income was 
 sufficient to warrant him in proposing marriage. He 
 knew that the girl he loved was worthy of him the 
 one of all others to make him happy. To have waited 
 longer before asking Marion to be his wife would have 
 been folly. Her heart responded yes, a thousand times 
 yes, to his proposal, but her mother s wishes she 
 could not go contrary to them, though the disappoint 
 ment to her was death. 
 
 " I understand and appreciate your ambition for 
 me, mama," she said/ but I am sure all the society in
 
 the world could not give me the happiness I have 
 with Phil. 
 
 " What is there in society, after all," she went on, 
 " that people should give up their lives to it ? Does 
 it make one happier ? Does it make one better and 
 truer ? The little I have seen of it shows me that it 
 is insincere. The flattery and jealousies and strife 
 what is there in them ? I like books and music, and 
 want to keep up my studies. Phil wants me to do so, 
 and says he will study with me and read with me. 
 We could be very happy together, Phil and I. We 
 could have such a sweet, cozy little home. I am sure, 
 mama, you will regret it if you insist on making us 
 both unhappy. Papa is willing that we should be 
 married at any time he is very fond of Phil." 
 
 " So am I very fond of Phil, my dear just as fond 
 as your father, and I realize that what you say about 
 a cozy home and happiness is all very true. But your 
 father has no taste, as you know, for society. He 
 cannot understand the pleasures to be had from it or 
 the advantages it gives one. I have only one motive 
 in the position I take, and that is your greater happi 
 ness. I am sure it would be a mistake for you to 
 marry now, or even to become engaged. A girl can 
 be young only once in her life. If she misses the 
 pleasures that properly belong to youth, as I missed 
 them, she can never regain them." 
 
 " But you have been very happy, mama. Papa has 
 done everything for you, and has been devoted to you.
 
 You have seen the world and society, and have every 
 thing that money can bring." 
 
 "That is true, my child no man could do more 
 for a wife than he has done for me ; no man could be 
 3. better husband. But married life has its responsi 
 bilities and cares. I had not finished my education 
 when I was married, and before I was eighteen you 
 were born. The mother, who is the mother that she 
 should be, can never be the light hearted girl, free 
 from care, however young she is. Suppose, instead 
 of becoming a wife at sixteen, I had gone to school, 
 as you have, until I was as old as you are now, and 
 that after that I had had five or six years of girl pleas 
 ures, and then had married your father, wouldn t my 
 life have been fuller and more complete? " 
 
 " But perhaps you would not have married papa 
 perhaps he would not have waited for you." Marion 
 said this with a shudder the thought suggesting that 
 possibly Phil might not wait for her. 
 
 " Of course, that is possible," replied her mother; 
 " but a girl s chance of marrying well ought to be 
 better rather than worse if she waits until she is old 
 enough to have some judgment. She will have met 
 many men, and will know better how to estimate their 
 merits and defects. The simple fact that I made so 
 desirable a match at my age does not justify the belief 
 that early marriages for girls bring better husbands. 
 But with you, my dear, it is not a question of a desira 
 ble man. Phil is perfectly satisfactory to me, as he is
 
 to your father. It is a question of your managing 
 your life so that you will get the greatest happiness 
 and make it the most useful." 
 
 " I cannot see that society is likely to make it more 
 useful or more happy," replied Marion. 
 
 " Society certainly broadens one." 
 
 " Does it not also narrow one? " 
 
 "It may in some ways, but not as a whole. It 
 gives one a better idea of people and human nature in 
 general. Pope, you know, said, The proper study 
 of mankind is man. "
 
 III. 
 
 MARION did not enter into society with the enthu 
 siasm her mother had hoped for. She responded very 
 slowly to the flattering reception given her, but re 
 sponded, nevertheless, manifesting from week to 
 week a deeper interest in the people she met and the 
 doings of the social world. 
 
 The fact that she was the only child of the rich 
 Matthew Kingsley made her a very desirable catch. 
 Beaux varying in age from the youth of the insipid 
 order of the "dude " to the old man whose earthly 
 career was nearly finished, paid her devoted atten 
 tion. Fortune hunters gathered about her, each 
 trying to outdo the other in his efforts to win her 
 hand. She was flattered, admired, sought after, and 
 there was a certain sense of pleasure in all this. No 
 debutante received more attention than she, and few 
 shared equal honors with her. This was a triumph, 
 and delighted Mrs. Kingsley. Her ambition for 
 Marion was certainly growing. She could see a great 
 social success ahead for her daughter, and her heart 
 was filled with pride a just pride, since she was sin-
 
 cere in the belief that this sort of life would bring the 
 largest measure of pleasure and happiness to Marion. 
 
 There was a coterie of antique, fossilized bachelors 
 who had held sway for many years in the social circle 
 to which Marion had recently been admitted. They 
 were assiduous in their attentions each season to the 
 favorite debutantes. Marion received a generous 
 share of their flattery. 
 
 One of the most conspicuous members of the coterie 
 was J. Harrington Van Stump, a sleek old man, of 
 full three score, very bald, but otherwise well pre 
 served. Van Stump was worth upwards of ten mil 
 lions in tangible property, according to popular esti 
 mate, to say nothing of his own individual worth. 
 This was regarded as very great in connection with 
 the ten millions. Divorced from the latter there 
 would have been a marvelous shrinkage in the per 
 sonal value of J. Harrington Van Stump as a factor in 
 the world, and especially as a matrimonial possibility 
 in the world of fashion. 
 
 But ten millions plus Van Stump, or, to be more 
 respectful, Van Stump plus ten millions, considered 
 as a whole, was irresistible, viewed from his stand 
 point or from the standpoint of any girl who would 
 willingly encumber herself with this respectable piece 
 of antiquity for the sake of being a widow at the end 
 of a few years, plus the millions of her late lamented 
 husband. 
 
 Van Stump lost no opportunity to impress Marion
 
 with the fact of his riches, and as was his custom he 
 aimed to make her feel that she was his ideal the 
 one girl he had seen in his life that he could love. 
 This devotion annoyed Marion. " He makes himself 
 so silly," she said to her mother. " What does he 
 think that I want to marry him for his money ? 
 Surely he cannot be foolish enough to imagine I 
 could love him." 
 
 " He does not mean anything, dear," answered 
 Mrs. Kingsley. "It is simply his way." 
 
 " I think it is a very poor way, and I don t like it. 
 I wish he wouldn t bother me." 
 
 " You shouldn t feel so. Everything said in the 
 drawing room is not meant seriously. I hope you 
 will show me that you are too clever to offend Mr. 
 Van Stump simply because you do not fancy him." 
 
 " What shall I do try to make him believe I am in 
 love with him? " 
 
 "That would not be clever even if you were in 
 love with him. Simply treat him pleasantly. His 
 position demands that. You cannot afford to snub 
 him a man who entertains as he does, and who is to 
 be found at every social function of any importance.
 
 IV. 
 
 UNTIL the day Phil Derringforth asked Marion to 
 be his wife, his heart had been as light as the clear, 
 sweet air of the mountains. He had known nothing 
 of sorrow beyond the little annoyances that sadden 
 the hearts of children and in an hour are forgotten 
 forever. His career had been without the discipline 
 gained in the severe school of adversity and denial. 
 He was not prepared for the answer that Marion gave 
 him. It was a blow that paralyzed his hopes and 
 purposes. 
 
 The idea of a refusal or postponement had never 
 occurred to him. The disappointment was keen. 
 His soul was embittered and gloomy. There was 
 no sweetness in it, only the dregs that poison. A 
 transformation in his nature had begun. The sun 
 shine had taken wings. Character is as susceptible 
 to the influence of a thought or an act as the phys 
 ical system is susceptible to the presence of a drug. 
 
 Derringforth s will had never before been thwarted. 
 The experience was a new sensation to him a reve 
 lation. He was in a rebellious mood, and elements 
 
 17
 
 in his nature that had hitherto been dormant now 
 awoke and began to assert themselves. He exagger 
 ated Mrs. Kingsley s offense for to him it was an 
 offense for which he could see no justification. He 
 looked at the matter wholly from his own point of 
 view, and shut his eyes to the fact that there might 
 be another side worthy of consideration. He knew 
 simply that he loved Marion deeply, devotedly, 
 madly. He was old enough to marry, and had the 
 means to marry. He did his own thinking and was 
 intolerant of interference. Mrs. Kingsley had taken 
 this office upon herself simply, as he argued, to satis 
 fy a silly fancy to see Marion flattered and talked 
 about in the social world. 
 
 " Rubbish ! " he exclaimed in a petulant tone and 
 with a sweep of the hand that spoke volumes. 
 
 In this frame of mind he naturally sought to avoid 
 Mrs. Kingsley, but this involved the loss of intercourse 
 with Marion a deprivation that was like parting with 
 his own heart, for she was to him as his very life. 
 And yet he felt an indefinable resentment against her 
 even. She had not told him of her pleading with her 
 mother. He knew only the answer she gave him, and 
 the thought forced itself into his mind that she had 
 not been so persistent as she might well have been. 
 
 He did not like to harbor this feeling, and con 
 demned himself for giving place to the thought. He 
 attempted to force it from his mind, but it came back, 
 and each time was harder to dislodge. 
 18
 
 He had no compunctions in placing the blame on 
 Mrs. Kingsley. At first he tried not to think too 
 harshly of her, but now he no longer attempted any 
 restraint upon his feelings. His love for her was gone, 
 but Marion no, he would not allow himself to accuse 
 her, for with the suspicion that she had fallen short of 
 what he expected of her, came the feeling that the 
 very foundation of things was crumbling. 
 
 His disquietude increased as he dwelt upon his dis 
 appointment, and he sought relief in scenes that up to 
 this time had possessed no attraction for him. They 
 possessed no attraction for him now, but they did 
 serve to distract his thoughts. 
 
 Often his footsteps turned in the direction of the 
 Kingsleys when he went out from his home at night. 
 Sometimes he called on Marion sometimes he forced 
 himself to walk resolutely by the house. He found 
 that he was about as likely to see her in the one case as 
 in the other, unless he had previously made a special 
 appointment. It was the height of the season, and her 
 evenings were almost all given to social engagements. 
 
 " I would so much rather have you come in, Phil, 
 as you used to," she said in a note to him, " than go 
 at the pace I am going, spending all my time with 
 people in whom I have little interest. But there is no 
 moderation in this life. If one happens to be in favor 
 she must go all the time, or she will offend some one. 
 It is either all or none. I am crowding half a dozen 
 years into this one season, so that mama will be satis- 
 
 19
 
 fied, as I am sure she will be, and then we can marry 
 and have our dear little home and be so happy. I 
 only wish you would go out with me. You would not 
 find society such a horrible bore as you imagine, but I 
 suppose I might as well think of flying as attempt to 
 induce you to do the thing you do not want to do. 
 Come and see me very soon you don t know how I 
 miss you ; you are not a bit neighborly. What has 
 changed you so? I hope no other attachment no, I 
 won t say it, won t allow myself to think the thought 
 that would make me miserable." 
 
 " What has changed me so? " meditated Derring- 
 forth, and he took up the letter and read the sentence 
 a second time. " Changed me ! " he repeated, with 
 the suggestion of a cloud gathering on his brow. 
 " The change isn t in me." 
 
 One rarely sees a change in himself; but, as he 
 changes, his point of view shifts, and then he thinks 
 others have changed not himself. Marion was yield 
 ing to the influence of her new associations. Derring- 
 forth was yielding to the influence of the thoughts 
 that embittered his soul, as well as to that of the asso 
 ciations he had recently sought. Each had drifted a 
 little away from the other, and each felt that the other 
 had done all the drifting. 
 
 But they were still not far apart. A word, a look, 
 a pressure of the hand might have closed up the gap. 
 
 The word was not spoken, the look was not given, 
 the pressure of the hand was withheld.
 
 Deep feeling engenders sensitiveness. It causes one 
 to magnify little matters that would otherwise be 
 passed over unnoticed. Had Derringforth s love been 
 less he would not have entertained for a moment the 
 thoughts that found lodgment in his heart.
 
 V. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH S father started in life as a civil 
 engineer, but he was not the sort of man to continue 
 working for others. He was little more than a boy 
 when he took his first contract to build a short line of 
 railroad. The work did not require large capital, but 
 it involved the expenditure of much more than he 
 possessed. He made up the deficiency by financier 
 ing, and in this he was successful, as was also hi.s 
 earliest effort at railroad building. 
 
 The first contract had scarcely been completed when 
 he undertook another and a more difficult piece of 
 engineering. In this too he was successful, and at the 
 end of a few years Warren Derringforth became known 
 as a man of energy and daring. 
 
 But his merit was his fault. 
 
 It was this boldness that had made him what he was ; 
 it was this same boldness that endangered his career. 
 He was a heavy borrower, but withal managed his 
 affairs so well that his credit stood high in the market. 
 Paper bearing his name was never refused. Each 
 year added to the extent of his undertakings. They 
 
 22
 
 expanded faster than his capital, but with this expan 
 sion came a like increase of skill as a financier. 
 
 Some years he made large profits ; in others his 
 losses were heavy. In the one case, as in the other, 
 he never wanted for ready money, and no one could 
 have divined from his manner the burden of risk he 
 was bearing. 
 
 But there came a time when all this was changed. 
 The firm was now Derringforth & Derringforth. There 
 was a sudden pinch in the money market. For the 
 first time in the history of the house its paper was re 
 fused. Money had to be raised to meet maturing 
 obligations, and to carry on the vast enterprises the 
 Derringforths were engineering. 
 
 It was merely a question of tiding over a few days, 
 Mr. Derringforth told himself. This must be done at 
 any cost, or the structure of a life s work would fall 
 with a mighty crash. But how should the money be 
 raised ? It must be done quietly. The slightest sus 
 picion of weakness and all would be over. The name 
 of Derringforth would be ground to earth, and the 
 hand that had been a power in the world would lose 
 its magic touch. 
 
 There was no time to be lost. Relief must be 
 had, and quickly, or it would be too late. Inaction 
 meant ruin. Something extraordinary must be done. 
 What should it be ? 
 
 Warren Derringforth walked back and forth in his 
 office and thought thought as a man thinks when 
 
 2 3
 
 the pressure upon him is crushing out his very life. 
 Presently he stepped to the door and called to his 
 son. 
 
 " We are face to face with a crisis, Phil," said he. 
 " We must raise fifty thousand dollars within three 
 days or we are lost. The ordinary channels for rais 
 ing money are closed to us. There remains but one 
 thing to be done. We must find a Shylock you 
 must find him."
 
 VI. 
 
 J. HARRINGTON VAN STUMP lived alone with his 
 servants in a large, richly furnished house in a fash 
 ionable neighborhood in New York. 
 
 It was midnight. A narrow chested man with 
 sloping shoulders and sharp features ambled up the 
 steps of the Van Stump mansion and pulled the bell 
 nervously. The house was ablaze with lights. The 
 door was thrown open and the warm air, scented 
 with the odor of flowers and sweet perfume, fanned 
 his cadaverous cheeks. The sound of music and 
 many voices reached his ears. 
 
 He hesitated before speaking, and then said tim 
 idly : 
 
 " I have come I fear I have come at an inoppor 
 tune time. I didn t know you see I didn t know 
 of this party. I will wait if you please I will wait 
 in the basement until the fete is over. I have an 
 important communication for Mr. Van Stump." 
 
 Among the last of the guests to take their leave 
 were the Kingsleys. Marion had never looked pret 
 tier. Her face was flushed with the excitement of the 
 
 25
 
 evening. She gave her hand to Van Stump and said 
 good night, thanking him for the pleasure he had 
 given her. The feeling of her hand within his own, 
 her beauty, and the sweetness of her voice quickened 
 for an instant the pulsations of his heart a heart that 
 had rarely beaten faster or slower because of the joys 
 or sorrows that move men of warm blood. 
 
 His eyes followed her as she passed out of the 
 room. The look was not that of love. It was some 
 thing akin to that of the miser gazing through a 
 broker s window at a heap of gold coins. 
 
 The last guest was gone, and Van Stump threw him 
 self wearily into a chair. He had excelled himself as 
 a genial host. He knew how to entertain, and did 
 it generously did it as one whose heart is full of 
 sweetness and warmth. An analysis of his nature 
 would have puzzled the philosopher. 
 
 The butler handed a card to Van Stump. It bore 
 the name " Martin Strum." 
 
 "Strum," said Van Stump, frowning. "What 
 does he want at this time of night? Take him to the 
 library and I will be there directly." 
 
 Strum bo\ved and apologized for intruding at so 
 late an hour. When he had humbled himself suf 
 ficiently before this modern Croesus, in whose pres 
 ence he felt keenly his own meanness of soul, he then 
 said what he had come to say that he had clients 
 who must have fifty thousand dollars on the following 
 day. 
 
 26
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars ! " exclaimed Van Stump, 
 throwing up his hands in horror. 
 
 " It is a big sum," replied Strum timidly. 
 
 " A big sum indeed, and money is very tight." 
 
 " They expect to pay for the use of it," insinuated 
 Strum. 
 
 " Of course, but the demand for money is some 
 thing to turn one s head. I have never seen any 
 thing like it." 
 
 "You are quite right, sir, quite right," assented 
 Strum. " I told my clients so." 
 
 " You gave them to understand that the loan 
 would cost a snug sum ? 
 
 " Indeed I did, sir." 
 
 " Did you name any amount ? " 
 
 "I said I didn t know where it could be raised 
 even if they were willing to pay ten per cent a 
 month." 
 
 " And they still wanted you to get it? their needs 
 must be urgent indeed. But you are too modest, 
 Strum, too modest. The money can t be raised at 
 that price in these times." 
 
 " Perhaps they would pay more," pleaded Strum. 
 
 " But the security you have looked into that ? " 
 
 " There is the pinch, sir. They could raise money 
 on a mortgage, but this is just what they want to 
 avoid." 
 
 " I see, h m, h m," said Van Stump, with a selfish 
 gleam in his eyes. What did you say their name is ? " 
 
 27
 
 " Here is their card, sir." 
 
 " Derringforth ! " exclaimed Van Stump. " The 
 Derringforths in trouble ? 
 
 His interest was alive now. 
 
 "They are carrying on large enterprises, and this 
 pinch has caught them, but they are well rated and 
 the father has a house worth ninety thousand dollars 
 on which there is no lien. Besides this, a great deal 
 of money is due them on contracts partially com 
 pleted. They have, too, a lot of unlisted securities 
 that they regard as good, but that are not acceptable 
 as collateral in the present state of the market. 
 
 "And these securities are the collateral they of 
 fer?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Securities that would not bring a dollar in the 
 money market? " 
 
 " Possibly, sir." 
 
 "And they expect you to raise for them fifty thou 
 sand dollars on collateral that no bank would take ? 
 
 " If the collateral were gilt edge they would not 
 seek money through me, sir. They came to me with 
 their eyes open, understanding that if they got it, 
 they would have to pay for it." 
 
 " And you must go to them with your eyes open 
 wide open. Sift their affairs to the bottom mini 
 you, to the bottom." 
 
 " I will go as far into their affairs as they will al 
 low me." 
 
 28
 
 " Allow you, did you say allow you ? " cried Van 
 Stump, rising in well simulated wrath. 
 
 " I hope I have not offended you, sir. I am very 
 sorry I am, indeed, sorry," apologized Strum, 
 wringing his hands. 
 
 "You are too easily frightened, Strum; you lack 
 nerve. I like bold men about me men not afraid 
 to do as I tell them. The Derringforths want 
 money, and must have it. It is not for them to allow 
 anything. They are at your mercy. Flaunt the 
 money in their faces, and they will show you their 
 very souls if you demand it. You are not seeking an 
 investment ; they are seeking a loan. But be diplo 
 matic remember, diplomatic. There may be game 
 here worth the chase." 
 
 " Depend upon me, sir, to follow your instructions 
 strictly," replied Strum obsequiously. 
 
 " Very good, do so, and keep a sharp watch for a 
 twist, Strum a twist you understand ? " 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " You wouldn t mind making a fee a modest fee 
 for yourself, I dare say, if they were forced to the 
 wall," insinuated Van Stump. 
 
 " I need the money, heaven knows, sir," answered 
 Strum eagerly. 
 
 " Keep your wits about you, then, and bring me a 
 correct statement of their affairs. Come to me to 
 morrow at twelve.
 
 VII. 
 
 " IT is outrageous, father," said young Derring- 
 forth, white with indignation. " I would have 
 thrown the fellow out of the office. He is a robber 
 twenty per cent a month, two hundred and forty 
 per cent a year, ten thousand dollars for the use of 
 fifty thousand and for only thirty days. Why, it is 
 damnable ! " 
 
 " So it is, Phil damnable in the extreme but we 
 had better pay four- times ten thousand than have our 
 paper go to protest," replied the father. 
 
 li But the impudence of the cur think of his pry 
 ing into our affairs as he did ! I could hardly keep 
 my hands off him." 
 
 " I feel as strongly as you do, Phil, against him 
 and his class ; but we are in his power and must ac 
 cept his terms or go to the wall." 
 
 " Would it not be better to call a halt than to 
 place ourselves in the hands of such a heartless 
 scoundrel ? 
 
 " Call a halt ? Never so long as the name of Der- 
 ringforth can be kept afloat, though there be ex- 
 
 30
 
 tortion on top of extortion, and yet extortion on top 
 of that." 
 
 The fifty thousand dollars was secured. 
 
 The foundation for the " twist " was laid. 
 
 The stringency in the money market continued. A 
 week went by, and the fifty thousand was gone. 
 Another loan must be had, or all would be lost. 
 Strum was appealed to again, and again the house of 
 the Derringforths was humiliated. The loan was in 
 creased to one hundred thousand, on terms increas 
 ingly extortionate. The twist had taken hold. 
 
 Matters grew worse with the Derringforths. The 
 market became easier, and still their paper was re 
 fused. There was a mysterious something in the 
 manner of bankers that Mr. Derringforth could not 
 understand. He sought an explanation, but was put 
 off with small doses of sugar coated deception. He 
 tried to divine the meaning of all this to unravel the 
 mystery. Surely all obligations had been met as 
 promptly as ever. Why, then, should he not have, 
 as he always had had, the confidence of financial in 
 stitutions? Was not the business of the house larger 
 than ever before, and were not its contracts yielding 
 exceptional profits ? 
 
 But speculation as to the cause of the situation 
 availed nothing. They must have money, money, 
 money, and that quickly, or the herculean efforts he 
 had made to tide over the squeeze would have been 
 put forth to no purpose. 
 
 3 1
 
 The twist was beginning to be felt. 
 
 Strum was appealed to a third time. The money 
 was advanced. The twist took another turn and the 
 Derringforths winced. 
 
 A friend came to them and told them it was whis 
 pered about that they were in financial trouble that 
 they had been paying exorbitant prices for money. 
 
 "This explains the mystery," said Mr. Derring- 
 forth, looking like one who had been betrayed. " It 
 is plain now why our paper has been refused." 
 
 But he was at a loss to understand from whence the 
 report issued. "And the motive," he meditated. 
 " Only Strum knows of the loan, and it is for his in 
 terest to say nothing." 
 
 Van Stump could have enlightened him as to the 
 motive. It was a part of the twist.
 
 VIII. 
 
 WITH the advent of Lent, the Kingsleys joined a 
 party that was to go to California. The Derringforths 
 were invited, and Mrs. Derringforth urged her hus 
 band to accept the invitation, but he said simply that 
 he could not leave his business. 
 
 " I wish, dear, you would not work so hard," she 
 answered. "Your ambition will lead you to the 
 grave. You look worried and worn out." 
 
 The husband tried to laugh away his wife s fore 
 bodings, but the idea remained with him. 
 
 Truth pierces the heart, while words of lighter im 
 port glance off without the trace of an impress. 
 
 " It would do you a world of good," pleaded Mrs. 
 Derringforth, " to take this California trip, and I 
 should like so much to go myself." 
 
 " I should like to go, dear, and especially on your 
 account. It grieves me to think you should miss this 
 pleasure. I wish you would reconsider your decision 
 and go without me." 
 
 " I should find no pleasure in the trip without you. 
 
 33
 
 The thought of your working like a galley slave at 
 home would haunt me the whole time." 
 
 " But suppose you and Phil go. He has buckled 
 down to business like a veteran, and needs the change 
 far more than I. And besides, Marion will be one 
 of the party. Think of this and make up your 
 mind to go. I shall be happier knowing that you 
 and Phil are happier. Your interests are more to me 
 than money, though you think my ambition will lead 
 me to the grave. It isn t that I am so ambitious 
 now for great wealth. I have reached that age when 
 I would prefer to take it more quietly. But one can 
 not always do as he would wish. One has a business 
 and it expands beyond his design almost beyond 
 his control, sometimes. It runs itself in a way, and 
 takes him along with it. But I am going to draw in 
 the lines so that I shall have more leisure for you and 
 for myself." 
 
 " I should think you might go with us, Phil 
 with me," pleaded Marion in her most persuasive 
 way. 
 
 " I wish I could, little girl," he said, his heart year 
 ning to say yes. " Six weeks with you would be life 
 again to me, but it is impossible for me to get away." 
 
 "Impossible!" she repeated the word. How 
 strangely it sounded as she said it. Her disappoint 
 ment could not have been more forcefully expressed. 
 
 "But there are obstacles," he hastened to say, 
 " that one cannot possibly overcome." 
 34
 
 " Love should know no obstacles," replied Marion, 
 almost sharply. 
 
 "You question my love, then?" said Derring- 
 forth, the hot blood rushing to his cheeks. A few 
 months before he would not have uttered these words, 
 and even now he would have given his right hand to 
 recall them. 
 
 Marion flushed not so much at what he had said 
 as at his manner of saying it. She hesitated before 
 speaking. 
 
 " Phil, we mustn t go on in this way," she said 
 sweetly. " Let us avoid anything that would cause 
 us regret," and she extended her hand to him in 
 token of good faith. He took it in his own, and 
 there was love and penitence and hope in the pres 
 sure he gave it. 
 
 " I am so sorry," he said tenderly. " I am hard 
 ly myself." 
 
 " You have been hardly yourself, Phil, for a long 
 time. What has changed you so? " 
 
 " Can you ask don t you know ? " 
 
 " But you promised to be brave and help me wait 
 patiently. Must I help you ?" 
 
 "I think I need the help more than you." It 
 was his heart that said these words, not his head a 
 heart distracted by business troubles and crying out 
 in its loneliness.
 
 IX. 
 
 THE Kingsleys separated from the party in San 
 Francisco, and went to visit an old friend of Mr. 
 Kingsley, who had a large ranch in southern Cali 
 fornia Edwards was his name. Kingsley and Ed 
 wards had been boys together in New England a 
 generation before. The one had found his way to 
 the metropolis and the other to the far West. 
 Each had grown rich in worldly possessions, though 
 the Westerner had more to show for his life than the 
 metropolitan, for the number of his children was a 
 round half dozen, while Marion alone was the Kings- 
 ley heir. 
 
 The oldest of the Edwards children was a young 
 man, twenty four, tall, broad chested, and straight, 
 with light hair worn long, and complexion as fair as 
 a woman s. He was as picturesque a fellow as ever 
 played havoc with the heart of a girl. He was 
 the embodiment of human nature generous, gay, 
 unrestrained a natural man with big heart and 
 abounding health. He had grown up in the saddle, 
 and was as perfect a horseman as the most dashing 
 36
 
 product of the frontier. He was a child of nature, 
 as sweet as a girl, as chivalrous as a knight of old. 
 
 Such was Burton Edwards as Marion Kingsley saw 
 him such he was in fact. The Edwardses were de 
 lightful people, and made the Kingsleys as much at 
 home as if they had been kin of their own. Sallie, 
 the next in age to Burton, was but a year younger 
 than Marion. She had the ingenuous, whole souled, 
 sunny disposition of her brother. Marion was charmed 
 with her, and told herself that she had never before 
 seen human nature in such attractive guise, where 
 such perfect sincerity and childlike freedom throbbed 
 with every pulsation of the heart. 
 
 Marion had been with the Edwardses barely an 
 hour when she was "Marion" to everyone. For 
 mality had no place in that delightful ranch life, un- 
 trammeled by the conventionality of the city that 
 dries up the springs of sweetness and simplicity and 
 makes the heart the abode of cant and artificiality. 
 
 As it was " Marion " with Burton and Sallie, so it 
 was "Burton" and "Sallie" with Marion. The 
 three entered into the sports of ranch life with the 
 zest and enthusiasm of children ; and children they 
 were in fact, without a care or a thought to mar their 
 happiness. Not a thought no, that would hardly 
 be true, for Marion had left behind her a lover, the 
 playmate of her childhood, the light of her life. Yes, 
 she had a thought for Phil, poor boy, who was toiling 
 while she was playing, working for her and the home 
 37
 
 they were some day to share together. But that 
 home and that some day how indefinite now, and 
 how real it had been but a few months before ! 
 
 Her life was crowded with pleasures and intoxicated 
 by the association with two natures that were as a 
 stimulant to her own. She marveled at the things 
 she did, the miles she rode, the tennis she played, the 
 dances she danced. 
 
 "You shall ride Dick today, Marion," said Bur 
 ton when she had been at the ranch a week. Dick 
 was his own horse, a thoroughbred, and the finest in 
 the county. 
 
 "Ride Dick! I ride Dick!" she answered. 
 " Nothing would delight me so much he is such a 
 beauty, but I can t allow myself to take him from 
 you." 
 
 " Don t think of that," replied Burton, in his free, 
 generous way. " He shall be yours all the time you 
 are with us I ll ride Bruno ; he is an ugly beast, but 
 I m in the mood to tame him. We will have great 
 sport now. Sallie s horse is a good match for Bruno. 
 The races we will have will be something to remem 
 ber when you get back to New York." 
 
 " I m sure they will, but they will not be the 
 only delightful remembrance. I could not well for 
 get the many things you have done for my pleasure ; 
 and now to crown all you give up your horse to 
 me." 
 
 "That s nothing," laughed Burton. "We are 
 
 38
 
 the debtors, for you are giving us more pleasure than 
 it is possible for us to give you." 
 
 " Oh, what extravagance ! " protested Marion. 
 
 "Not a bit," answered Burton. "I put it not 
 strongly enough, rather than too strongly. It is a 
 rare thing to have a New York girl with us, you 
 know, and it is especially rare to have one who is so 
 congenial, one who enters into our wild life with such 
 enthusiasm as you do." 
 
 The days passed by unnumbered, one following an 
 other so quickly that there was no beginning, no end 
 ing. The Kingsleys had been at the ranch three 
 weeks, and the visit was to end on the morrow. 
 
 Burton and Marion went out for their last ride 
 together. Sallie remained at home. Was the cause 
 assigned genuine or counterfeit? Marion asked her 
 self this. At all events she was glad that Burton and 
 she were alone, and yet she was conscious of the feel 
 ing that it would be better if Sallie were with them. 
 
 Dick had been equipped with special trappings in 
 her honor. She appreciated this. What woman does 
 not love these little attentions? They appeal with 
 peculiar force to the feminine heart. The day was 
 bright and the air was clear and exhilarating. Dick 
 was in fine form and eager for a dash. But there 
 was a feeling of depression that both Burton and 
 Marion shared alike. It was the thought of her 
 leaving for the East on the following day. It hung 
 over them like a cloud, and pursued them whether 
 
 39
 
 the horses were racing in full gallop or walking slowly 
 beneath the spreading branches of the great trees. 
 
 Marion leaned forward and patted Dick s neck. 
 
 " You shall have him for your own, Marion. I 
 will give him to you," said Burton impulsively. 
 
 " Give Dick to me ! Oh, no, you don t mean 
 that," replied Marion. 
 
 " I do indeed." 
 
 " But I could not think of taking him away from 
 you." 
 
 "I wish you would. I should be happier in the 
 thought that he was giving you pleasure than in rid 
 ing him myself." 
 
 " I thank you so much. I wish I could make you 
 feel how deeply I appreciate the offer, and your 
 thought for my happiness. But papa would not 
 allow me to accept so valuable a present. It would 
 not be right." 
 
 Burton felt that he was not making the progress he 
 had hoped for. The horses were walking now, and 
 he and Marion rode silently on side by side. Neither 
 said anything for a little time. Finally Burton raised 
 his head and turned toward Marion. There was love 
 in his eyes as they met hers, and he spoke softly, 
 tenderly. 
 
 Marion felt what was coming, and strove to save 
 
 him the humiliation. Time after time she adroitly 
 
 turned the conversation turned it so cleverly that 
 
 Burton did not suspect her motive. But the strong, 
 
 40
 
 passionate love that swayed his heart could not be so 
 easily repressed. Again and again he came back to 
 the subject, almost abruptly at times, and as often 
 she led him to a different theme, but always with 
 such gentle tact and perfect skill that he could scarce 
 discern she divined his purpose. 
 
 It was will against will, and the will of the woman 
 won. She had saved him, and saved herself the 
 pain of refusing him. 
 
 The next day she said good by. He prolonged 
 his hold upon her hand and looked the words he fain 
 would have spoken. 
 
 " I shall see you in New York before very long," 
 he said as he handed her into the carriage. There 
 was an attempt to speak lightly, but his voice be 
 trayed his true feelings. 
 
 That last look was photographed upon Marion s 
 mind, and as she journeyed homeward it was ever 
 with her. 
 
 " I am very sorry for him, poor fellow," she said to 
 herself; " very sorry. I had no idea that he cared for 
 me that he loved me until the day we went riding 
 alone. I cannot think it was my fault. How 
 strange it all seems, and it makes me so uncomfort 
 able ! Perhaps I am to blame just a little perhaps 
 I ought not to have seen so much of him, but I 
 couldn t very well make myself disagreeable, and be 
 sides, I liked him. It can t be a crime for a girl to 
 like a man when he interests her ; and Burton is such 
 
 4 T
 
 a delightful fellow. But he shouldn t have fallen in 
 love. I wonder why people do such foolish things. 
 Phil and I never fell in love and I was there only 
 three weeks. Perhaps, though, I should have told 
 him something of Phil ; but what could I have said ? 
 Phil and I are not engaged. Mama didn t wish us 
 to be engaged. If AVC had been, I could have said 
 so, and that would have saved him I m not sure, 
 though ; sometimes men fall in love with engaged 
 girls. I wonder if he would have done that. Well, 
 he will forget all about me in a little while, and then 
 he will laugh at his folly yes, forget all about me," 
 and there was a perceptible sigh. Was it an expres 
 sion of sorrow for Burton Edwards or the moan of a 
 heart pierced by Cupid s arrow ?
 
 X. 
 
 SPRING melted into summer, summer vanished into 
 fall, and fall faded into winter; and with winter 
 came in a season of unparalleled gayety. Marion was 
 on the crest of the wave. 
 
 Phil had seen comparatively little of her since her 
 departure for California. He had not been out of 
 town, and she had spent few days in town. Through 
 out all the hot weather he had worked with hardly 
 the loss of an hour. It was a struggle for existence, 
 and side by side with his father he strove to avert 
 the crash. They were yet in the toils of Van Stump. 
 Phil showed the effects of the long confinement and 
 the strain he had undergone. His father wore deeper 
 marks of torture. The twist had squeezed him 
 hardest. 
 
 Strum was obsequious and snaky. The cold grasp 
 behind him, the hand that turned the screws, was as 
 yet unknown to either Mr. Derringforth or his son. 
 They had succeeded in keeping the knowledge of 
 their distress from the public. Beyond the whisper 
 ings the insinuations that came from Van Stump, 
 
 43
 
 with the purpose of injuring their credit, that he 
 might bleed them the deeper nothing was known of 
 the heroism with which father and son fought the 
 fierce fight a hand to hand combat that tried the 
 metal of their souls. 
 
 Marion knew nothing of all this. She felt that 
 Derringforth had neglected and avoided her. She 
 had never quite forgiven him for his refusal to go 
 with her on that California trip. He had assigned 
 no cause other than that it was impossible to get 
 away. This did not satisfy her. It should not have 
 satisfied her. She felt that at least she should have 
 his confidence. 
 
 " He should have mine," she told herself. " Love 
 should know no secrets." This was her feeling at 
 that time. But did she tell him all about Burton 
 Edwards, of his love for her and the impress he had 
 left upon her own heart, that picturesque, chivalrous 
 son of the West ? She had intended to go over it all 
 with Derringforth, to make a clean breast and free 
 her heart from this feeling of guilt, a feeling that 
 clung to her like a black shadow. He too had in 
 tended to confide in her the cause of his inability to 
 accompany her, but the conversation took a turn that 
 made this awkward, and she went West with the 
 feeling that he had grown cold and indifferent. 
 
 The first time she saw Derringforth after returning 
 to New York there seemed to be no suitable oppor 
 tunity to unburden her soul to him. She tried to 
 44
 
 shape matters so that she could begin the confession 
 without abruptness. But all her efforts were frus 
 trated. He always happened to say the very thing 
 that she did not wish him to say. 
 
 With this thought in her mind there was an unnat 
 ural restraint about her manner that Derringforth 
 was quick to notice. It had the effect of chilling his 
 spirits. Each experienced a feeling of awkwardness. 
 A cloud settled down upon them, and the evening 
 went by and Derringforth was gone and Marion s 
 heart was heavy. 
 
 Once the confession had been put off, the difficul 
 ties in making it increased in number and strength. 
 In a few days she had gone to the country. Derring 
 forth never came there to see her, though she was but 
 a few hundred miles away. She felt hurt and would 
 not allow herself to ask why he could not come. He 
 had chosen to stay away, and gave her no reason for 
 doing so, save that he could not take an hour from 
 business. This seemed scarcely credible. 
 
 The secret that had haunted her at first was less 
 troublesome now. The black shadow had been dis 
 pelled. She was back in New York again. Der 
 ringforth was beginning to lose the boyish lines in 
 his face. He seemed a good deal changed had 
 grown subdued and serious. She speculated over the 
 transformation, and the longer she pondered the 
 more distant he seemed. 
 
 He, also, had done much thinking. His heart 
 
 45
 
 ached with an ache that was death to his hopes. The 
 year would be ended in another week that year that he 
 had been asked to wait. Seven days more and he would 
 go to her and reopen the subject only seven days. 
 Oh, that a stroke of fortune might free him from 
 the grasp of that cold, bony hand that had him by the 
 throat ! Only this and then he could go to Marion 
 with that love that had grown up with him and was 
 his life, fiber of his fiber, soul of his soul.
 
 XL 
 
 MARION sat at her writing desk, deep in thought. 
 A picture of Derringforth stood before her, and beside 
 it lay an open letter from him. She took up her pen 
 to answer it, but there was irresolution in the act. 
 The pen dropped from her fingers, and her head 
 drooped upon her hands. The letter had brought her 
 face to face with a doubt that had haunted her of late, 
 but which she had shrunk from considering seriously. 
 She had drifted towards it day by day, hoping in 
 that indefinite, vague way that women more than 
 men are wont to hope, that some way, somehow the 
 question would be solved for her. 
 
 She had had a year of social life since the day she 
 pleaded with her mother for permission to become en 
 gaged to Derringforth. Then she saw nothing at 
 tractive in society, and prayed for the quiet little 
 home of her dreams, with music and books and the 
 man she loved. Now the gay world throbbed with a 
 thousand pulsations that fascinated her. Her point 
 of view had shifted. Then she was the debutante, 
 uncertain of herself, looking upon social life as 
 
 47
 
 one sees a play. Now she was a part of that life, 
 with confidence and an enthusiasm that was irresisti 
 ble. 
 
 We are too apt to condemn that of which we know 
 little or nothing. There are few strictures one hears 
 more frequently than those on the society of which 
 the speaker s knowledge is extremely limited. There 
 is a tendency to rail at that which is beyond us. Every 
 phase of life has its pleasures, and doubtless those 
 who speak most severely of the inner circle of society 
 would gladly enter it, and once in, would blush at 
 the thought of their previous narrowness. With 
 Marion it wasn t that she couldn t enter it, but rather 
 that she didn t desire to. As she saw it then it was 
 unattractive, insincere a butterfly life at best. Her 
 thoughts had set in a different direction. 
 
 But human nature is malleable. A twelvemonth in 
 the social world, and she liked it. The air was ex 
 hilarating and delightful. The people were charm 
 ing, and there was ever a kaleidoscopic variety of en 
 tertainments that precluded the presence of a dull 
 minute. There was a mild intoxication about this 
 that lifted her above the level of the old days. 
 
 Her enjoyment then was one of contentment. Now 
 it was one of excitement. Some one was always plan 
 ning and doing something for her happiness, and she 
 exerted herself to give happiness in return. It was a 
 high pressure life, in which friction was reduced to a 
 minimum, and the hours flew by unnoticed save for 
 48
 
 the sweet scented memories that warmed her heart to 
 quicker action memories of the ball room, of social 
 triumphs, of coaching trips, of riding and yachting, 
 of tobogganing and the music of the sleigh bells, of the 
 opera and dinners and receptions, of the attention she 
 had received, the flowers that had been showered upon 
 her, and the love she had inspired not maliciously, 
 merely incidentally, yet she was not dull to the pleasures 
 it had brought her. Hers was the heart of a woman, 
 susceptible to stimulant so delicious a stimulant as 
 insidious in its effect as the opium drug. 
 
 She loved Derringforth as a matter of course. The 
 thought had never occurred to her that she could love 
 any one else. But was she quite ready to give up all 
 these pleasures ? 
 
 "I couldn t go out without Phil if we were 
 engaged," she meditated. "Even if I could there 
 would be no pleasure for me. The devotion that is 
 paid me now would vanish, and I should find myself 
 suddenly grown frightfully uninteresting. There are 
 so many good times I could have this winter," she 
 continued with downcast eyes. " The season is only 
 fairly begun, and it was never so gay, and my engage 
 ments run away ahead." 
 
 She took up Derringforth s letter and read it over 
 again. 
 
 " I hope you can give me next Thursday evening," 
 he wrote. " The year we were asked to wait will have 
 passed. I know you are very busy socially, but the 
 
 49
 
 matter for us to consider means far more to you and 
 me than an evening s pleasure." 
 
 " I wish he hadn t added this last sentence," Ma- 
 lion said to herself almost petulantly. " It sounds as 
 if he thinks I care more for a good time than for him 
 and his happiness. He knows that is not so. I m 
 sure I care for him as much as ever. Simply because 
 I want to enjoy a few more months of girl life doesn t 
 prove that I love Phil any the less. I m sure it doesn t. 
 If it were necessary I would give up everything for 
 him, and very gladly, but as mama says, there is no 
 good reason for rushing into the cares of married life. 
 A year ago I couldn t think she was right, but I am 
 older now and have had a chance to see something of 
 the world. Yes, mama was right think of what I 
 should have missed if I had become engaged then, and 
 suppose I were to become engaged now ! Marion 
 spoke these last w r ords with a little shudder, and in 
 desperation got up from her desk and went to the 
 window and looked out into the street. 
 
 A cold east wind was blowing, and snow was 
 beginning to fall. A beggar rang the basement 
 bell of the house opposite. He was thinly and 
 shabbily dressed, and was white with age. He 
 came away from the rich man s door with a piece of 
 dry bread, which he began eating. Marion saw his 
 face as he gained the sidewalk. It was pinched and 
 blue, but withal showed lines of refinement. Her 
 heart ached for him as he toddled along the street,
 
 facing the cold, piercing, wintry wind, and gnawing 
 at the bread as he went. 
 
 "It is cruel," she cried, " to let a human being 
 suffer in this way turning him off with a crust of 
 cold bread on a bitter day like this ; and she flew 
 down stairs and sent the butler after the old man. 
 
 Marion met him at the basement door and asked him 
 into the kitchen, where a hot fire was burning in the 
 great range. 
 
 " You are very kind, young lady, to send for me," 
 said the beggar, still shivering from the cold that 
 chilled him to the bone. 
 
 " I saw you from my warm room," answered Ma 
 rion ; " you are hungry and cold." 
 
 Her kind words and soft, sweet voice were too much 
 for the old man. He had struggled to keep back the 
 tears, but now they stole down his hollow cheeks. He 
 brushed them away with the sleeve of his coat, and 
 said, speaking as one who had known something of re 
 finement, " I must ask you to excuse me. This is all 
 so unexpected. I am not accustomed to such kindness, 
 but I am grateful to you, young lady, very grateful. 
 
 Marion had a hot meal prepared, which consisted of 
 a sirloin steak, hashed potatoes browned, dry toast, and 
 coffee with cream. This was the beggar s breakfast, 
 and Marion served it with her own hands. Never 
 man ate with greater relish or the expression of more 
 sincere thanks. Every look and act showed gratitude, 
 and Marion learned something of that finest sense of 
 
 5 1
 
 happiness the happiness that comes from helping 
 others. 
 
 With a heart glowing with warmth she went back 
 to her desk and again took up her pen to answer 
 Derringforth snote. Her irresolution was gone. 
 
 " I am glad you want me to save Thursday evening 
 for you," she began. " It shall be yours, and yours 
 only. I shall be at home to no one else. I know I 
 am very busy, as you say, but it is not such a hardship 
 for me to give up an evening to you, Phil, though I 
 miss the greatest event of the season. Come in early, 
 as you used to. You shouldn t be ceremonious with 
 me we never were ceremonious with each other, you 
 know, and it doesn t befit us." 
 
 She ran her eye over the note when it was finished. 
 " There, that is more as I should talk to Phil," she 
 said to herself. " Poor dear Phil ! " and she caught 
 up the photograph before her and kissed it with girlish 
 impulsiveness. 
 
 At four o clock Marion began a round of receptions. 
 She took with her a subscription paper and importuned 
 her men friends in behalf of the beggar she had fed. 
 Her father s name headed the list, with fifty dollars 
 opposite it. Whether skirting along on the edge of 
 disaster or hoarding millions with the greed of a miser, 
 it mattered not a whit, none dared refuse her. She 
 told the story of the morning, how she had seen the 
 old man begging a morsel of bread and shivering from 
 the cold wind ; told of her sending for him, and of his 
 
 52
 
 gratitude, told of the misfortune that had brought him 
 to beggary a man who had known the comforts of 
 home and the refining and sustaining influence of a 
 wife. 
 
 Some there were who feigned skepticism and at 
 tempted to force the laugh upon her, saying that she 
 had been cleverly taken in. But this was a ruse that 
 fell short, and all who had thus sought to protect their 
 gold, made quick to recover the ground they had lost. 
 This bit of strategy, this vile pretense, is the shield 
 behind which meanness seeks shelter; it is the resort 
 of the hypocrite and the miser, the subterfuge of him 
 whose miserable soul knows not the throb of a kindly 
 impulse. 
 
 Honest poverty starves and is trampled under foot 
 before the eyes of such men, and never a twinge of 
 conscience ruffles the surface of their cold blood. It 
 is only when forced, in self defense, in sustaining pride 
 or place, that their purse strings unloose to charity. 
 It was pressure such as this that drew from flinty hearts 
 subscriptions to Marion s paper. Cornered beyond 
 escape, they signed their names with excess of pleas 
 ure a bad counterfeit of the feeling of the generous 
 giver cursing inwardly, meanwhile, the beggar and 
 the fair hand that had filched their dollars from them. 
 
 Van Stump was one of these, and curiously enough 
 at the mention of the old man s name he was a good 
 deal startled. Marion saw this, and noted the sudden 
 paleness of his face. 
 
 S3
 
 "Why, Mr. Van Stump," she said in a tone of deep 
 surprise, " you don t know him? " 
 
 Know him I know this beggar ? answered Van 
 Stump. " Well, well, this is good ! " and he laughed 
 a forced sort of laugh. 
 
 " I was mistaken, I am sure you will pardon me, 
 I know," replied Marion. 
 
 " Certainly," said Van Stump, "and I hope you 
 will pardon me for laughing at your question the 
 idea struck me as so odd, you know. But to be serious, 
 now, how much money do you wish to raise a com 
 petency for the old fellow to retire on ? " 
 
 " You shouldn t banter in that way, Mr. Van 
 Stump. I am interested in this little bit of charity, 
 and hope you will help me." 
 
 " Certainly I will help you, but you have not 
 answered my question as to the amount you hope to 
 raise for this deserving charity." 
 
 There was a stress on the words " deserving charity " 
 that nettled Marion. 
 
 " The sum I have undertaken to raise is only three 
 hundred dollars," she answered diplomatically, "and 
 I have a good part of it already. This amount will 
 enable me to get the old man into the Chapin Home 
 for the Aged and Infirm, and once in there there will 
 be no further expense. He will be well taken care 
 of, clothed and fed. Now isn t this a charity worth 
 while?" 
 
 " Most excellent," answered Van Stump. " In fact 
 
 54
 
 it strikes me that something of the sort would be a 
 good thing for every man too lazy to work." 
 
 " I think you can say the most sarcastic things, Mr. 
 Van Stump. I shall be afraid of you if you go on 
 much longer in this way." 
 
 " I certainly could not permit that, Miss Kingsley. 
 But you see it strikes me as so unaccountably odd to 
 see you taking such an interest in this old beggar. 
 Why in this one more than others, and why not give 
 up all your time to beggars ? you are such a charm 
 ing little shall I say it ? beggar yourself. No one 
 could resist your appeals. 
 
 " How you do like to tease ! But I shall not al 
 low you to tease me. The reason I feel a special 
 interest in this old man is that his case is peculiarly 
 pathetic. 
 
 " I suppose every beggar thinks his case is peculiarly 
 pathetic," replied Van Stump. 
 
 His sarcasm began to be irritating to Marion, and 
 casting a quick glance at him, she said : 
 
 " When one gets to a point where he has no faith 
 in any one or anything, I pity him. As for myself, 
 I do not doubt this old man s story. There are 
 sharks in this world besides those of the sea. It was 
 one of these that brought him to be a beggar." 
 
 Van Stump winced merely perceptibly and with 
 wonderful coolness laughed as if much amused at 
 Marion s earnestness. But he had had quite enough, 
 and lest he might say something he would regret, or 
 
 55
 
 in some way show feeling that would arouse her sus 
 picions, he deemed it wise to cut short the conversa 
 tion, which he did by putting his name down on her 
 paper for a liberal subscription. 
 
 " You are very generous," said Marion, delighted 
 at the amount he had given. " I thank you so much 
 just think, over two hundred and fifty dollars already 
 isn t it sweet of everybody to help me so will 
 ingly ?" 
 
 A few more subscriptions were obtained before 
 Marion returned home, and the sum then lacking to 
 make up the three hundred dollars she herself sub 
 scribed. 
 
 "This world isn t so large after all," muttered 
 Van Stump, when Marion had left him. " Old 
 Hammersly turned up at the Kingsleys ," he went 
 on, his brow darkening, "and of all things that that 
 girl should take him into the house and listen to his 
 woes and then come to me to help him to me, of all 
 men. There is a fatality in it, upon my head, I be 
 lieve there is. Well, may the money do the old beg 
 gar good I can afford him this much as an item 
 of interest the principal he will not be likely to 
 get."
 
 XII. 
 
 MRS. KINGSLEY dreaded the approaching interview 
 between Marion and Derringforth. A year before 
 Phil was a favorite with her. But now she felt differ 
 ently. He had changed a good deal, it seemed to 
 her, and for the worse. 
 
 She was partially right. Derringforth had changed, 
 and especially towards her. He had never forgiven 
 her for insisting upon the postponement of his engage 
 ment. She had forfeited all the admiration he had 
 formerly felt for her. He did not seek to disguise 
 his feelings. Coldness begets coldness, usually. It 
 had done so in this case. There was cordial dislike 
 between them a lack of respect, even, on his part, 
 for she had become the embodiment of vanity as he 
 saw her a worshiper of the fetish of society. 
 
 Here was tangible cause for his feeling ; she was 
 less fortunate in that she could not formulate her ob 
 jections to him on solid grounds. Feel towards him as 
 she might she must at least respect him. His sturdy 
 character commanded this. But a woman requires 
 less to build a case upon than man. What she lacks 
 
 57
 
 in evidence is made up in indefinite little somethings, 
 as shadowy oftentimes as the mist vanishing before 
 the sun. 
 
 Marion was aware of the strained relations between 
 her mother and Derringforth, but she had never until 
 now realized the extent of the rupture. 
 
 " So you have canceled your engagement for 
 Thursday evening with the Harburys," said Mrs. 
 Kingsley. 
 
 There was that in her manner and in the inflection 
 of her voice that made plain her feeling. 
 
 "Yes," answered Marion quietly. "It seemed 
 to me Phil had a better claim upon me." 
 
 "And you coolly broke an engagement for that 
 boy, and with the Harburys of all people the Har 
 burys. 
 
 " Yes," answered Marion, resenting in her manner 
 the reference to Derringforth as " that boy." 
 
 "You have made such a mistake," sighed Mrs. 
 Kingsley, " such a mistake. The Harburys will 
 never get over it, and they entertain so generously." 
 
 " There are some things for one to think of besides 
 entertainments," returned Marion. "When Phil 
 asked me to be his wife you wanted the engagement 
 postponed for a year. The year will be up Thurs 
 day." 
 
 "Did I say one year, only one year?" replied 
 Mrs. Kingsley, an expression of alarm coming to her 
 face, 
 
 58
 
 " I think Phil would be justified in feeling that a 
 year was meant ; not more. 
 
 " Didn t I say a year at least ? I took partic 
 ular note of what I said. No one would be warranted 
 in construing that as simply one year. I felt then, as 
 I feel now, that a girl should not be married before 
 she is twenty five. You know something of social 
 life now, and are in a position to enjoy yourself. 
 You have made a good impression, and your second 
 year in society should give you a good deal more 
 pleasure than the first. Have you not enjoyed it ? " 
 
 " I have enjoyed it very much," answered Marion. 
 
 " I am sure you have, and I cannot imagine that 
 you would wish to give up all the good times you can 
 see ahead," continued Mrs. Kingsley, placing her arm 
 affectionately around her daughter as she spoke. 
 
 " I should like a few more months of such pleas 
 ure if it were not for disappointing Phil." 
 
 " But you would give up all these pleasures for 
 him ? " 
 
 11 That would be right, wouldn t it ? " said Marion, 
 lifting her eyes so that they looked straight into her 
 mother s. 
 
 " Do you think he would be as generous with 
 you?" responded Mrs. Kingsley, evading the ques 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, I believe he would. Phil would do any 
 thing for me." 
 
 " Suppose, then, you put him to the test and ask 
 
 59
 
 him to wait a while longer. This would require much 
 less sacrifice on his part than you would foolishly 
 make for him. What has he done for your pleasure 
 during the last year ? Is it from him you have had 
 the most attention? He couldn t even come from 
 New York to see you this summer, while Burton 
 Edwards came all the way from California. You 
 cannot afford to be blind, Marion blind." 
 
 Mrs. Kingsley continued this line of argument for 
 a while and then took the matter up in a personal 
 sense. She was careful now not to say anything that 
 would arouse Marion s antagonism, but, proceeding 
 cautiously, worked on her sympathy, gradually 
 bringing to bear her own feeling against Derring- 
 forth. 
 
 Marion was bewildered with conflicting emotions. 
 The dread of disappointing Phil on the one hand, 
 on the other her duty to her mother, and the array 
 of girl pleasures stretching far out in dazzling attrac 
 tiveness. The following day the matter came up 
 again, and now Mrs. Kingsley promised Marion a 
 year abroad if she would refrain from binding herself 
 to Derringforth just then. This was a telling argu 
 ment, for Marion had set her heart on revisiting 
 Europe. Her mother enlarged upon the benefits 
 and pleasures of such a trip. 
 
 "We will sail with the beginning of Lent," she 
 said, " only a few weeks off now. Your father prom 
 ised me last night that he would go if you would. 
 60
 
 He needs the change, and it would do us all a world 
 of good." 
 
 In the midst of this discussion matters were com 
 plicated by the unexpected arrival of Burton Ed 
 wards. He came in with that breezy, inspiring way 
 of his, flooding the room with sunshine. His was a 
 nature that was as buoyant as the crisp autumn air, 
 and all about him felt the stimulus of his presence. 
 
 " So glad to see you a delightful surprise how 
 well you are looking are you right from home ? 
 why didn t you let us know you were coming? " and 
 like utterances, a dozen or more, were flung at Ed 
 wards in quick succession by Marion and her mother. 
 
 He was powerless for a minute to get in a word 
 edgewise. 
 
 " Yes, right from home," he said, when a break in 
 feminine enthusiasm came. " Couldn t stay away 
 any longer Jove, how good it looks to see you both 
 once more. 
 
 " And how good it seems to see you," was the an 
 swer in concert. " Come, sit here beside me," 
 added Marion, her face beaming with pleasure, "and 
 tell me all about yourself. Take this chair, mama. 
 How is every one at home ? 
 
 To Mrs. Kingsley Edwards opportune coming 
 was as the hand of rescue stretched forth from out that 
 realm impenetrable to human eyes. She saw in him 
 an argument more effective with Marion than all the 
 force of her own reasoning and pleading. This was 
 61
 
 the chief source of her delight, though she was genu 
 inely glad of an opportunity to entertain him at her 
 home, and at this season of the year when New York 
 was at its best. 
 
 In this respect Marion s pleasure at his coming was 
 no less than that of her mother. But there was some 
 thing beyond this. The impress that Burton Edwards 
 had left upon her heart had not yet been effaced. 
 His sudden appearance thrilled her with that delicious 
 sensation he had at first inspired. It was as unlike 
 the feeling she had for Derringforth as the smooth 
 flowing stream of deep water is unlike the mountain 
 torrent, leaping, tumbling, laughing as it dashes 
 from crag to crag. The one was a quiet, restful, ra 
 tional emotion ; the other was turbulent, stimulating, 
 exhilarating. 
 
 The sentiment that bound her to Derringforth had 
 begun w r ith the beginning of intelligence. Its growth 
 had been gradual, natural, healthful. Entering the 
 heart thus, it had never caused her to experience that 
 intoxication that comes from a sudden burst of pas 
 sion. And what is there that so thrills the soul of a 
 woman so completely transports her to the acme of 
 delight as the love making of a strong, chivalrous 
 man, whose very nature throbs with impassioned sen 
 timent? This is the sort of man that Marion met on 
 that California ranch the sort of man that had sud 
 denly appeared before her at a moment when she 
 was debating with herself whether to yield to her 
 62
 
 mother s appeal or to make glad the heart of Der- 
 ringforth. 
 
 11 Phil has the better claim on me," she reasoned. 
 "It wouldn t be right to disappoint him a second 
 time, though, as mama says, the postponement was 
 not limited positively to one year. One year at 
 least, that isn t really one year no, Phil couldn t 
 claim that, and he wouldn t, I know he wouldn t. 
 Phil would never charge me with bad faith without 
 good cause. But I wonder I half feel that lie would 
 have cause. I thought myself that a year was meant, 
 but I can see mama s way of looking at it. I remem 
 ber her words. They were as she says. But then, I 
 talked to Phil as if I thought a year was meant, and 
 really I did think so. Oh, dear, I don t know what 
 to do ! I cannot feel that I should disappoint mama 
 she lives only for me. And then there is so much 
 going on, and my engagements such a lot of good 
 times ! I don t think I ought to be asked to lose 
 them all. Phil might be a little reasonable. I won 
 der if he would really give up as much for me as I 
 would have to give up for him. Mama says I ought 
 to put him to the test. But I don t need to put him 
 to the test. I know that Phil would do anything for 
 me. I won t allow myself to think of him in any 
 such way, poor fellow. I wish we had been engaged 
 last year, before I ever tasted the pleasures of society. 
 Then I wanted to marry him, and would have been 
 content, but now- weH, I want to marry him yet 
 
 63
 
 of course I do, but if it could only be postponed 
 a little while longer on mama s account I cannot 
 get over her foolish prejudice against Phil, and he 
 blames her the idea, when mama is doing so much 
 to make me happy! Phil should think of this. 
 Well, I suppose it will be all right some time some 
 time." She repeated the words with a sigh that ex 
 pressed the depth of her perplexity.
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE current that had set so fiercely against the 
 Derringforths could not be turned back by any ordi 
 nary means in the space of seven days. They had 
 struggled with it month after month and had barely 
 kept their heads above water. But these seven days 
 meant more to young Derringforth than all the three 
 hundred and odd in which he had been buffeted by 
 the breakers. He had kept up bravely throughout 
 the year, his mind centered upon that day when the 
 enforced postponement of his engagement to Marion 
 would be over. It had been a bright beacon to him, 
 cheering him in the darkest hours of the firm s dis 
 tress. Viewing its approach while yet a great way 
 off, there was abundant hope in his youthful heart 
 that long before its coming he and his father would 
 have reached smooth water. 
 
 With this conviction he counted the days as they 
 passed, impatient at their slow tread. Would that 
 long hoped for hour never come that hour when all 
 would be brightness and joy ? The weeks continued 
 on in their measured way until one day Derringforth 
 
 65
 
 found that but one remained. Then it was that he 
 awoke in the agony of his soul, realizing that time, 
 in its steady march, so slow to his impatient eyes, 
 had outstripped him. 
 
 He was not ready. The hand of Shylock still 
 held the house of Derringforth in its relentless grasp. 
 How simple a thing it had seemed to him, with yet 
 many months to spare, to unloose and hurl forever 
 from view these hated fingers of the money lender ! 
 Youth is ever thus hopeful. That " some way," that 
 "somehow," indefinite and vague, had been no less 
 an illusion to him than to Marion. Until now he 
 had never felt so keenly the torture of his position. 
 
 " Only seven days," he said, and in the words, as 
 he spoke them, there was the cry of an aching heart, 
 the despair of hopelessness. 
 
 He lighted a cigar, put on his overcoat, and went 
 out into the street. He had no definite object be 
 yond seeking diversion of some kind anything to 
 take his thoughts from himself. It was nearly nine 
 o clock. He had been walking for perhaps fifteen 
 minutes when he ran up the steps of the Kingsleys 
 and pulled the bell. He had passed by the house 
 once before with the resolve not to call, but now he 
 did call, and only to find that Marion had gone to 
 the opera. He felt more dejected than ever, and yet 
 in away he was glad that he did not see Marion. 
 
 " What should I have said to her if I had seen 
 her?" he asked himself. " She would have discov- 
 66
 
 ered that something is troubling me, and she must not 
 know not yet. I cannot make a home for her, and 
 she shall not make one for me. It is I who shall 
 have to request this time that the engagement be put 
 off or I had almost said, given up but I won t say 
 it I can t it shall not be;" and Derringforth 
 pressed his hand to his throbbing head. 
 
 He was walking rapidly down Fifth Avenue. The 
 cold, crisp, wintry air and the invigorating exercise 
 began to act as a tonic to his nerves. His pace 
 quickened, and with the accelerated motion came ad 
 ditional activity of the brain. "There yet remain 
 seven days," he said to himself finally. "Isn t it 
 possible for us to free ourselves in this time from that 
 accursed Strum ? Then I could go to Marion the 
 happiest fellow in the world. If I could only do 
 this," he exclaimed and the thought in its inception 
 was to him as a spark of light flashed upon one grop 
 ing in darkness. It gave him a thrill of hope. He 
 turned it over and over in his mind. His face lost 
 its despair. He was warming to the idea, and his 
 soul burned with enthusiasm. 
 
 " I will do something worthy of the girl I love," 
 he said to himself. His cheeks were flushed and 
 there was in his eyes the fire of determination. 
 
 "I will have no more of this miserable drifting, 
 
 like a helpless child," he went on almost fiercely. 
 
 " There is yet time for me to prove myself a man. 
 
 I ll force the fight, and win or perish. This slow 
 
 67
 
 death is not the death for me. There is no courage, 
 no bravery in it. I wonder men in these days ever 
 win the love of women. Time was when they dared 
 anything for love, and they were right. The race 
 has degenerated. I hate this helplessness this wait 
 ing from day to day and from week to week for 
 relief. And matters are all the while getting worse 
 with us our very life blood is being squeezed out 
 by a Shylock. Better make one final effort and let 
 the worst happen that can happen. Anything will 
 be preferable to this hideous nightmare ; this hover 
 ing over the verge of a precipice." 
 
 This was the utterance of a mind intoxicated by 
 a sudden hope, an outburst of desperation. It was 
 either give up Marion and acknowledge to her the 
 financial distress of his father and himself, or by some 
 master stroke free themselves from the octopus that 
 was dragging them to their doom. 
 
 An hour later Derringforth had returned home. 
 The fire in the library grate burned low. Except for 
 a little spot in the center there was no ruddy glow 
 nothing to cheer the eye. He drew up closer to the 
 expiring embers and stretched his hands out over 
 them to catch the little warmth that arose. His 
 father and mother had gone to bed. He was alone. 
 The wind struck the windows and went whistling 
 around the corner. Derringforth shivered, and 
 walked across the room and looked at the thermome 
 ter. The temperature was fifty seven. 
 68
 
 " I thought it felt chilly," he said to himself, rub 
 bing his hands together. He went back to the fire, 
 and, leaning forward over the grate, stirred the coals 
 aimlessly with the poker. His mind had begun to 
 react. The mental intoxication had spent itself. 
 The castle was breaking up before his eyes. He 
 watched it intently, and as one part after another fell 
 away from the main structure deep shadows settled 
 upon his face. The poker fell listlessly from his 
 hand, but still he sat there, bent forward as before, 
 his eyes not fixed upon the dying embers but peering 
 into space. 
 
 His spirits had sunk to the lowest ebb. It was the 
 rebound from the heights of a little while before. 
 Marion had never seemed so far from him as at this 
 instant. The thought of giving her up was torture to 
 him. A strange sensation came over him. It was 
 not faintness, but something akin to it ; something 
 infinitely worse. He inhaled long breaths, but the 
 pressure upon his heart remained like a thousand 
 pound weight. In all the years he had known Marion 
 not once had she been so sweet to his eyes as now. 
 He longed to go to her and clasp her in his arms and 
 tell her of his love, and to talk of the home that had 
 been their dream. 
 
 But even as he thought a shadow arose before his 
 vision, hiding the face of Marion. He started back 
 with a shudder. It was the shadow of Strum. It 
 had stolen in upon Derringforth like a thief in the 
 
 69
 
 stillness of the night, and there it stood cringing 
 before him in all its hideousness. He saw the sharp, 
 cadaverous features, the thin, uncanny hands, the 
 narrow, shrunken chest, and the uneven shoulders, 
 one drooping far below the other. 
 
 Derringforth turned his eyes from the abhorrent 
 sight, and with an unconscious gesture of the hand, 
 as if to bid the accursed shadow leave him, rose and 
 walked back and forth in the room. The great clock 
 in the corner struck the half hour. The hands were 
 crawling on towards twelve. The wind still beat 
 against the windows, and baffled, shrieked madly as it 
 sped away. He took his watch from his pocket and 
 began winding it. He was standing now beside the 
 library table. An evening paper lay upon it. His 
 eyes fell listlessly upon the printed words, but he saw 
 nothing. The winding of the watch continued me 
 chanically. The end of the spring had been reached, 
 and Derringforth was about to turn away when sud 
 denly his attention was fixed upon a single headline 
 "A Fortune Made in a Day." 
 
 He took up the paper and read the item eagerly. 
 It was the story of a man who but a few months 
 before was bankrupt. Wall Street was the scene of 
 his dramatic triumph. A vivid account of his deal 
 ings was given in detail. Derringforth s heart beat 
 fast as his eyes ran down the printed column. His 
 breast began to heave with hope. His fingers 
 twitched nervously, and when he had finished the 
 70
 
 account, he exclaimed, almost shouted, the words, 
 "This is the way out for me this is the way out ! 
 What one man has done, another can do." 
 
 He went to bed that night and into the land of 
 dreams. He was in the arena. The clash of bull and 
 bear in their mad struggle held him spell bound. The 
 music of the exchange s thousand voices thrilled him, 
 and as he slept a smile hovered on his lips and the 
 light of hope was in his face.
 
 XIV. 
 
 " HERE is something I wish you would read, father," 
 said Phil the following morning, and he held up a 
 cutting from a newspaper. 
 
 Mr. Derringforth put on his glasses. " Oh, yes, I 
 saw that last night," he replied indifferently, and 
 turned to his mail. 
 
 They were at their office. Phil felt a chill pass over 
 him. 
 
 " Don t you think it wonderful that any one could 
 recover so quickly from bankruptcy ? " he ventured. 
 
 "Yes, rather wonderful," answered the father, 
 running his eye over a long statement of account. 
 
 " Wall Street seems to be the place to make money. 
 Did you read this list of names of men who have 
 come up from nothing and are now worth millions ? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw them twenty three thousand dollars," 
 he went on, his brow knit. " It doesn t seem pos 
 sible that it can be so much. Here, Phil, I wish you 
 would run over these figures and see if the footing is 
 correct." 
 
 Young Derringforth took the statement,, but he was 
 72
 
 in no mood for addition. He was annoyed at his 
 father s lack of interest. His brain was burning with 
 the desire for speculation for something more dra 
 matic than the usual dig, dig, dig, with figures and 
 correspondence. He ran half way up one column 
 and forgot his count. He began again, and then 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 Why didn t you go into Wall Street instead 
 of this business?" he said, turning again to his 
 father. 
 
 "Why do you ask this question?" replied Mr. 
 Derringforth, looking up quickly from his desk. 
 
 " I asked thinking perhaps your name might have 
 been among the millionaires in the list." 
 
 " These men are the exceptions. The chances are 
 a hundred to one, and more, that I would have lost 
 everything had I ventured into Wall Street. I have 
 made a great many mistakes in my life, but never the 
 mistake of dabbling in stock speculation." 
 
 " Don t you think this is a good year for excep 
 tions ?" asked Phil, ignoring the latter part of his 
 father s remarks. 
 
 " Well, hardly, if you mean millionaire exceptions. 
 But what has got into your head, Phil ? Why are 
 you so interested in Wall Street all of a sudden ? I m 
 sure you can t think of going into speculation with the 
 burden we already have on our shoulders." 
 
 " Isn t Wall Street the place to get rid of burdens 
 such as we are carrying ? 
 
 73
 
 " I hope you arc not serious," answered Mr. Der- 
 ringforth, ama/ed. 
 
 " Yes, I am serious. The beauty of speculation is 
 that one doesn t have to wait a lifetime to find out if 
 he is rich or poor. While we have been struggling 
 along here a hundred fortunes have been made in the 
 Street." 
 
 " And how many fortunes do you suppose have been 
 lost there in the same time ? 
 
 " I don t know. Some men will lose money any 
 where and in anything. But this is a pretty good list 
 of successful operators. 
 
 " Yes, so it is, but as compared to the list of wrecks 
 it would be as a foot rule to Bunker Hill monument." 
 
 " Isn t that putting it rather strong ? " replied Phil 
 incredulously. 
 
 " No, not a bit. The comparison is not a distor 
 tion of facts." 
 
 " Why isn t something said, then, of this Bunker 
 Hill list?" asked Phil. 
 
 " You will find as you grow older," said Mr. Der- 
 ringforth, "that people like to read of successes not 
 failures, unless there is something startling in them. 
 The papers follow public taste. They do not try U; 
 form it. A man makes a fortune, and it is talked oi 
 forever printed and reprinted. He is always promi 
 nent in the public eye, whereas his neighbor, whose 
 business came to naught, is forgotten, and nothing is 
 ever reprinted to keep the fact alive. It is well that 
 
 74
 
 it is so. The brighter the world is made the better. 
 Let the gloom be forgotten, but do not be misled, 
 Phil do not think any more of Wall Street. It is no 
 place for you. We arc gaining ground, and in a few 
 months more shall be all right. I am not surprised 
 that you have become uneasy. It has been a long, 
 tedious pull, and you have worked like a veteran with 
 never a murmur. I have watched you, and your ap 
 plication has been a reward to me for the siege I 
 have been through." 
 
 " I have tried to do my best," answered Phil, " but 
 it is pretty hard to drag along as we have been drag 
 ging, seeing every dollar that comes in swallowed up 
 by that miserable shark. I can t endure the sight of 
 him much longer. I feel like choking the life out of 
 the cringing cur." 
 
 "You must not speak that way, Phil," his father 
 cautioned him. 
 
 " I can t help it, and I don t know that I want to 
 help it," answered Phil feverishly. 
 
 1 What has come over you to produce this reckless 
 ness?" replied Mr. Derringforth, regarding his son 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I m simply desperate. I can t endure this drift 
 ing any longer. I feel like overturning everything ; 
 smashing everything. Last night, when I read the 
 account of these men who had made fortunes in Wall 
 Street in a day, I thought I saw a way out for us a 
 way to get out of Strum s grasp ; and now you throw 
 
 75
 
 cold water on the whole thing. I don t want to seem 
 unreasonable to you, father. I see that my words pain 
 you, and I am sorry, but as I said before, I am fairly 
 desperate. You don t know what it all means to me ; 
 you can never know." 
 
 " It pains me, Phil pains me very deeply, to see 
 you in this mood," said Mr. Derringforth, and he 
 spoke in subdued tones, trying to hide the wound his 
 son s words had made. 
 
 "Forgive me, father," said Phil. "I did not 
 realize what I was saying. I am simply worn out, 
 tortured almost beyond endurance." 
 
 "I am very sorry for you, my son," said the 
 father tenderly. " I wish you had come to me be 
 fore with your burdens. I knew something was 
 troubling you, but you gave me no chance to speak 
 to you about it. I think now that I understand you. 
 It should have been plain to me before. The loss of 
 my own property is nothing compared to my regret 
 for you. But it may come out better than you think, 
 Phil. Marion is a sensible girl, and will do as you 
 wish. A few months more and we shall be all right, 
 I trust. Then you can go to her as you would go to 
 her now, and all your hopes will be fulfilled. We 
 must be patient a little while yet. Everything will 
 come out right in the end."
 
 XV. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH plodded through the day, turning 
 off in a perfunctory fashion the work that fell to his 
 hands. But there was no spontaneity in his move 
 ments, no sense of satisfaction over a task well done. 
 The reassuring words of his father had for a time 
 warmed him to better feeling ; but they meant so 
 little, compared with his disappointment, that they 
 were soon buried deep beneath the gloom that pos 
 sessed him. 
 
 It was Saturday, and on the coming Thursday 
 he was to go to Marion. What possible move yet 
 remained ? Why had he waited so long, he asked 
 himself in bitterness of soul ? The last chance of 
 escape seemed closed to him. And after all, was his 
 father right about Wall Street ? Had he not done 
 wrong in going to a Shylock for aid ? Had he not 
 seen relief just ahead throughout an entire year, and 
 was it not as far off now as at the beginning ? 
 
 " I did not believe in the first place in borrowing 
 money at a ruinous rate," went on Phil. " I said so 
 at the time. If we had stopped then, we should 
 77
 
 be all right now. We could have paid our debts 
 long before this, and there would have been a fort 
 une left. Now everything is tied up, and we are in 
 the clutches of a robber. The profits of a year s 
 work, and the best of all our securities, have gone to 
 him and still the hideous cry rings in our ears, more, 
 more, more. Instead of getting out we are getting in 
 deeper all the while, and yet father tries to persuade 
 himself that we shall be all right in a few months. 
 He is as likely to be mistaken about Wall Street as 
 about his own business. I can understand his dread 
 of a crash. I know his pride and sensitiveness. He 
 has never met defeat and he is trying to do the im 
 possible, thinking that he will finally triumph. But 
 we have been bled too much. If there were any 
 really good foundation for believing that three or four 
 months more would save us, I should feel more like 
 going to Marion. She would wait patiently, I am 
 sure, but there is no ground for hope. I will not 
 mislead her as we have misled ourselves. It would 
 not be manly ; would not be right. She would not 
 respect me, and I should not respect myself." 
 
 The seed of distrust had lodged in Derringforth s 
 heart. He had never before questioned his father s 
 judgment in just this way. To be sure, he had said 
 that he did not believe in borrowing money at ex 
 orbitant rates. But these words were spoken with 
 out the responsibility on his shoulders of maintaining 
 the credit of the house. Up to this time he had 
 78
 
 seldom seriously questioned his father s judgment. 
 But today he was more unsettled. The mistakes 
 that had hitherto seemed merely the natural out 
 growth of existing complications appeared in a some 
 what different light. He was looking at them from 
 another point of view. 
 
 In the evening he strolled up to the Windsor 
 Hotel, where Wall Street men were wont to congre 
 gate at the end of the day and discuss the why and 
 the wherefore of things speculative. This custom is 
 still kept up, and a lively market brings together 
 many brokers, operators, and financiers. The atmos 
 phere of the lobby is fraught with speculation, 
 rumors, predictions, and forebodings dark and omi 
 nous. 
 
 Derringforth had been in the hotel but a few 
 minutes when a young man came up and spoke to 
 him. 
 
 " Isn t this Phil Derringforth? " he said, extend 
 ing his hand. 
 
 " Yes, but you have the advantage of me. I can 
 not place you." 
 
 The other laughed. " You ought to remember an 
 old schoolfellow." 
 
 " Burrock? " ventured Derringforth. 
 
 "Right you are the same, and I m devilish glad 
 to see you, old man. I ve intended to look you up, 
 but have been so busy you know how it is your 
 self." 
 
 79
 
 "Have you been in town long ?" asked Der- 
 ringforth, holding himself rather stiffly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, over two years lively town this one 
 can t get round much to hunt up anybody, but I m 
 right glad to see you, old chap rich as ever, I 
 s pose ? " 
 
 " I fancy I could stand a trifle more of prosperity 
 without its turning my head." 
 
 " I should think so. Nothing would ever turn 
 your head. I remember the way you used to do us 
 up at school, and I say, I haven t forgotten the 
 time you came to my rescue, that night out on the 
 Riggs road. Geewhiz, weren t those fellows going 
 for me ! I d have been jelly in five minutes more 
 a great fight, wasn t it? I must do something for 
 you, old man a good turn deserves its reward. 
 Can t I give you a pointer on the market? every 
 thing is jumping, going up, up, up never saw any 
 thing like it made five thousand today myself ex 
 cuse me a minute, there is a man I want to speak 
 to," and he rushed away unceremoniously and up to 
 the new arrival with the air of one who had millions 
 at stake. 
 
 Derringforth walked to one side of the lobby and 
 stood there almost like a statue, dumb with amaze 
 ment. There was Burrock before his eyes talking in 
 the most enthusiastic, self possessed, and impressive 
 manner imaginable. Presently a small man came 
 in small in stature, but evidently very great in the 
 So
 
 eyes of the Wall Street hosts. He was no other 
 than Jay Gould. Derringforth recognized him, and 
 a minute later was astounded to see him speak to 
 Burrock as he passed by. 
 
 "And this is that scrubby little Burrock," Der 
 ringforth mused, hardly believing his own eyes. 
 " Hank Burrock, as the boys called him, en rapport 
 with the kings of the Street, a devil may care fellow 
 like him ! " 
 
 Burrock had not enjoyed the good opinion of the 
 students at the academy. His scholarly attributes 
 were thin of fiber compared with his assurance. 
 Serious study and he were strangers. In his third 
 year he was dropped for an act of grave misconduct. 
 And now apparently he was a bigger man than any 
 one of the school. Derringforth could only wonder 
 at what he saw. When Burrock introduced himself 
 he was disposed to hold him at a distance, but now 
 he began to feel a sudden interest in renewing the 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " Made five thousand dollars today," he repeated 
 to himself. " Everything is jumping, going up, up, 
 up. If I could only make five thousand dollars I 
 could go to Marion happy as a king. Am I not as 
 smart as Burrock little Burrock, who never had a 
 lesson, and if he can make money in Wall Street, 
 why shouldn t I?"
 
 XVI. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH did not derive much spiritual food 
 from the preached word the following morning. 
 Around and about him were a dozen sleek, self 
 satisfied looking millionaires whose money had been 
 made in Wall Street. Derringforth felt a trifle en 
 vious. Why should these men have so much and he 
 be in distress ? 
 
 But this thought soon gave place to quickening 
 ambition. He forgot his surroundings, forgot that 
 he was in the house of God, and heeded not the 
 admonitions that fell from the preacher s lips. His 
 mind was in Wall Street. He was constructing 
 schemes for speculation and figuring out his profits. 
 As his gains accumulated, his mind warmed to the 
 theme. The machinery of his brain moved faster 
 and yet faster. His plans grew apace, until finally 
 he saw himself, at the end of a few months, among 
 the most active operators of the exchange. 
 
 Burrock, the boy he had looked upon at school as 
 an undesirable acquaintance, had suddenly grown to 
 larger stature. Then his clothes fitted badly and he 
 82
 
 was generally a fellow of the second order. But now 
 he was a power. He had been in Wall Street two 
 years, and lived like a Croesus had bachelor apart 
 ments, lavishly furnished, drove a spanking tandem, 
 and spent money right and left. 
 
 Burrock was a bull of the fiercest type. The 
 market was with him, and he saw millions in the 
 air. His enthusiasm was infectious. Derringforth 
 had spent an hour with him the night before in his 
 luxurious rooms, and had caught the infection. 
 
 It is not surprising that the words of the pulpit did 
 not reach Derringforth s mind. He was not in a 
 receptive mood for Bible truths, or anything in fact 
 that did not vibrate with a dramatic thrill. He 
 called on Marion in the evening. He had not in 
 tended to do this. She did not expect him. His 
 soul was on so lofty a plane that he hesitated at noth 
 ing. There was no reason why he should not spend 
 an hour or two with her. In fact, it was the natural 
 thing for him to do. But he had been in an un 
 natural mood. He had seemed to fight shy of her. 
 She was too proud to coax him to call, and he 
 remained away with a heartache. 
 
 Marion was in the parlor with Burton Edwards 
 when Derringforth entered the room. 
 
 11 1 am glad to see you," she said, extending her 
 hand cordially, and introduced him to her guest. 
 
 Derringforth was at his best chatty, genial, and 
 entertaining. Brought face to face with Burton 
 
 83
 
 Edwards, he seemed the superior man. Marion 
 noted this, and in the depths of her heart she was 
 glad. She had wondered if he would not suffer by 
 personal comparison, but the test had been made and 
 with the odds on his side. 
 
 She listened to his conversation in amazement. 
 He had never been so delightfully clever before, and 
 she blessed him from the sincerity of her soul for 
 drawing attention from herself. Her position was 
 painfully awkward. She was paying the penalty of 
 concealing what she ought to have told. Der ring- 
 forth knew nothing of Edwards, and Edwards knew 
 nothing of Derringforth. She had not mentioned 
 either to the other. But here they were face to face, 
 and each seemed to be on the most intimate terms 
 with her. 
 
 " Marion completely captured our hearts while she 
 was with us on the ranch," remarked Edwards, in 
 the course of conversation. 
 
 "You mustn t believe him, Phil," said Marion, 
 her cheeks burning ; and turning to Edwards she 
 added, with a pretty little gesture of protest, "You 
 are so extravagant in your praise, Burton." 
 
 " Who is this fellow that presumes to call her 
 Marion and whom she calls Burton?" said Derring 
 forth to himself, paling as if pierced by an arrow. 
 
 "Who is this fellow that Marion calls Phil with 
 such familiarity?" thought Edwards, the fire darting 
 from his eyes.
 
 XVII. 
 
 IT would have required a far cooler head than 
 Marion Kingsley s to withstand without embarrassment 
 the look that both Derringforth and Edwards gave her. 
 She was conscious of the blush that proclaimed her 
 discomfort. The struggle to appear natural was una 
 vailing. Her self possession deserted her. 
 
 Had she been thirty instead of twenty, and well 
 skilled in the ways of the world, schooled by the ex 
 perience that hardens, she would have found less diffi 
 culty in maintaining an unruffled front. But her life 
 had been singularly free from deception, beyond her 
 double dealing as she now regarded it with the two 
 men before her. The thought flashed across her in all 
 its ugliness. She felt like flying from the room to es 
 cape from them, to escape from herself if possible. 
 
 It seemed to her that the silence of an instant had 
 lengthened into an hour. Would no one ever speak 
 say something, anything that would draw attention 
 from her ? In desperation she raised her eyes to Der 
 ringforth in mute appeal. His face was white as death. 
 He had never before known the torture of jealousy, 
 85
 
 but that one word " Burton " from her lips, in con 
 nection with what he saw and heard, was enough. No 
 dagger thrust could have been sharper or more sudden. 
 
 But he had not the heart to let her suffer. He saw 
 her embarrassment, and understood her. The thought 
 that she had been deceiving him that she was in love 
 with Edwards even this was not enough to steel his 
 heart against her. When her eyes reached his with a 
 look that seemed to cry for help, he felt that she had 
 turned to him, not Edwards, and a deeper sense of 
 love than he had ever felt before went out to her. 
 With masterful control over himself he said : 
 
 " Pardon me for my absent mindedness. I met an 
 old schoolfellow last night the oddest specimen in 
 the world and he keeps coming into my thoughts. 
 It s a strange confession to make, I kno\v, but it will 
 account for my being dumb. I ll promise to do better 
 from now on, Marion, so do not look at me as if I 
 were an enigma. That fellow Burrock is the cause of 
 my inanity. He was the last boy in school that prom 
 ised to amount to anything, and now here he is in 
 New York cutting a wide swath, making heaps of 
 money five thousand dollars only yesterday and 
 lives like a king. I wish you could all see him as I 
 remember him, and contrast his appearance as a boy 
 with the dash and style he carries now." 
 
 The silence was effectually broken, and Derringforth 
 made it seem that he was responsible for it all. What 
 he had said of Burrock quickened the curiosity of 
 86
 
 Edwards, and Derringforth told, with spirit, many 
 amusing incidents of the youthful Napoleon of finance. 
 
 Marion almost forgot her own discomfort in admira 
 tion of Derringforth. His generosity, at a time when 
 she felt he must hate her for her duplicity, idealized 
 him in her eyes. She noticed the quaver in his voice 
 when he first broke the silence, and understood its 
 meaning. Her heart ached for the pain she had caused 
 him. She had intended to tell him all about Edwards. 
 
 " If I had only done this," she said to herself, " I 
 should not feel like a culprit now. I did not realize 
 that concealing the knowledge of each from the other 
 was really wrong. It never seemed so ugly to me be 
 fore. Both Phil and Burton will think I have inten 
 tionally deceived them, but I have not. I have never 
 intentionally deceived any one. 
 
 Edwards had less cause to feel jealous than Der 
 ringforth. He had no claim on Marion. She had 
 never given him to understand that she cared for him 
 with any feeling more warm than friendship. It was 
 not necessary for her to do so. His love for her 
 needed no such quickening. In the summer at her 
 country home she had entertained him delightfully, 
 but had cleverly kept him from saying the thing that 
 filled his heart, even as she had on the day of their last 
 ride together at the end of her visit to the ranch, now 
 nearly a year ago. 
 
 He had often puzzled his brain to divine her pur 
 pose in keeping him at a distance, while seemingly 
 
 87
 
 enjoying his presence. There was every reason to 
 believe that she liked to have him with her, but beyond 
 a certain line he could make no advancement. The 
 thought had sometimes occurred to him that perhaps 
 she loved another, and yet he saw no evidence of this. 
 She was usually surrounded by a do/.en admirers, no 
 one of whom seemed to be favored so much as himself. 
 
 This in a way was gratifying, but it was also dis 
 appointing. His summer visit had only served to in 
 crease his passion for her, without bringing him the 
 assurance his heart craved. Sometimes he fancied that 
 by an act or a look she betrayed love for him, and his 
 soul glowed with happiness. Why she should be so 
 strictly on guard was a mystery, since there was no one 
 else to whom she seemed devoted. But whenever he 
 approached the subject of his love for her she always 
 managed to turn him from it. She seemed to under 
 stand him perfectly, while he could not divine her 
 motives. He felt annoyed with himself at his repeated 
 failures. He could not well be vexed at her. She 
 was always charmingly agreeable, and seemed utterly 
 unconscious of his purpose. 
 
 The summer visit had finally ended. He left her 
 more deeply in love than ever, promising to visit her 
 again in the winter. She had baffled every attempt 
 to tell her what he had come three thousand 
 miles to say what he had resolved he would say, even 
 if it had to be said abruptly. And now after the 
 lapse of a few months he had come again with a like 
 88
 
 resolve. Continents are nothing for love to traverse. 
 It knows no distance, no obstacles the sort of love 
 that burned in the breast of Burton Edwards. 
 Marion s evident delight at his coming made him 
 very happy, and the happiness had grown upon him 
 every hour until Derringforth suddenly appeared be 
 fore him. There was something in the greeting she 
 gave Phil very different from her manner towards the 
 young men whose attention was so assiduous to her 
 during the summer. Edwards felt an odd sensation 
 come over him at the first sight of Derringforth a 
 sort of premonition that he stood between Marion 
 and himself. 
 
 It is not an easy matter for a man with the heart 
 ache to talk as Phil talked, rising above his feelings, 
 and giving a zest to the conversation for the re 
 mainder of the evening. He felt a satisfaction in re 
 storing serenity, and was in a way gratified at his suc 
 cess in making it seem that he alone was responsible 
 for the embarrassing pause in the conversation. 
 
 Happiness always follows a generous act ; but 
 Derringforth s happiness was comparative merely 
 not actual. He was glad to get away and be by 
 himself, where he could think, and yet it was with 
 the utmost reluctance that he tore himself from 
 Marion, leaving her with a man who loved her 
 whom perhaps she loved. The sensation of jealousy 
 rankled in his soul, but the thought that Marion had 
 turned to him in her distress was a source of com-
 
 fort. He loved her now as it had never seemed to him 
 he could love, and more than ever he felt the torture 
 of the poverty that would compel him to ask that the 
 engagement be postponed. And now 7 what might 
 not be the result of a postponement with a rival in 
 the field, and such a rival as Burton Edwards? 
 
 " If I had only gone to California with her," he 
 thought. " Perhaps she never would have met him. 
 It would have been different, any way, if I had been 
 with her. But I couldn t go. A Shylock had me 
 by the throat. I should have told Marion ; then she 
 would have understood me. This concealing things 
 from one who has a right to know always makes 
 trouble. It has made trouble for Marion as well as 
 myself. She ought to have told me about Edwards. 
 She always used to tell me everything. Perhaps I 
 am to blame. I haven t told her anything about 
 our trouble, and I didn t even go to see her all 
 last summer. It was plain enough to me why I 
 didn t go, but I begin to understand that it was not 
 plain to her. I know how it seems now to realize 
 that the one I love has concealed something from 
 me. Marion may have felt as I feel, and a girl has 
 reason to notice such things more than a man.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH spent a sleepless night, and on 
 Monday morning went to the office in bad temper. 
 There was no sunshine anywhere. He was half bid: 
 and in a more fretful mood than ever before in his 
 life. To make matters worse, his father was called 
 over to Philadelphia. This compelled Derringforth 
 to remain at the office and dig into figures with a 
 splitting headache and a worse heartache. It cut him 
 out of another day, and there were only three remain 
 ing, liven with Burrock s help he could accomplish 
 little in so short a time. 
 
 "Four days," he reflected, "would give me a 
 better show, and I promised to meet Burrock and 
 lunch with him at one, but now father is away. 
 Everything is working against me. 
 
 At this juncture Derringforth s train of thought 
 was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Mar 
 tin Strum. 
 
 "Good morning," said the latter, bowing very 
 low in a beggarly way. " I hope I am not intrud- 
 ing." 
 
 91
 
 "I can see you if it is necessary," answered 
 Derringforth shortly. 
 
 "Thank you," returned Strum obsequiously. " It 
 is desirable that I should see you. In fact, my client 
 instructed me to come to you several days ago, but I 
 have hesitated, knowing that er, believing that you 
 would send for me when er, whenever it was con 
 venient for you to see me. But my client you 
 know how impatient some men are, Mr. Derring 
 forth." He stroked his thin, bony chin with his 
 yet thinner hand as he spoke, and his cringing, 
 crawling, apologetic manner sent a chill through 
 Derringforth. 
 
 There was a pause. " I had expected to see your 
 father," continued Strum, "but you are a member 
 of the firm, I believe. Am I not right you are a 
 member of the firm ? " 
 
 " I am," answered Derringforth curtly ; " but per 
 haps you would better wait to see father." 
 
 "Will he be in soon?" 
 
 " He is out of town." 
 
 "Out of town?" repeated Strum, raising his eye 
 brows in feigned surprise. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It is unfortunate. I should have come before; 
 my client will blame me," said Strum, speaking very 
 low, as if talking to himself. 
 
 Derringforth took up a letter and began reading it. 
 Strum stood by, apparently in deep thought. Der- 
 92
 
 ringforth did not take in the meaning of the letter. 
 His contempt for Strum was getting the mastery of 
 him. He took up his pen and wrote a note to Bur 
 rock, saying that he should not be able to lunch with 
 him. He called the office boy and sent him out with 
 the note. Strum still stood by meekly waiting the 
 pleasure of Derringforth. 
 
 The telephone bell rang. Derringforth answered 
 it. He returned to his desk and Avent through the 
 motions of writing. His nerves had been unstrung 
 by the strain upon them during the previous evening, 
 and by the lack of sleep throughout the night. He 
 felt that he could not endure much longer the pres 
 ence of Strum. " If he would only say something," 
 he thought, "curse me to my face, even, it would be 
 a relief. Then I could throttle the miserable cur." 
 
 The silence had become unbearable when at length 
 Strum spoke. 
 
 "I fear I am trespassing on your time," he said 
 apologetically. "Shall I wait outside until you are 
 more at leisure? " 
 
 " If you have any business with me the sooner it 
 is over the better," answered Derringforth almost 
 fiercely. 
 
 Strum moved back a step and if possible assumed a 
 more obsequious manner than ever. "It is about the 
 collateral I have come the collateral your father 
 offered me." 
 
 "Well," said Derringforth. 
 
 93
 
 "The securities are not satisfactory to my client. 
 I think myself that they are good, perfectly good, but 
 as his attorney what can I do ? I have urged leniency, 
 but I am sorry to say he is firm, very firm, sir. I 
 have done my best in your interest. I hope you will 
 look upon it in this light, sir in this light." 
 
 " Go on," said Derringforth. 
 
 " I was about to say I had started to say, that 
 the securities for the proposed renewal of the twenty 
 thousand dollar loan are not satisfactory to my client. 
 He says he must have the money. I have urged him 
 to reconsider, but as I have already said, he is firm, 
 very firm, sir. But I am not without hope no, not 
 yet without hope. If you could go over your affairs 
 with me could give me the assurance of improve 
 ment, and could strengthen these securities in some 
 way, by the addition of others, perhaps, or an in 
 dorsed note, or maybe a mortgage your home is 
 clear, I believe no lien on it. I understood your 
 father to say there was not." 
 
 "If my father told you so, sir, you would do well 
 not to question his word," replied Derringforth, boil 
 ing with indignation. 
 
 " I am sure you are right. I am very sorry you 
 should impute to me motives that I would not harbor 
 not for a minute. I knew how it would be, and 
 told my client, but he would not listen to me. He 
 commanded me to come to you and investigate your 
 affairs." 
 
 94
 
 " Well, you can t investigate our affairs, and you 
 may tell your client so," said Derringforth decisively. 
 "And furthermore, he went on, " you may say from 
 me that he has got about all the blood out of this 
 house he will get." 
 
 This utterance frightened Strum, who feared that 
 the Derringforths were on the verge of collapse. 
 The absence of the senior partner strengthened the 
 suspicion. He had come to the son to pry into 
 affairs, having learned that the father had gone out of 
 town. And now, after hearing these reckless words 
 from the young man, he was determined to make good 
 his errand. 
 
 " I am sorry you feel annoyed. I was afraid you 
 would, but I am sure you can t blame me," he began. 
 " I must act for my client, and he has advanced large 
 sums of money, and money is very tight, you know- 
 very tight. Of course one wants to feel safe. My 
 client has relied upon me largely, but now he wants 
 additional facts he must have them, or the renewal, 
 I fear, will not be made. Mind you, he says it 
 will not be made, but I am working in your in 
 terest in your interest, sir. Your father asked me 
 to get the loan renewed. The note falls due tomor 
 row. I suppose your father thinks the matter has 
 been arranged, but I regret to say, I am very sorry to 
 say, it has not. In view of these facts, regarding 
 your father s wishes, I am sure you will not be hasty. 
 A moment s reflection will show you that I am work- 
 
 95
 
 ing in your interest in your father s interest. My 
 client is a stubborn man a very stubborn man. I 
 would not dare tell him what you have said. He 
 would be unyielding unmerciful even ; but handled 
 right he is kind hearted. I am sure he can be brought 
 to see that it is for the interest of all that the renewal 
 of the loan be granted. I will undertake to guarantee 
 that myself, if the statement he asks for can be had 
 not a formal statement just a knowledge of things, 
 that is all I need, so that I can assure him everything 
 is all right. He relies on me, you see, very largely." 
 
 " Then if he relies on you, what more do you 
 want? " said Derringforth. " You say you are your 
 self satisfied. Your stories don t hang together. I 
 understand you through and through. You are a 
 cowardly sneak, trying to pry into our affairs, and 
 placing all the responsibility on some one else. I 
 have seen enough of you, and detest you. You can 
 do your worst I don t care." 
 
 But your father, insinuated Strum. You would 
 not want to see him humiliated by a crash. He is in 
 the power of my client, you know you are in the 
 power of my client. You would do well not to make 
 a mistake, Mr. Derringforth." 
 
 Strum was a trifle whiter than usual, but beyond 
 this showed no feeling at Derringforth s denunciation. 
 He was there for a purpose, and his blood was too 
 cold to be inflamed into anger. 
 
 His very coolness exasperated Derringforth. "I 
 96
 
 don t ask your advice," he said defiantly. " Let 
 the worst happen that can happen anything will be 
 preferable to being bullied and bled by a pair of 
 cringing, contemptible Shylocks like you and your 
 client, whoever he may be." 
 
 Even this did not warm Strum. He had no sense 
 of dignity no feeling. Words could not penetrate 
 his thick skin. His cringing manner and utter dis- 
 
 O O 
 
 regard of abuse maddened Dcrringforth. Strum con 
 tinued his effort, snake-like and cunning, to worm 
 out of him the information he sought, till at length 
 Derringforth, exasperated to the last degree, made a 
 dash for him, and catching him by the nape of the 
 neck and the slack of his trousers threw him headlong 
 from the office. 
 
 " Never show your miserable face in here again, 
 you beggarly parasite ! " he said, as Strum turned a 
 couple of summersaults and doubled up in a heap.
 
 XIX. 
 
 "I M glad I did it," said Derringforth to himself 
 later in the day when his temper had cooled down. 
 " It s done and over with. It had to be done sooner 
 or later. The conviction has been growing on me 
 that I couldn t keep my hands off him much longer. 
 I felt it in my bones. A man can stand only so 
 much and no more. I feel better, come what will. 
 It s a good thing to give a cur his deserts. I don t 
 know what father will say. It s done, any way, and 
 can t be undone." 
 
 The subject thus dismissed, Derringforth settled 
 down to steady, rapid work, and turned off corre 
 spondence and manipulated figures in a way that 
 would have made a veteran accountant envious. 
 There was no trace now of the blues of the morning 
 no headache, no heartache. He was keyed up to 
 too high a point. 
 
 In the evening he called on Burrock at his apart 
 ment. 
 
 "I ve done a heap of thinking since I saw you," 
 said Derringforth. 
 
 98
 
 "Good," returned Burrock in his offhand way. 
 What are your conclusions ? 
 
 " In a word, that I want to make some money." 
 
 " Natural why don t you? " 
 
 "But how? " 
 
 " I only know one way you know another." 
 
 " You mean Wall Street ? " 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 " And you think I have made a lot of money with 
 my father ? 
 
 " Everybody thinks so haven t you ? " 
 
 "No. This is confidential." 
 
 " Certainly go on." 
 
 " There isn t much to say, only that we have had 
 a hard year." 
 
 And are short of money ? 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I know how it is myself devilish uncomfortable 
 been broke myself twice high and dry, fairly on 
 my uppers." 
 
 And now you are on the top wave ? 
 
 " Yes, things are going my way now." 
 
 " And all this has happened inside of two years ? " 
 
 "Yes no place like Wall Street to get up and get 
 down makes a man s head whiz sometimes, but it s 
 life nothing like it just suits me some go to it 
 always dramatic no stagnation why don t you try 
 it?" 
 
 " That s the very thing I want to talk to you about." 
 
 99
 
 " I m your huckleberry glad to do anything for 
 you, Derringforth you are my kind by the way, 
 can t you go out for a spin with me tomorrow after 
 noon? say four o clock sleighing is fine." 
 
 " I ll try," replied Derringforth, his wonder in 
 creasing the more he saw of Burrock. " But what 
 interests me most," he continued, " is Wall Street. 
 I must make some money. I m not on my uppers, 
 but in a way I m worse off. It s a crisis in my life. 
 Burrock, I ll make a confidant of you. I m in love. 
 I shall lose the sweetest girl in the world. I m half 
 crazy been tortured to death by a Shylock. 
 
 " You interest me I know how you feel I ve al 
 ready lost the sweetest girl in the world." 
 
 " I m sorry for you, indeed I am," said Derring 
 forth, and there was deep sympathy in his voice. 
 
 " Well, it s all over can t be helped broke me up 
 for a time men have a way of surviving, but it hurts 
 what can I do for you? perhaps I can save you." 
 
 "I don t know what you can do. I want to do 
 for myself. Maybe you can start me right, but I m 
 afraid you can t. I have no money to start with. 
 I couldn t draw it from the firm. Father doesn t be 
 lieve in speculation. I don t like to go against his 
 wishes, but he may be wrong. 
 
 I understand men are sometimes wrong, and 
 why not fathers as well as others ? 
 
 " I have thought of that myself, and then well, it 
 is so urgent. If it were not for this pinch I should be 
 100
 
 engaged in three days more just think, Burrock, 
 only three days, and the girl of all others in the 
 world ! I ll tell you about her some time not now 
 we may see her tomorrow if I go sleighing with 
 you you will agree with me. But what can I do ? " 
 
 I understand you either become engaged or 
 miss your chance. 
 
 " I am afraid so," faltered Derringforth. 
 
 " And your father can t do anything for you? " 
 
 " No, I would not allow him to, with the load he 
 is carrying. The fact is we are being bled to death. 
 Some bold move must be made to get out of the 
 clutches of a robber. 
 
 "A good idea. I like your thought of course I 
 know how you feel about speculating against your 
 father s wishes. I don t want to be held responsible, 
 but if you don t draw on the firm for money, and at 
 tend to business, doing the usual work you have to do, 
 I can t see wherein you would do anything very dread 
 ful to take a flier in the market now and again." 
 
 "That s the way it seems to me, but the how of 
 the thing " 
 
 "I understand tis tough, starting without any 
 thing, but I ve done it twice it can be done, and it 
 feels good, devilish good, to pull yourself up by your 
 boot straps, as it were." 
 
 "I should think it would. I should like to try 
 the experiment." 
 
 " It s a great act, but you can do it I ll help you 
 101
 
 a bit let s see, what shall it be? St. Paul Pre 
 ferred, strikes me, is a sure thing for a couple of 
 points advance had a tip on it tonight yes, old 
 man, I think we will call it a go on St. Paul Pre 
 ferred how much shall I buy for you? " 
 
 "Now you have me," answered Derringforth. 
 " In the present state of my finances I think one 
 share would be taking great chances." 
 
 "But I m going to help you s pose we call it a 
 hundred shares I m going to buy for myself a 
 thousand you can t lose much on a deal of this 
 size I ll put a stop order on your purchase, so that 
 the stock will be sold at a decline of one point this 
 makes you safe." 
 
 " How much would I lose? " 
 
 " Hundred dollars and brokerage that s all I ll 
 trust you for that, and if you get knocked down the 
 first time I ll trust you for a second flier." 
 
 "You are too kind, Burrock. I ought not to 
 allow you to take chances on me." 
 
 "Nonsense you are good for a hundred if you 
 are not I better find it out I can t waste my time 
 on a fellow that s not good for this much." 
 
 " I don t think I should allow a debt of this size 
 to go unpaid. A hundred dollars isn t much for a 
 man to earn at day labor." 
 
 " No, not when he doesn t have to earn it by day 
 labor when he does, it s another thing I know 
 what work is don t I? Geewhiz, if you d only fol-
 
 lowed me on the farm but I know when I have 
 done enough I know what suits me you will be 
 daft on speculation nothing like it to make a fel 
 low s blood jump you will make a couple of hun 
 dred on tomorrow s flier mark my word, and just 
 for luck I ll bet you a box of cigars go me? "
 
 XX. 
 
 TUESDAY opened big with possibilities for Derring- 
 forth. There was his venture into Wall Street, and 
 a probable crash in the firm s affairs. Moreover, he 
 must tell his father of the unceremonious method he 
 employed in getting rid of Strum. All in all it was 
 no ordinary morning. So many things were crowd 
 ing in upon his mind that even Marion was forgotten 
 for a time. 
 
 Shortly after the market opened he received a note 
 from Burrock, saying : " Bought your stock, St. Paul 
 Preferred, sixty eight and a quarter a great purchase 
 advanced an eighth already it will go to seventy 
 today may be more the girl will be yours yet ! " 
 
 Derringforth s heart bounded. "This is some 
 thing like it," he said, with difficulty restraining his 
 enthusiasm. " I only wish there \vas more time. I 
 should have struck out for myself before, but perhaps 
 it isn t too late. If I have good luck now, I can 
 go in heavier next time. Burrock buys a thousand 
 shares two points advance would give him two 
 thousand dollars against my two hundred, and all 
 104
 
 made in the same time. I wish I had taken more 
 gone up an eighth already two thousand dollars if 
 I could only make as much I d take the chances and 
 not ask Marion to wait two thousand, that would 
 give me a good capital to work on." 
 
 " Well, Phil, how is everything averted a crash 
 while I have been gone?" said Mr. Derringforth, 
 coming into the office with a brisk step. " Couldn t 
 get away last night didn t fix up the deal with 
 Braddocks until after midnight." 
 
 " Then you got the money? " said Phil eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, have a certified check in my pocket." 
 
 "Good. We are saved. I m glad it turned out 
 as it did." 
 
 "Glad what turned out what are you talking 
 about ? 
 
 "Strum. He came here yesterday, and finding 
 you were away, began in his sneaking fashion to pry 
 into our affairs said his client wouldn t take the 
 security you offered him wanted a mortgage or 
 something equally good. I began to get hot. I 
 couldn t bear his impudence, and finally when he 
 said he had you in his power, and talked of a crash 
 and all tha". I picked him up and threw him out of 
 the office head foremost that s all." 
 
 " Phil, I m proud of you," said Mr. Derringforth. 
 "I ve wanted to throw the miserable parasite out 
 myself a dozen times I m glad you did it, now that 
 it is over ; let a crash come if it wants to."
 
 "You have relieved my anxiety," replied Phil. 
 "I was afraid you would blame me, but I couldn t 
 help it. Any one with spirit would have done as I 
 did, I think." 
 
 "You did just right. I do not regret it in the 
 least, and I doubt if it does any harm. Fortunately 
 we can meet the payment that comes due today, and 
 we will not worry about the others, not just now." 
 
 It was a rare thing for Derringforth to get away 
 from the office before the close of business hours, but 
 today he took a little time off. Burrock had out his 
 pair of blacks, with a showy sleigh and handsome 
 bear robes. The air was crisp and keen, the sun 
 was bright, and the sleighing excellent. The horses 
 were alive to the sport, and flew over the frozen snow 
 at an exhilarating pace. 
 
 " This is great fun," said Burrock, hanging on to 
 the lines; "gives a man new life nothing like a 
 sleigh ride after all glad you could come with me 
 Jove, don t these horses pull? never saw them feel 
 so well." 
 
 " I m glad to be with you, you may be sure," re 
 plied Derringforth. " This is a great treat for me 
 first sleigh ride I have had this year." 
 
 The east drive of Central Park was brilliant with 
 showy turnouts and gay with handsome women. The 
 wealth of the metropolis was out in force, enjoying to 
 the utmost the brief season of winter pleasure. Bur 
 rock and Derringforth were in the best of spirits, and 
 1 06
 
 chatted in light vein as they sped along, now admiring 
 a pretty face, a pair of prancing horses, or a novel 
 sleigh, and again criticising and commenting with the 
 freedom of young New Yorkers. 
 
 They drove up as far as Macomb s Dam Bridge, and 
 turned back towards the Park. Seventh Avenue from 
 One Hundred and Fifty Fifth Street to One Hundred 
 and Tenth was, and is even now to a considerable 
 extent, used as a speedway. Burrock had given the 
 blacks the reins, and they were skimming over the 
 frozen snow at a pace that seemed almost like flying. 
 The jingle of bells and the array of bright faces were 
 inspiriting. Every one looked happy. The side 
 walks were lined with people who had come out to 
 watch the brilliant scene on the avenue. 
 
 A clump of racers were a little way ahead, each 
 struggling for the lead. Burrock had his eye on them, 
 and sent the blacks in hot pursuit. They understood 
 him, and laying back their ears sprang forward. In 
 scarcely the space of a breath Burrock and Derringforth 
 were among the racers. Over the glib, smooth snow 
 the horses flew on and on in their mad rush till the 
 blacks were in the lead. 
 
 Derringforth felt the blood dance in his veins. Bur 
 rock was white, but. in his face there was the look of 
 proud triumph. The thunder of hoofs was still just 
 behind. The glory of the race was not yet secure. 
 Almost before he knew it the great, gaunt, angular 
 form of a pacer stole up beside him. That insidious 
 107
 
 amble that breaks the heart of an honest horse was 
 every instant sending the awkward, ugly beast nearer 
 to the front. The blacks heard him coming, and shot 
 forward at a tremendous gait. Burrock steadied them 
 with the lines, and urged them to greater speed. Every 
 tick of the watch sent them faster and yet faster. All 
 eyes were turned upon the racers. It was neck and 
 neck, hoof and hoof, till at length the endurance of 
 the pacer began to fail. The blacks, white with foam, 
 seemed to gain momentum as they dashed onward, 
 and soon the road was theirs again the pacer was a 
 length behind. 
 
 Derringforth took a long breath. Burrock was even 
 whiter than before. 
 
 "Glorious!" exclaimed Derringforth, so excited 
 that his words were scarcely audible. 
 
 "Great ! " ejaculated Burrock, almost jerking out 
 the word as he pulled with all his strength on the 
 lines. 
 
 On the other side of the street a string of gay turn 
 outs was bounding northward. Derringforth s nerves 
 thrilled with excitement and delight. " It s worth a 
 thousand dollars," he said. " I wouldn t have missed 
 it for the world." 
 
 " I didn t know it was in them whoa, Tom ; whoa, 
 Jerry left everything behind." 
 
 Yes, everything ever 
 
 The sentence was never finished. Derringforth had 
 an instant before caught sight of a showy pair of high 
 108
 
 stepping horses, with a handsome Russian sleigh, and 
 now he saw something that fairly froze the blood in his 
 veins. It was Marion in the act of calling Burton 
 Edwards attention to the fiery blacks. 
 
 Edwards was on the inside of the sleigh, with his 
 head turned towards hers. With a sudden impulse 
 she took her hand from her muff and placed it on 
 his arm, saying, " Oh, Burton, see, see ! " 
 
 She was gone in an instant, and every breath wi 
 dened the gap between her and Derringforth. He 
 turned to look after her. Burton Edwards was again 
 gazing into her eyes, with his head bent towards hers 
 as before.
 
 XXI. 
 
 IF the fires of Hades burn with a flame so fierce as 
 the fires of jealousy, God will never allow man, his 
 own creation, to suffer an endless torture so merciless 
 and cruel. 
 
 Derringforth no longer found any comfort in the 
 fact that Marion had turned to him for help instead 
 of to Burton Edwards. This very act now began to 
 loom up against her. He saw in it a trick to deceive 
 him. The thought of deception in connection with 
 Marion was one that had never till now entered his 
 heart. It hurt him almost as much as the torture of 
 jealousy. He lived over again that Sunday evening, 
 and saw with different eyes every look and gesture of 
 Marion s heard anew every utterance from her lips. 
 There could be but one interpretation of it all. Mar 
 ion was in love with Burton Edwards ; Marion had 
 sought to deceive him. 
 
 His brain reeled with agony and despair. There 
 was no longer any hope nothing to live for. The 
 very substance of life was dissolving. With Marion 
 false to him, what remained that he could cling to
 
 what was there to sustain him ? The moan of his own 
 heart frightened him. How strange and awful the 
 sound ! He groped about as one in darkness, almost 
 feeling his way. He dare not trust his eyes, his ears 
 everything was weird, strange, horrible. He shrank 
 even from himself from the dead, cold soul within 
 him hopeless, wretched. 
 
 The next morning among Derringforth s mail was a 
 letter from Marion. One glance at the superscription 
 was enough to send the blood coursing through his 
 veins. He tore open the envelope eagerly, almost 
 fiercely. He drew out the letter, and suddenly shrank 
 from reading it. A fearful thought shot through his 
 mind the thought that Marion had engaged herself 
 to his rival. 
 
 He crushed the note in his trembling hand, and 
 walked back and forth in pitiable agony. The fact 
 itself could have been no more painful. His imagi 
 nation had given reality and substance to the thing 
 he dreaded. 
 
 For a few moments everything became blank. The 
 room whirled around about him. He seized a chair 
 as it flew past and threw himself into it. He put his 
 hand to his head and tried to steady it tried to stop 
 the throbbing of his brain ; and there he sat pale, 
 almost ghastly, hopeless, heartless, and in despair. 
 Finally he was roused by the butler, who came up to 
 say that breakfast was awaiting him. 
 
 He staggered to his feet, dropping the letter list-
 
 lessly upon the table. A glance at his white face in 
 the mirror frightened him. He had never seen him 
 self look so badly. He wondered if he were not ill. 
 He felt his pulse. He could scarcely detect it. There 
 was a sinking sensation in his stomach that robbed 
 him of all his strength. 
 
 He was upon the point of throwing himself upon 
 the bed with the conviction that he was actually ill, 
 when the thought of Wall Street came into his mind. 
 There was his speculation, and Burrock had invited 
 him to luncheon. No, he could not give up. He 
 must try to show some life try to get some blood 
 into his cheeks. 
 
 He went to the washstand and splashed his face 
 with cold water and rubbed it vigorously with a coarse 
 towel. He went back to the mirror. The artificial 
 glow had taken ten years off him, but it had not re 
 moved the ache from his heart or stilled the tremble 
 of his hands. He put on his coat, took up Marion s 
 letter, and, putting it in his pocket, started to leave 
 the room. 
 
 He had taken perhaps three steps when he stopped. 
 His hand stole into his pocket. The letter came forth. 
 It ran thus : 
 
 DEAR PHIL : 
 
 I have been trying to write you ever since Sunday 
 night, but with a guest to entertain I have hardly had 
 a minute to myself. I have wanted to tell you how 
 much I appreciated your kindness. You were perfectly
 
 lovely, and you are the dearest boy in the world. 
 You must think very badly of me, Phil, for not telling 
 you about Burton Edwards. I could read your 
 thoughts. It was, oh, so embarrassing to me ! I felt 
 like a culprit. I want to tell you all about it. We 
 have drifted a little away from each other, Phil. I 
 have not felt free to talk to you the way I used to. I 
 shall never forget how generous you were in corning 
 to my relief as you did taking all the blame upon 
 yourself. I didn t know that even you could be so 
 unselfish, and you did it so cleverly as to almost mis 
 lead me. 
 
 It is midnight. Every one else has gone to bed. I 
 have taken this time to write to you to thank you as I 
 have thanked you in my heart a thousand times, and 
 I want to write about something else, too. I hardly 
 know how to begin it. I don t want you to mis 
 understand me, and I am afraid you will. It is about 
 your coming to me on Thursday evening I want to 
 speak. When I wrote you that I would reserve the 
 evening for you, I knew nothing of this visit from Bur 
 ton Edwards. What I want to ask you is, would it 
 not be better for us both if you would postpone coming 
 until he has gone ? It will only be a matter of ten 
 days or so now. It would be so awkward for me to 
 seclude myself from him for an entire evening, and I 
 want the entire evening with you, as I promised you. 
 You won t misunderstand me, will you, Phil? I 
 know you won t. Write me and say that it is all 
 right. I wish you could have been with us this after 
 noon. I had the most delightful sleigh ride Mr. 
 Edwards took me out. It was such perfect sleighing, 
 and such a brilliant scene every one, it seemed to 
 me, was out enjoying the sport except you, and you, 
 poor boy, I suppose, were as hard at work as ever.
 
 You are making a perfect slave of yourself. I wish I 
 could ask you to come to see me tomorrow evening, 
 but we all go to the theater. 
 
 As ever, 
 
 MARION. 
 TUESDAY, midnight. 
 
 There was a sudden rebound in Derringforth s 
 spirits. The artificial glow of his face was amply sus 
 tained now by the quickened action of his pulse. He 
 straightened himself up, and threw out his chest. The 
 sickening sensation was gone. He was a man once 
 more, and all the love of his heart was alive again. 
 
 There were two thoughts that flashed upon his mind 
 as he read Marion s letter, and only two. The one 
 was that she still loved him ; the other that the addi 
 tional ten days would give him time to go further into 
 speculation and make the money that he so much de 
 sired. There seemed to him now something almost 
 providential in the visit of Burton Edwards. 
 
 " I wonder if God does bring these things about ? " 
 he meditated. " Sometimes it seems as if He did. 
 He must despise me for being so foolish this morn 
 ing. I am ashamed of myself, but the thought that 
 Marion had turned from me was so real, and it was 
 so cruel, that I couldn t help it. I suppose God has 
 some purpose in working in His mysterious ways, but 
 I don t see why it wouldn t have been just as well to 
 make a short cut of it. If He had kept us out of a 
 Shylock s clutches, then I should have had plenty of 
 114
 
 money. It s all very puzzling when I stop to think 
 about it. If I hadn t gone to the academy I should 
 not have met Burrock, and then it was by the merest 
 chance that I ran against him here in the city ; and 
 strange to say he seemed ready and glad to help me. 
 It looks as if between him and Edwards I may come 
 out all right after all that is, I have a chance to, and 
 if that is what God really means, I shall, of course ; 
 but perhaps it isn t, and perhaps God isn t doing any 
 thing about it. It may be all chance. If it is but 
 I can t think it is. It seems as if there were some 
 thing more than chance when I look back over the 
 strange things that have happened even in my short 
 life." 
 
 These views of Derringforth s were not very de 
 cided, but they served to give him some satisfaction, 
 and the pangs of jealousy were allayed for a time. He 
 wrote Marion a very cordial, reassuring note, saying 
 that she had done just right in suggesting a postpone 
 ment that he understood her fully and appreciated 
 the position she was in with a guest to entertain. 
 " Ten days or even more will make no difference," 
 he said. " We are not likely to change much in so 
 short a time." 
 
 But Derringforth was not quite so sure of this a 
 little later on. He was not so confident that he 
 could see God s hand in sending Edwards into 
 Marion s very home. He was not altogether satis 
 fied that he had written the best letter to Marion 
 
 "5
 
 that could have been written. He had some doubt, 
 even, about an overruling power having had any 
 thing to do with bringing him and Burrock together. 
 
 A second reading of Marion s letter had produced 
 this change in him. It was not quite so reassuring as 
 he had at first thought. There was no evidence that 
 she did not care deeply for Edwards. In fact she 
 had spoken of the delightful sleigh ride she had had 
 with him. This brought back the scene vividly to 
 Derringforth s mind. He recalled the look of love 
 in Edwards face as he gazed into Marion s eyes. 
 There was a reawakening of the old jealousy, and 
 that always gives a different shading to every 
 thing. What if Marion had sought this additional 
 time for her own convenience? Might it not be 
 possible ? 
 
 " I wish I had not consented to the postponement," 
 he sighed. " It may be all right, but I don t like 
 the look of things. I don t like to think of that fel 
 low in the same house with her, and they are to 
 gether all the time going to the theater tonight. 
 Why didn t Marion ask me to go with them ? Well, 
 as I said, it may be all right, but I don t know ; 
 I ve thought so much and worried so much and tried 
 so hard to make money that I can t think straight 
 any more. One time I think one thing and then 
 again something else, but I don t know that this sort 
 of thing is peculiar to myself. I fancy that other 
 people look at things with varying moods pretty 
 116
 
 much as I do. If not, then there is something wrong 
 with me. Well, I ve agreed to wait at least ten days, 
 and I ll do it without murmuring any more, and 
 in the mean time I ll see what I can do in Wall 
 Street."
 
 XXII. 
 
 TOWARDS noon Derringforth received a note from 
 Burrock inclosing him a check for two hundred and 
 eleven dollars and thirteen cents. " This is your 
 net profit after deducting brokerage," he wrote. 
 " Not a bad go for the first gives you something to 
 operate on couldn t wait till lunch knew you were 
 in the dumps knew this check would brace you up 
 nothing like something you can take hold of 
 you ll get there a boom is on must rush see you 
 at one, and talk over another flier." 
 
 Derringforth gazed at the check with admiring 
 eyes almost with a look of amazement. It was dif 
 ficult to realize that he had made this money without 
 the investment of a penny or the turning of a hand. 
 But there it was, and all the profit of a single day. 
 
 " It will not take me long at this rate," he said to 
 himself, his imagination swinging loose, " to pile up 
 a few thousand dollars. Burrock has made over 
 twenty one hundred on this single deal. I wish I 
 had gone in heavier I will next time. It doesn t 
 do for a man in Wall Street to be weak kneed. I 
 118
 
 might just as well have a thousand dollars now as two 
 hundred. It was a sure thing ; Burrock said it was. 
 I wonder if he has any more sure things ? It was 
 too bad to let such an opportunity slip by without 
 making the most of it. I ll never do it again, that s 
 one thing certain." 
 
 Derringforth went to bed that night with an anx 
 iety so keen, so deep, that it overshadowed for the 
 time all other interests. Burrock had bought for him 
 five hundred shares of Western Union. The stock 
 was very active. There was a powerful bear com 
 bination trying to force it down. But the ground 
 was contested inch by inch by the bulls. Burrock 
 had confidence that the stock would advance, but it 
 was a guess at best. He had advised Derringforth to 
 take only a hundred shares. " I think it is a good 
 purchase and may be a great one it s a wonderfully 
 active stock bobs up and down like mad, but I m 
 going to buy a thousand shares and take my chances. 
 I wouldn t be surprised to see it jump up ten points 
 inside of two days sure to do it if the bulls get 
 away with the bears ought to go to a hundred 
 paying regular dividends." 
 
 Derringforth had in mind the loss he had made 
 on St. Paul by his timidity, and said he would 
 have the courage of his convictions this time, any 
 way. 
 
 " I like your nerve," replied Burrock. " You are 
 the kind that gets there no use to be afraid." 
 119
 
 "That s what I think," answered Derringforth, 
 with a tinge of pride. 
 
 An hour later he had grown a trifle more conserv 
 ative. Western Union closed weak. It had dropped 
 off over half a point since his purchase. He met 
 Burrock in the evening, and together they saw a 
 number of brokers and speculators. The consensus of 
 opinion was that Western Union would be forced 
 down further yet. There were ominous rumors 
 afloat that looked ugly. 
 
 Derringforth went home with some uncertainty as 
 to whether his temperament was exactly suited to 
 Wall Street. With two hundred of winnings in his 
 pocket he was convinced that it was. With his prof 
 it wiped out and another hundred gone with it, and 
 all the work of an hour, he began to have serious 
 doubts. 
 
 He was highly wrought up. " As Burrock says, 
 there is a delightful excitement about it all," he 
 admitted " delightful if one likes just that sort of 
 excitement, but I m not so sure that I do. Three 
 hundred dollars gone already and may be five," 
 Derringforth groaned. " Perhaps even more," he 
 went on dubiously. 
 
 Burrock had told him to keep up his courage, urg 
 ing that the deal would yet come out all right in the 
 end. 
 
 "That s all well enough for Burrock," mused 
 Derringforth. " He has the money to carry the
 
 stock for a turn, but I haven t. I shall be sold out 
 sold out with a loss, and just when I need money 
 so much." 
 
 Derringforth s reflections in the preceding chapter 
 reveal a phase of his character. At one time he 
 was disposed to regard the presence of Burton Ed 
 wards as providential ; at another he exhibited a 
 considerable doubt. But the burden of his reason 
 ing tended towards a belief in the overruling power 
 of God. He had before now invoked in a half 
 hearted way the aid of Heaven when feeling most 
 keenly the pressure of the Shylock s hand. But these 
 appeals lacked directness. They were mere breath 
 ings toward Heaven a vague wish that aid might 
 come from that indefinite source. 
 
 He had never been quite able to satisfy himself 
 whether there was any response to these modest ap 
 peals or not. Once or twice he thought there was; 
 once or twice he thought there was not. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances he would not have 
 resorted to the experiment again. But this was an 
 extraordinary circumstance. His own hands were 
 tied. He was neither a bull nor a bear. He was 
 utterly powerless to influence the price of Western 
 Union the one way or the other. He sat on the side 
 of his bed and thought. It seemed to him that God 
 alone was equal to the emergency, but would God 
 have anything to do with Wall Street ? There was 
 serious doubt in Derringforth s mind on this point. 
 
 121
 
 " If it were only something a little more respect 
 able there might be some hope," he reasoned. 
 "I m afraid that gambling isn t in very high favor 
 in heaven, but the Bible says, Come unto me all ye 
 that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest. That is plain enough. I can t see why it 
 should not apply to Wall Street as well as to any 
 other place. I fancy there are more men there that 
 are weary and heavy laden than anywhere else on this 
 earth. Unfortunately I am one of them, but I am 
 going to get out. Heaven knows I wish I were out 
 now. If I only had more faith I would ask God to 
 help me. It s the only thing I can do. Perhaps 
 the fact that I wish I had more faith would count in 
 my favor. It can do no harm, any way, to ask for 
 aid, and there is an odd chance that it might be just 
 the very thing." 
 
 But Derringforth felt that there was a marked dif 
 ference between asking aid from Heaven in the case 
 of a Shylock and in the matter of speculation. He 
 had not hesitated in the one instance, but now his 
 conscience was very sensitive. He wondered if it 
 would not seem blasphemous in God s sight. He 
 shrank from doing anything wrong, but the case was 
 so urgent that he could not dismiss it from his mind. 
 lie reasoned a long time with himself, and then 
 somehow before he realized what he was doing he 
 was reasoning with Heaven.
 
 XXIII. 
 
 WHILE Derringforth was in his room, feverish with 
 anxiety and imploring Heaven s aid, Marion was 
 breathing in delicious draughts of love. She and 
 Burton Edwards were alone. It was towards mid 
 night. They had been to the play, but came away 
 at the end of the second act. Mr. and Mrs. Kings- 
 ley had gone up to the library. 
 
 This was the opportunity Edwards had prayed for. 
 Marion sat on the sofa. He was in a chair a little 
 way from her. He wished he were beside her, but 
 just how to get there was the question. He could 
 hear the ticking of the clock in the foyer, and knew 
 that the precious minutes were vanishing. There 
 were so many things to say and so little time to say 
 them in, that he found a beginning difficult. 
 
 He felt a restraint that was akin to awkwardness. 
 This feeling was intensified by the fancy that sly 
 laughter lurked in Marion s eyes. His cheeks took 
 on a deeper red, and his conversation was painfully 
 aimless. He could not understand himself. Had 
 he not rehearsed a thousand times the words that 
 
 I2 3
 
 now filled his soul to bursting? Why should they 
 form a jam just at this time and clog the flow of his 
 heart? His dreams could not have been more per 
 fectly mirrored so far as scene and time were con 
 cerned. There was no third party present to chill 
 his spirits. The cozy room with its soft silken hang 
 ings, and yet softer lights, the glow of the cheery fire 
 in the grate, the midnight hush that was broken only 
 by their own voices all contributed harmony to the 
 surroundings. 
 
 "Won t you play something, Marion?" he said 
 in desperation at last. 
 
 "Yes, if you really wish me to," answered Ma 
 rion ; " but are you quite sure you do ? " 
 
 " Quite I m in just the mood for music," he re 
 plied, saying to himself at the same time, " May the 
 pardoning angel have mercy on my soul ! 
 
 " It s a rare mood for you, surely. I thought you 
 disliked the piano. 
 
 " That depends upon who plays it." 
 
 " Then I am sure you will not care to listen to an 
 amateur." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I shall. Whatever you do gives me 
 pleasure. 
 
 Marion blushed, protested, then tripped lightly 
 across the room to the piano. 
 
 " What shall I play? " she asked, drumming care 
 lessly on the keys. 
 
 " Anything that interests you." 
 124
 
 " But I would prefer to interest you." 
 
 "You are sure to do that whatever you play," he 
 answered, throwing a good deal of feeling into the 
 words. " That s something like it," he said to him 
 self. " This little scheme will put me at my ease." 
 
 Marion began playing bits of the latest airs. There 
 was a good deal of expression in her touch, but it 
 was not quite natural to her own ears. It betrayed 
 an emotion that she dreaded to recognize one that 
 both delighted and frightened her. 
 
 Edwards watched with admiration the graceful fin 
 gers as they flew over the keys, but the music did not 
 reach his soul. He had but one thought, and that 
 one was embodied in Marion. He stood beside her 
 and turned the leaves of the music. 
 
 " Here is something you know," she said, begin 
 ning the accompaniment of a love song that had 
 caught the town. " Shall we sing it together ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Edwards eagerly. " It s the 
 very thing to pave the way for me," he said to him 
 self as his voice blended with hers. 
 
 The love of his soul was poured out in the words of 
 the song. It thrilled Marion. She was powerless to 
 resist the spirit that permeated the very atmosphere. 
 She looked up into his eyes. That look set his soul 
 on fire. All the passion of his strong nature was 
 aflame. The mad impulse to clasp her in his arms, 
 and kiss her, was a delirium. He had never known 
 what consuming love was until now. He realized 
 125
 
 that a false move would be death to his hopes, but to 
 restrain himself was torture. He broke away from 
 her side, leaving the song unfinished, and walked 
 quickly to the other end of the room. He went to 
 the window and looked out into the night. There, 
 as everywhere, he saw only Marion. 
 
 He came back to the sofa and threw himself upon 
 it. Marion still sat at the piano. There was intoxi 
 cation in her playing. She was transported beyond 
 herself was under the spell of a strong man s love, 
 and was powerless to tear herself away. 
 
 She knew why Edwards had left her side so sud 
 denly, and blessed him for going, and yet she was 
 sorry. She did not know just why she was sorry. 
 She did not know herself even. There was something 
 in his nature that drew her towards him ; there was 
 something that made her fear him. His influence 
 over her was unlike that of any other man. She 
 was conscious of enjoying the love that he breathed 
 upon her ; she was conscious of almost hating him 
 for tempting her own love. 
 
 He watched her from where he sat, and wondered 
 what her thoughts were wondered that she kept on 
 playing. 
 
 " If she were like other girls," he said to himself, 
 " I would not be at a loss to know what to do. If she 
 were like other girls I should not care for her. There 
 is something in her manner that says to me so far 
 and no farther. 
 
 126
 
 His mind wandered back to the Sunday evening 
 when Derringforth had fallen like a meteor upon his 
 vision. The hot blood burned in his cheeks. The 
 pangs of jealousy pierced him. His eyes were still 
 fixed upon Marion. The sway of her graceful figure 
 was poetry. The thought that possibly she loved 
 Derringforth was torture. He wondered if she would 
 never cease playing. He looked at his watch, open 
 ing and shutting it so that it would not attract her 
 attention. It was almost midnight. He grew im 
 patient and raved at himself for the fiasco he had 
 made. 
 
 " Why did I ever ask her to play ? " he groaned. 
 " People never know when to stop when they sit 
 down at the piano." The love of a few moments 
 before was becoming nullified. He found himself 
 getting provoked. It seemed to him indifference, 
 even rudeness in Marion to neglect him as she was 
 doing. He was upon the point of remonstrating 
 when she turned to him and said in her sweetest 
 way : 
 
 Now are you not sorry you asked me to play ? 
 
 One look from her eyes melted all his indignation, 
 but not soon enough to remove the traces from his 
 face before she saw it. 
 
 " No, certainly not. Didn t I tell you that I was 
 just in the mood for music ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I can read your feelings better than you 
 think." 
 
 127
 
 " How do you interpret them?" asked Edwards, 
 coloring. 
 
 The blush was reflected upon Marion s face. 
 
 "I won t try to read beyond your dislike for my 
 playing. I have been very rude won t you forgive 
 me?" 
 
 " I would forgive you anything, but really there is 
 nothing to forgive." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is you can t deceive me, but 
 I ll promise never to do so any more. I wonder if it 
 isn t very late? I forgot all about time while I was 
 playing." 
 
 " Her coolness freezes me," groaned Edwards in 
 wardly. " No, it is not so horribly late," he an 
 swered. " I don t feel like going to my room. Won t 
 you sit here a little while yet with me? " 
 
 There was a tender pleading in his tones that was 
 love to Marion. She knew she ought to tear herself 
 away from it. She knew that she was powerless to 
 do so. She did not want him to propose to her ; 
 she did not want to check the delicious draught of 
 nectar. 
 
 He got up and walked to the piano, leaned over it 
 and looked down into her eyes. 
 
 " You have not answered me," he said softly. 
 
 " Do you want me to stay very much ? " she said, 
 turning her face towards his. 
 
 " More than you can realize, Marion," he replied, 
 with a feeling that was unmistakable. 
 128
 
 She swung a little away from him on the piano 
 stool, and looked down irresolutely. 
 
 " Come and sit here beside me," he said, taking 
 her hand and leading her to the sofa. 
 
 There was love in that touch. Edwards felt the 
 warm blood bound through his veins. The beating of 
 his heart, the emotion of his whole nature, choked his 
 utterance for a moment. The stillness was broken 
 only by the ticking of the clock. The fire in the 
 grate had burned low. The soft light sifting through 
 the silken shade intensified Marion s beauty. She 
 sat in graceful attitude at one end of the sofa. Her 
 head rested upon her hand. She was the perfect 
 picture of delightful irresolution. A dainty foot pro 
 truded from beneath her gown. Edwards sat a little 
 apart from her. 
 
 " Marion," he said, and with the utterance of her 
 name he unconsciously moved closer to her, Ma 
 rion, I " 
 
 The sentence was suddenly cut short. A sharp 
 ring at the door bell startled them. Edwards felt the 
 cold perspiration start out upon his brow. The bell 
 rang again, and yet again.
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE energy behind the door bell was a devil may 
 care telegraph messenger. He liked to startle people 
 in the dead of night, picturing to his imagination, 
 with a profane grin, the look on their frightened 
 faces. He fancied that he could pull a bell so that 
 it would ring a more horrible ring than could be pro 
 duced by any other messenger on the force a weird, 
 dreadful ring that would carry terror with it. 
 
 It was a peal of this sort that sent consternation to 
 the heart of Burton Edwards. There was something 
 strange and ominous in the sound as it broke upon 
 his ears. He knew as surely in the first instant as a 
 minute later, when a telegram was put into his hand, 
 that something had happened at home. 
 
 He tore open the envelope with trembling fingers. 
 His face was white. 
 
 " Mother is very ill. Come first train. Father." 
 Edwards spoke the words aloud as his eye ran over 
 the telegram. He handed it to Marion and turned 
 away silently. 
 
 "I am so sorry," said Marion softly. 
 130
 
 "It must be serious," answered Edwards. " Fa 
 ther would not have sent such a message otherwise. 
 
 "I hope it is not so bad as you fancy. Your 
 father might have been suddenly frightened, and tel 
 egraphed you on the impulse of the moment. 
 
 " No, he would not have done that. I am sure 
 that he has kept back the worst." 
 
 "I am very sorry for you, Burton. I wish I 
 could say something that would comfort you." 
 
 Edwards raised his eyes to hers. They were full 
 of tenderness and sympathy. He took a step towards 
 her and stretched out his hands as one imploring 
 rescue. She gave him both of hers, with childlike 
 trust. Her wish was to comfort him. It was a gen 
 erous, kindly motive. She had no thought for her 
 self. But the pressure upon her hands awakened the 
 sense of danger. The impulse to tear herself from 
 him was paralyzed. She could not escape. He drew 
 her closer to him and bent his head towards hers. 
 
 " What has happened, Marion? " called her father 
 at this instant from above stairs. He had hurriedly 
 dressed and come from his room to learn the meaning 
 of the frantic ringing of the bell. 
 
 "It s a telegram," answered Marion in trembling 
 voice. " A telegram," she repeated, as she ran 
 towards him like one escaping from some frightful 
 danger. 
 
 Burton Edwards was not alone with her again. He 
 took the early morning train for California. When
 
 he was gone Marion went to her own room. How 
 big and empty and gloomy the house seemed ! Her 
 head ached from a sleepless night; her heart ached 
 from emotions that had stirred it to its depths. She 
 stood by her window and looked out into the cold, 
 gray morning. 
 
 The dim light was sifting in through the darkness. 
 The fog hung damp over the housetops, settling down 
 in the streets and sending a chill through the early 
 pedestrians. Marion had never been up at this hour 
 before ; had never felt such a sense of depression be 
 fore. She turned away with a shudder, and threw 
 herself wearily upon her couch. 
 
 The furnace sent an abundance of hot air into her 
 room, but it did not warm her. She drew a rug over 
 her shoulders, and tried to forget herself in sleep, but 
 the funereal atmosphere was too depressing for slum 
 ber. She opened her eyes and glanced aimlessly tow 
 ards her writing desk. There was Phil looking down 
 upon her from his silver frame. She turned her face 
 away and buried it beneath the rug. 
 
 She had seen the picture a thousand times before, 
 but she had never seen it as she saw it now. There 
 was an expression in the face that sent a shudder of 
 self condemnation to her heart. It was not a look of 
 accusation, but rather one of surprise and pain. Kind 
 ness and love were in the eyes ; sorrow and gloom 
 were about the mouth. 
 
 The tears stole down Marion s cheeks. Sne couid 
 132
 
 not choke back the sobs. Her heart ached with an 
 anguish that was deeper and keener than before. 
 The sense of loneliness had yielded to a different 
 feeling. She knew she was doing wrong in breathing 
 the atmosphere of love as she had on the previous 
 night. She did not do it in defiance of her con 
 science. She felt an impulse to fly from Burton Ed 
 wards. She would have given anything to be safely 
 beyond his influence, and yet there was a fascination 
 so strong, so subtle in the nature and quality of his 
 love it was so deliciously intoxicating, so sweet to 
 her young life, that she yielded for another minute 
 and sipped of the nectar of the gods just another 
 minute, and just another minute, until she had drifted 
 almost into the very arms of passion. 
 
 The rug could not hide Phil s face from her eyes. 
 She could see him looking down upon her, and the 
 expression of pain and sadness, of love and kindness, 
 burned into her very soul. It was the most severe 
 reproach to her sensitive nature. She saw herself as 
 she had never seen herself before. She recalled Phil s 
 words when she told him that the engagement must 
 be postponed. 
 
 " We can t tell what changes a year will make in 
 us," he had said. 
 
 " The year is up today," meditated Marion, 
 " and we have changed Phil has changed I have 
 changed more than he. I have wanted to do right 
 by him ; I have wanted to care only for him, but our 
 
 J 33
 
 lives have drifted a little apart, and I have been so 
 completely under influences that have led me away 
 from him. This does not justify me, I know, but in a 
 way it palliates the offense. It is not so easy to do 
 always the same under different circumstances. If I 
 had never gone into this gay life I should not have 
 cared for it. I should have known nothing of admira 
 tion and flattery. It is a life by itself a life of ex 
 citement and intoxication. I must either be one 
 thing or another. I can t be half society girl and 
 half half something else. A compromise between 
 the two would make me half wrong and half stupid. 
 I can t adjust my conscience to both. Looking at 
 myself in one way I feel guilty ; in another I feel that 
 I have done no wrong. If girls in society didn t ac 
 cept attention and admiration if there were no little 
 flirtations there would be no society there would be 
 nothing in it." 
 
 This line of reasoning began to bring relief to 
 Marion s conscience. The expression in Phil s eyes 
 was softer. It no longer pierced her heart with so 
 keen an edge. 
 
 " It would not be so very terrible to be a little 
 Puritan with puritanical surroundings," she contin 
 ued, " but in this age and in the metropolis and in 
 society life no, no, it can t be done. The Puritan 
 would be a dismal failure. I couldn t be a wall 
 flower I wouldn t. I d rather belong to the Salva 
 tion Army. There would be enthusiasm there at 
 
 134
 
 least, and anything would be better than the heart 
 ache, and that is just what a girl has, out of tune with 
 her surroundings. After all, I can t think I have 
 done so very wrong. This is my play day my out 
 ing before I settle down. One always has more lati 
 tude on an outing does things that would that 
 would well, that would make very nice old ladies 
 raise their eyebrows in a terribly suggestive way. So 
 then, looking at it in this light, I think I ought to be 
 allowed just a little abandon ought to have all the 
 good times I can in a proper way, of course. 
 
 " But there is the question what is proper ? I m 
 sure of one thing, and that is that I am not required 
 to be a Puritan in these days, in society, any way. I 
 suppose that a real little Puritan, if she had been in 
 my place last night with Burton Edwards and he had 
 looked into her eyes as he looked into mine; if he 
 had breathed the love upon her that he breathed 
 upon me ; if he had taken her hands in his as he took 
 mine in his, I suppose no, I m not so sure I more 
 than half believe that she wouldn t have been a Puri 
 tan at all. I sometimes wonder if there isn t a good 
 deal of humbug after all about this unnatural goodness 
 that we read of and that is held up as the correct 
 standard. It s an insipid sort of life, it seems to me. 
 It may be well enough for exhibition, but if there is 
 no more nature and impulse in it than we are led to 
 believe if the inner life is as colorless and placid as 
 the outer, then it must have been too stupid for any-
 
 thing. But I can t believe it. Human nature is hu 
 man nature. Without its impulses and fancies and 
 passions it would be as flat as a prairie ; as uninterest 
 ing as a Puritan Sunday." 
 
 By this time Marion had justified herself to an ex 
 tent that effectually soothed her conscience. She no 
 longer tried to hide her fare from Phil s eyes. There 
 was nothing in them now nothing about the expres 
 sion of the mouth to harrow her feelings. 
 
 "Things are much as we see them," she medi 
 tated. " Fancy has so much to do with every 
 thing." 
 
 Her face was turned towards Phil s. She saw noth 
 ing of the look of half an hour before. " He is the 
 same dear boy he always was, she said to herself. I 
 suppose he would think it very wrong, though, if he 
 really knew. He would have a right to be jealous 
 I should be horribly jealous myself if he were flirting 
 with some other girl. This is as much as to say 
 I was flirting with Burton, but I don t know. I 
 didn t think of it in that way. He was visiting us and 
 I well, I just lived in the atmosphere of his love. I 
 couldn t be rude to him. I didn t try to make him 
 care for me; I didn t want him to care for me, but 
 somehow I closed my eyes and drifted and such 
 drifting ! 
 
 " But I wonder if Phil could see it in this way. It 
 almost seems to me that I can argue myself into believ 
 ing anything is right. Perhaps I am wrong perhaps 
 1*6
 
 I have done very wrong, but the more I reason the 
 more I justify myself. Perhaps this is the way with 
 every one who does wrong. I wonder if it is. If so, 
 I can see how many who want to do right and intend 
 to do right, do wrong. Oh, dear me, it is all very 
 puzzling. I suppose I ought to tell everything to Phil. 
 If he doesn t reprove me then I ve no need to think 
 any more about it. 
 
 " But it would be pretty hard to tell Phil, and after 
 all, would it do any good ? It might make him un 
 happy, and if I really have done wrong, telling him 
 would not undo it. It would simply make matters 
 worse. Still, he has a right to know I should want 
 to know. Perhaps there are some things he has not 
 told me. Well, so long as I don t know them I shall 
 not worry it s foolish to think of such a thing about 
 Phil he is simply old gold. I can t imagine him 
 caring for any one except myself ; he never did. I m 
 glad he hasn t gone into this gay life. If he had no, 
 no, I won t think of it." 
 
 But she did think of it nevertheless, and her heart 
 beat heavily as she pictured to her imagination scenes 
 not unlike that of the previous night between Burton 
 Edwards and herself, but in which Phil and some other 
 girl were the participants. 
 
 Now that Edwards had gone, Marion had no longer 
 any excuse for delaying the hour of Phil s call. It 
 seemed to her that she ought to write him and say that 
 she was alone and would reserve the evening for him.
 
 " I wish the engagement had never been postponed," 
 she said to herself once more, looking as one peering 
 into the future. " It would have been better in every 
 way. Mama thinks I shall do as she wants me to ; 
 Phil thinks, I fancy, that I shall do as he wants me to. 
 I can t please both, that is one thing certain. What 
 ever the result is, I shall not act meanly I shall write 
 Phil to call tonight. I don t know how it will come 
 out, but that makes no difference just now ; right is 
 right, anyway."
 
 XXV. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH had been at his office perhaps an 
 hour when a messenger brought him a note from Ma 
 rion. It said in effect that Edwards had been sud 
 denly called home and that she was now free for the 
 evening. 
 
 " I hope you have no engagement," she added. 
 " It has been a long time since we have had a whole 
 evening to ourselves. 
 
 " This is a devil of a fix," said Derringforth, still 
 holding the note in his hand. " I don t know what 
 to do ; I don t know where I stand maybe I m bank 
 rupt for all I know. But I m glad, any way, that 
 Edwards has gone ; that s one thing sure. I shall 
 feel a heap more comfortable, even if this Wall Street 
 business breaks me. I wonder how the market will 
 open ! " 
 
 Derringforth took out his watch mechanically, 
 looked at the time and saw nothing. His face wore 
 an expression of perplexity. The exchange had not 
 yet opened. His anxiety was painful, but withal he 
 felt a sense of happiness that made his heart lighter.
 
 The messenger still waited for an answer. His 
 presence increased Derringforth s nervousness. The 
 watch came out again. It wanted fifteen minutes to 
 ten. 
 
 " I don t know what to say," reasoned Derring- 
 forth. " I want more than anything else to spend the 
 evening with Marion, but ten days would give me a 
 chance to put myself in better shape. I wonder why 
 Edwards was called home so suddenly ! I almost wish 
 he had stayed. No, I don t, either," he added, jerk 
 ing out the words almost savagely. 
 
 After ten minutes of vacillation Derringforth sent 
 the messenger away without an answer, and in a very 
 little time sought a consultation with Burrock. 
 
 Western Union had opened within a quarter of a 
 point of the closing price, but that quarter was against 
 Derringforth. 
 
 " Don t feel alarmed," said Burrock. " It is hold 
 ing up splendidly bears are hammering it with a ven 
 geance, but I think we shall see a turn in our favor." 
 
 "I hope so," replied Derringforth. "I never 
 needed money so much in my life as I do at this min 
 ute," and he told Burrock of Marion s note. 
 
 Burrock raised his eyebrows and emitted a shrill 
 little whistle. Derringforth looked at him interroga 
 tively. 
 
 " What shall you do ? " asked Burrock, with a shrug 
 of the shoulders. 
 
 "What should I do ? " 
 140
 
 " I don t mind advising you in the matter of spec 
 ulation, old man, but well, I m too conservative, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " I don t understand you.." 
 
 " Simple enough. See I go into the market and 
 buy a thousand shares of stock five thousand, per 
 haps it is all chance I know it, but on the size of 
 the chance I can give a good estimate I know what 
 is liable to happen. But beyond this I am conserva 
 tive understand ? " 
 
 "Nonsense, Burrock you are cynical, and you 
 are in a more cynical mood than usual." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but well, I ve told you the way I 
 feel. What can I do for you ? anything but advise 
 you where woman enters into the problem the com 
 plications are too many, too great chance runs riot 
 that s all excuse me, old man, excuse me think 
 it out yourself and leave this stock deal with me. 
 I ll stand by you." 
 
 Derringforth was inclined to be amused at first, but 
 the unusual seriousness of Burrock impressed him with 
 a strange feeling. He had never thought of woman 
 in this sense. The conception sent a little shudder 
 through him. 
 
 " You will change your mind, Burrock," he said, 
 some of these days, and then you will be sorry you 
 ever deluded yourself with such ideas." 
 
 Burrock smiled. It was a smile that seemed to 
 say, "You poor, simple boy, I pity you." 
 141
 
 Derringforth colored and felt uncomfortable. He 
 did not like this attitude in Burrock, but there was 
 no time for argument now. He had slipped away 
 from his office to learn something of the venture that 
 meant happiness or misery to him. His decision as to 
 whether he should spend the evening with Marion 
 depended wholly upon the state of the market. With 
 a good profit in sight he would not hesitate, but 
 with a loss in view he would skirmish for more time. 
 Now that Edwards was no longer with her, Derring 
 forth did not regard the delay of a few days as so 
 serious. 
 
 Burrock was called aside and Derringforth stepped 
 up to the ticker and read the quotations. His fingers 
 trembled slightly as he held the tape in his hands. 
 The market, as a whole, was strengthening. He 
 watched with anxious eyes for a quotation on Western 
 Union. His time was up. He had already been 
 away from his office too long. 
 
 He turned to go. Burrock called to him to wait a 
 minute. He stepped back to the ticker. Western 
 Union had advanced an eighth. He felt a thrill of 
 excitement only an eighth, but it meant so much to 
 him. 
 
 "I told you it would come out all right," said 
 Burrock, always cool. 
 
 " You are a prophet, old man," returned Derring 
 forth. 
 
 " On the market," suggested Burrock with a look 
 142
 
 that awakened an indefinable sense of repugnance in 
 Derringforth. 
 
 Presently he went back to his office and telegraphed 
 Marion that he would answer her note later in the 
 day. 
 
 Western Union climbed up a little during the after 
 noon, but did not reach the point of Derringforth s 
 purchase. The market closed with good feeling, 
 however, and Burrock, as well as all the bull clique, 
 looked for better prices on the following day. 
 
 " I m better off by a quarter of a point, any way, 
 than I was last night," said Derringforth to himself, 
 noting the closing quotations. " But I don t like 
 this frightful anxiety. I wonder what I should say to 
 Marion. Perhaps tomorrow will bring me out all 
 right perhaps it will ruin me. I must have another 
 day at least. If I were to go to her tonight I should 
 have to ask that the engagement be postponed. If I 
 could only have ten days more and a rising market 
 but I have no excuse for asking for the delay as she 
 had." 
 
 He compromised by asking for one day, saying he 
 was very sorry, but that he had a matter on hand that 
 would make it impossible for him to call that evening. 
 
 He did not offer any explanation ; he simply stated 
 the fact. This was a way he had. It was a fault of 
 his ; it is a fault of too many people. A matter is 
 clear to them. It should be. They know all the 
 attending circumstances, see it in its various shad- 
 
 43
 
 ings, its various lights. They state the bare fact and 
 expect others to see it as they see it, and then wonder 
 at the stupidity of the world. A little more atten 
 tion to details, a little more effort to make things 
 clear to bring out the feeling, the intent, the spirit, 
 would rid life of a wonderful amount of friction 
 would bring happiness to many a gloomy home, 
 would bring sweetness and sunshine to many an ach 
 ing heart. 
 
 " I shall be free tomorrow evening," wrote Der- 
 ringforth in closing his note, " and will call on you 
 then, providing of course that you have no engage 
 ment. I wish I could see you tonight. I m sure 
 the time seems no longer to you than it does to me 
 since we have had an evening together."
 
 XXVI. 
 
 MARION had been at some social function. It was 
 nearly six o clock when she returned home. Der- 
 ringforth s note was awaiting her. She had received 
 his telegram and had wondered that he could not tell 
 when he sent it whether he was free for the evening 
 or not. She had thought a little about it ; specu 
 lated a little about it. 
 
 She could understand that there might be several 
 reasons why he could not answer, at the time of tele 
 graphing, definitely whether he could or could not 
 spend the evening with her. But she wished that she 
 knew just what the cause was. The thought kept 
 coming into her mind, though she banished it a hun 
 dred times. 
 
 She tore open the note with rather more eagerness 
 than she liked to display. Her mother saw this saw 
 the color that flashed to her cheeks. Marion looked 
 up and caught her mother s eye. She felt annoyed 
 that she should have shown any feeling, and went 
 quickly to her own room. 
 
 There were traces of disappointment in her face as
 
 she saw herself in the mirror. She read the letter 
 again, and repeated the words, " I have a matter in 
 hand that will make it impossible for me to call this 
 evening." 
 
 " He might as well not have written the note. 
 He could have said in the telegram that he wasn t 
 coming. I should have been quite as wise some 
 thing that he doesn t want me to know, perhaps 
 more diplomatic to telegraph and then write looks 
 as if he had made the effort to come but could not 
 arrange to do so." 
 
 Marion threw off her wraps and tried to throw off 
 the disappointment that held her in its depressing 
 grasp, but she could not free herself could not help 
 feeling hurt that Phil should treat her so indifferently. 
 She remembered the readiness with which he had as 
 sented to the suggestion in her note that his call 
 should be postponed. It seemed very generous of 
 him at the time, but now it appeared in a somewhat 
 different light. The shading was not the same. 
 Many unhappy fancies flitted through her mind, each 
 leaving a sting. 
 
 She was not accustomed to suffering. While 
 Derringforth had learned to bear the grasp of a Shy- 
 lock s hand had learned to know the ache of a bur 
 dened soul, Marion had been flattered and enter 
 tained and courted. She had had all the pleasures 
 that wealth and society and adoration could give. 
 It was a new sensation to be treated with what she re- 
 146
 
 garded as indifference, and it hurt. She did not bear 
 the pain as one accustomed to disappointments. The 
 depression clung to her until it was gradually crowded 
 back by the feeling of resentment. 
 
 " I have not been used to such indifference," she 
 said to herself. " I offered to give up the evening 
 and tried to be nice to him, and I m simply in 
 formed that it will be impossible for him to be with 
 me. He owed me more explanation than this. I 
 would not have treated him as he has treated me. I 
 wish I knew where he was going. I have foolishly 
 flattered myself that he never went anywhere ; I 
 have thought of him as a sort of saint, but one can t 
 tell much about a man, any way. I should have 
 kept closer to him. I have been blind and have 
 worried like a little idiot, thinking I was not doing 
 right by him. How many good times I have lost ! I 
 wish Burton were here ; he would not treat me in 
 this way. Phil has changed so. He isn t a bit as 
 he used to be. I can t understand him; he doesn t 
 help me to understand him. Maybe he doesn t un 
 derstand me, and feels a restraint that makes him ap 
 pear as he does." 
 
 At the last minute Marion decided to go to the 
 Harburys . It was to be a brilliant party, but she was 
 not in the mood for social festivities ; and yet she could 
 not endure the thought of remaining at home alone. 
 A year before she would have liked the prospect of 
 such an evening. But books did not interest her
 
 now as they did then. They lacked the stimulant 
 that she had learned to crave. 
 
 Mrs. Kingsley was exceedingly glad when she 
 learned that Derringforth was not coming and that 
 Marion was to go with her to the Harburys . She 
 had not been blind to Burton Edwards admiration 
 for her daughter, and she saw with much satisfaction 
 that Marion enjoyed his society. There was a sense 
 of safety in this to Mrs. Kingsley s mind. The 
 presence of Edwards, she argued, would tend to wean 
 Marion from Derringforth. It would at least cause 
 her to see less of him. And then there was always 
 the possibility of some complication that would 
 bring about unlocked for changes. Delay was the 
 thing to fight for, she told herself. In it her hope 
 lay. 
 
 Had the suspicion occurred to her that Marion 
 was upon the point of falling in love with Edwards, 
 she would at once have regarded him with an utterly 
 different feeling. Her object was to keep Marion 
 from marrying until she was at least twenty five. So 
 far as Edwards aided her in this purpose, just so far 
 he was especially welcome at her house. She liked 
 him. Her regard for him was genuine, and so long 
 as he did nothing more than win Marion towards 
 him not to him she encouraged the association. 
 
 It was a disappointment to her that he was so sud 
 denly called away. She expected as a matter of 
 course, now he was gone, that Marion would give up 
 148
 
 the evening to Derringforth. The day had been 
 fraught with anxiety. She could not quite believe that 
 Marion would ignore her wishes entirely and engage 
 herself to Derringforth, and yet there was the possi 
 bility that she would. 
 
 Marion surveyed herself in the mirror when she 
 was dressed. " I never looked so jaded and old be 
 fore," she thought. " It must be dreadful to grow 
 old and ugly to feel that the power to attract has 
 gone that the younger and prettier faces have all 
 the attention and admiration. My cheeks are faded 
 out ; my eyes look as if I had had no sleep for a week. 
 Oh dear, I wish I were going to stay at home ! I m 
 tired and disappointed and unhappy. I shall be as 
 stupid as anything, I know. If Phil had only come 
 we could have had a quiet evening. I wonder what is 
 keeping him away ? What would he think of me if 
 he should see how jaded I look ? Would he want to 
 marry me now, I wonder? it was just a year ago 
 tonight how happy I was I would give the world 
 to be as happy now to feel that he loves me just as 
 he did then and to have him tell me again of his love 
 as he did then."
 
 XXVII. 
 
 IT is said that the unexpected usually happens in 
 Wall Street. Derringforth had spent the evening in 
 company with Burrock and they had talked with a 
 number of speculators. The consensus of opinion 
 was that there would be a strong, active market on 
 the following day. He went home buoyant with 
 hope and eager for the night to pass. 
 
 The sun came up and hid itself behind a leaden 
 sky. Derringforth looked out from the window of 
 his room. The dull light, the bleak wind, and the 
 thought that it was Friday awakened a feeling of 
 anxiety. He knew that the nerves of Wall Street 
 men lie close to the surface knew how susceptible 
 they were to the influence of little things, even to 
 the state of the weather and the day of the week, if 
 the day happened to be Friday. But, true to the 
 predictions of the night before, the market opened 
 firmer. Burrock was early on the scene. Fie 
 fancied he could trace the hand of a combination 
 trying to force prices, and satisfied himself that the 
 apparent strength was artificial and would not last.
 
 He concluded to unload a portion of his holdings, 
 and with the sale of his stock sold three hundred 
 shares of Derringforth s. The price obtained was 
 slightly below the cost, netting the latter a loss, with 
 interest and brokerage, of a trifle over ninety dollars. 
 An hour later the stock had sagged three quarters of 
 a point. The market finally became dull and weak, 
 and remained so throughout the day. 
 
 Derringforth was thankful that the three hundred 
 shares of his holdings had been sold. At the closing 
 price of Western Union he could dispose of the two 
 hundred shares he still held at a loss of something 
 over two hundred dollars. This, together with the 
 loss on the shares already sold, would make the trans 
 action show a net loss of a trifle over three hun 
 dred. This was the status of his second Wall Street 
 venture at the end of the day, and it did not furnish 
 a highly gratifying outlook with which to go to Mar 
 ion. But this was not the worst phase of the sit 
 uation. Van Stump had given another turn to the 
 twist. 
 
 After picking himself up, on the morning when 
 Derringforth threw him out of the office, Strum lost 
 no time in acquainting his master with all that had 
 occurred at the Derringforths . Van Stump was 
 white with anger. 
 
 "They shall pay dearly for this," he said, bring 
 ing his fist down upon the library table in a way that 
 emphasized his words. "I will bring that young
 
 dog to his knees he shall learn what it means to in 
 sult a representative of mine ! " 
 
 " It was very humiliating to be thrown in a heap," 
 sniveled Strum, rubbing his smarting knee. 
 
 " It s exasperating people I have been trying to 
 help, too I ll show them what is what. I ll crush 
 them to the earth yes, to the earth, the beggars ! 
 I ll take the conceit out of that young whelp. He 
 carries his head too high too high, Strum. You will 
 see his nose in the dust. I have wanted to get my 
 hands on him, and now the time has come. I have 
 another reason, too, for humbling the young upstart." 
 
 Had Strum succeeded in his effort to see the books 
 of the Derringforths, Van Stump would have known 
 exactly where to strike. It is one thing to get into 
 a rage and threaten to do a thing ; it is quite another 
 matter to do it. 
 
 But Van Stump s anger was aroused. He was 
 usually too cold to be moved outwardly. It was not 
 his regard for his agent in this instance that stirred 
 his wrath. Had it been some one other than Der- 
 ringforth who had thrown the sycophantic Strum out 
 of his office, Van Stump s coolness would have been 
 unperturbed. He knew of the relations between 
 Marion and Phil. Since she had become a favorite 
 in society he had acquainted himself with her history. 
 The fact that Derringforth s name was so closely as 
 sociated with hers caused him to feel a sense of power 
 over her, since his hand was at Derringforth s throat. 
 152
 
 Van Stump, like most bachelors of his type, was 
 not sensitive. It made little difference to him what 
 people said of him. He was Van Stump, in his own 
 consciousness Van Stump, the millionaire. What 
 need he care about the opinions of envious poverty 
 or the feelings of striplings, as he called young men, 
 whom he was wont to brush aside with an air of in 
 difference to their existence? 
 
 His money was a great big fact. He knew its 
 power and made use of it. The smile of a scheming 
 mother or the love glances of her fawning daughter 
 amused him. He liked all this, and talked the sweet 
 nonsense of youth. He knew that his money was 
 the target for aspiring poverty. 
 
 He always saw two faces the one fair and ingen 
 uous, in which the soul of true, sweet womanhood 
 shone with a look of trust in him of admiration for 
 him ; the other artful, cunning, cold, selfish an ex 
 pression that seemed to say, " You old fool ! how I 
 am humbugging you, but your gold is well worth the 
 sacrifice. It will be but a year or two, and you will 
 be under the sod, and the money once in my hands 
 the world will be mine." 
 
 But this did not affect Van Stump. His philoso 
 phy was greater than his cynicism. " It is all a game 
 of bluff," he had said to himself many times, "and 
 woman is not the only one that can play at it." 
 
 He liked to be with girls who had the beauty 
 and freshness of youth. For those who were begin-
 
 ning to drop back into the second tier he had no 
 time. They did not interest him. His object was 
 simply to be amused. He had no motive other than 
 this. There was no sentiment in his soul that reached 
 beyond the present. He had no attachments. One 
 life meant to him little more than another. The girl 
 who interested him most was the one from whom he 
 could get most. Persistence was a notable character 
 istic of his. He did not know the meaning of the 
 word rebuff. His assurance fitted him perfectly for 
 the part he played. 
 
 "If the striplings think me rude what need I 
 care?" he said to himself. " If some one yawns 
 mentally and wishes me at the bottom of the sea 
 what need I care ? If a girl amuses me I talk to 
 her and spend money on her. But I am not con 
 cerned as to whether I interest her or not. That is 
 her affair, not mine. If she avoids me, what is the 
 odds ? There are hundreds of others every year an 
 army of debutantes is let loose upon the world and 
 the clink of gold hath charms. With ten millions in 
 my pocket I shall never grow old. I may totter on 
 my staff and yet shall I be an Apollo. Money is al 
 ways in its prime, and since in a sense I am money, 
 I am and ever shall be in my prime. 
 
 Van Stump reduced everything to a basis of math 
 ematical calculation. There was no impulse no 
 soul in his nature. He never devoted attention to 
 any one without getting a quid pro quo for the time
 
 and money spent. New faces new affairs alone in 
 terested him. There was no stimulant no intoxi 
 cation in old associations. Whenever he began to 
 weary of a girl he dropped her. He felt no com 
 punction in doing this. 
 
 " She would do the same by me," he told himself, 
 " but suppose she wouldn t, what is the odds? I am 
 not in this thing for charity. I pay for all I get. I 
 buy whatever suits my fancy. The transaction is 
 cash. I run up no bills place myself under no 
 obligations keep no books. One day a certain 
 temperament suits my mood ; at another time a 
 different one gives me most pleasure ; that is all 
 there is of it." 
 
 Van Stump was not an anomaly. There are others 
 whose god is this same philosophy men who take 
 girls to the play, lavish flowers upon them, and en 
 tertain them regally not because of any deep ad 
 miration for them, or any innate desire to give them 
 pleasure, but because some such association is essential 
 to their own enjoyment. There is no generosity in 
 this. It is merely a cold business transaction an 
 investment of time and money that brings profitable 
 returns. 
 
 Van Stump saw much in Marion to admire. He 
 liked her bright face. Her conversation was clever 
 and sparkling ; there was laughter and mischief in 
 her eyes. 
 
 He had annoyed her with his attention ever since
 
 her debut in society. His persistence, when a sense 
 of decency should have told him that he was de trop, 
 exasperated her. Her dislike grew finally into de 
 testation, but her diplomatic mother had steadily 
 urged the desirability of hiding her feelings. She 
 had obeyed the injunction and made herself dis 
 creetly agreeable to Van Stump. But the fact of his 
 power over Derringforth added to his boldness, and 
 made him even more persistent with Marion than 
 with other girls. 
 
 He felt that he had a right to command her time, 
 and he made himself more offensive in his attention 
 than usual. Marion at length rebelled and declared 
 that she would not be tormented by him. " He is 
 the worst old boor," she said to her mother, "and 
 is so rude. No matter who is talking with me he 
 crowds his way up and simply monopolizes conver 
 sation with his stale compliments and threadbare, 
 sentimental rubbish. I am tired of it, and will not 
 submit to it any longer." 
 
 " I hope you will not be hasty, my dear," replied 
 her mother with a persuasive smile. "It is always 
 well to be discreet." 
 
 " Discretion isn t to be thought of any longer in 
 his case," returned Marion. "He doesn t know 
 the meaning of the word himself, and I shall not 
 know its meaning again where he is concerned." 
 
 She was not quite so brave at first as she thought 
 she would be ; yet true to her purpose she did snub 
 56
 
 him, and in a way that would have settled a man of 
 liner fiber. But it had no effect on Van Stump. He 
 laughed at the feebleness of the effort and pressed his 
 attention with malicious persistency. He had laughed 
 too soon. He did not know the spirit of the girl 
 he was tormenting. He made the discovery a little 
 later too late for his peace of mind. He had re 
 garded himself as too indifferent to be annoyed by 
 any girl, however she might choose to treat him. 
 Van Stump, in his estimation, Van Stump, the mill 
 ionaire, was impervious to any shafts of satire that a 
 woman might send at him. He could coolly laugh 
 at her fuming could enjoy as a mild joke the harm 
 less sputterings of her rage. 
 
 But he learned that there are exceptions learned 
 the smart of humiliation ; felt the sting of anger as it 
 burned into a consuming blaze. 
 
 Marion had tried to make herself understood 
 by gentle means, but she soon saw that diplomacy 
 was of no avail and determined to fence no fur 
 ther. 
 
 " I will not allow him to annoy me any more," 
 she told herself with a flash of fire in her eyes, and 
 then she told him the same thing. She spoke the 
 words coolly, but with a decision that was a revelation 
 to Van Stump. He had never met a girl before who 
 had the spirit to turn upon him, and for a minute he 
 was nonplussed. Then he began to laugh as if it were 
 a great joke, but her words rankled within him and 
 
 157
 
 he felt the tremor of anger forcing the perspiration 
 from his pores. 
 
 "Whenever you have finished laughing," she said 
 in a cuttingly satirical tone, "I shall make myself 
 even plainer. We have misunderstood each other 
 quite long enough, Mr. Van Stump." 
 
 One remark led to another until Van Stump had 
 seen a picture of himself that he could scarcely 
 recognize a picture that portrayed him as a con 
 summate boor a character so utterly selfish that he 
 could barely contain himself. All his boasted cool 
 ness and indifference deserted him. The bitterness 
 of his heart was stirred to its depths and the dregs 
 were poisonous.
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 IT was shortly after the occurrence of this spirited 
 scene between Marion and Van Stump that Strum 
 sought during Mr. Derringforth s absence to learn 
 from Phil the exact state of the firm s affairs. The 
 interview did not end quite as he had hoped hardly 
 as Van Stump had hoped. A somewhat lucid account 
 of the manner in which it terminated only served to 
 intensify Van Stump s anger. He had been thwarted 
 in his first move a move which had for its ultimate 
 purpose the humiliation of Marion. 
 
 Van Stump had made a careful survey of the situa 
 tion, and so far as he could discover, the ruin of Der- 
 ringforth was the only possible point of attack on her. 
 Her father was very rich, and her social position was 
 unquestioned. She had been exceptionally discreet, 
 and no word of scandal had ever been spoken against 
 her. 
 
 " There is but one way to humble her," he said to 
 himself, " and that is to crush Derringforth. And 
 after all, what is the odds? He is nothing to me, the 
 poor beggar.
 
 Van Stump s animus was aimed at Marion, but 
 when he learned that Derringforth had taken it upon 
 himself to thwart his purpose by unceremoniously 
 dumping Strum in a heap outside the office door, then 
 it was that his hatred for Derringforth blazed out. 
 
 " I will crush him into a shapeless mass," he hissed, 
 and the clinching of his fists added realism to his 
 words. 
 
 His usual discretion deserted him. He came out 
 from his hiding place and took a hand personally in 
 the investigation, in a round about way, of the affairs 
 of the Derringforths. He was too much in earnest to 
 sit at home and idly await the result of Strum s further 
 efforts. It would have been well for him had he done 
 so, but of this not now. 
 
 With the twenty thousand dollar note due to Strum, 
 as agent for Van Stump, paid and out of the way, the 
 Derringforths saw a glimmer of sunlight streaming in 
 through a rift in the clouds. It lighted up Mr. Der- 
 ringforth s face and would have had a similar effect 
 upon Phil but for other complications, an account of 
 which has already been given. 
 
 " There are three weeks of smooth sailing before us, 
 Phil," said Mr. Derringforth, settling himself back in 
 his big office chair with an air of relief. " Three 
 weeks it s a good while, but there is nothing that 
 will trouble us. If we were only free from that Shy- 
 lock, but well, he can t bother us until the next note 
 falls due." 
 
 1 60
 
 "And that is three weeks from now?" queried 
 Phil. 
 
 "Yes, and in the mean time I hope to make a 
 turn that will give us the money to take it up in 
 full." 
 
 It was Tuesday that this conversation occurred, the 
 day after Phil had pitched Strum out of the office. 
 On Friday, just three days later, the firm was para 
 lyzed by a blow from a friendly quarter. It came in 
 the shape of a peremptory demand for the immediate 
 payment of a large sum of money. Mr. Derringforth 
 was stunned at what seemed to him a cold blooded, 
 high handed procedure. Phil had never seen his father 
 so visibly affected before. He looked as if the last 
 friend had deserted him as if his confidence in hu 
 manity was gone. 
 
 I have paid this house hundreds of thousands of 
 dollars, as you know, Phil," he said, speaking as one 
 almost doubting his own senses, " and I should as 
 soon expect you or your mother to turn upon me in 
 this way. I can t understand it, I can t realize it 
 the Hayden National Iron Company a house that I 
 would have trusted with my very life." 
 
 " There is something at the bottom of this," said 
 Phil, scarcely less shocked than his father. 
 
 "There must be these people have been my 
 
 friends. They would not treat us in this way. They 
 
 knew exactly how we were pressed for money and told 
 
 me to take our own time for paying them. Your 
 
 161
 
 credit is good for any amount with us, said Mr. 
 Baldwin to me only last week." 
 
 " And he is the treasurer ? " said Phil. 
 
 " Yes, the treasurer. There is something wrong 
 somewhere, as you say," replied the father. " Some 
 thing wrong," he repeated to himself, looking as one 
 trying to peer into an impenetrable mystery.
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THERE seems to be an irony of fate that delights in 
 making things turn out strangely different from our 
 fancies. Marion went to the Harburys , feeling blue 
 and depressed. She expected a miserably stupid time, 
 and but for the prospect of a yet more dismal evening 
 at home alone, would have remained there. The party 
 was one of the events of the season ; it was the event 
 with Marion. 
 
 She had scarcely entered the room when a tall, 
 finely proportioned man was presented to her. He 
 was an Englishman, a cousin to Mrs. Harbury. Dev 
 onshire Richard Devonshire was his name. He had 
 been in America only three days, but was not slow 
 to discover the girl that appealed most strongly to 
 his fancy, and to her he devoted himself almost exclu 
 sively throughout the evening. 
 
 That girl was Marion. She had never met just such 
 a man before. He was a fascinating talker, a gratify 
 ing listener, and a gentleman of fine instincts. Marion 
 was charmed with him, and was conscious of a buoy 
 ancy of spirit that was an extreme rebound from the 
 163
 
 gloom of the early evening. She had never in all 
 her life appeared to better advantage. Her conver 
 sation was bright and sparkling, her manner imbued 
 with captivating enthusiasm, her beauty intoxi 
 cating. Devonshire hung upon her words with an 
 expression in his eyes that was an electric stimulus to 
 her. 
 
 They walked and talked and danced together, to 
 the envy of some, but to the delight of each other. 
 The conversation finally turned on England. Marion 
 said that she had been considering the matter of go 
 ing abroad with the beginning of Lent. " It all de 
 pends upon me," she added, "as papa and mama 
 are anxious to take the trip." 
 
 " I wish I could say something that would persuade 
 you to go," replied Devonshire. " I shall return my 
 self at about that time. 
 
 " Shall you? " exclaimed Marion, her eyes danc 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes, and if you will go, and it would be agree 
 able to you and your father and mother, I will 
 arrange to sail on the same steamer with you." 
 
 " Nothing would give us more pleasure, I am sure," 
 answered Marion. "The thought of having so 
 agreeable a fellow passenger almost persuades me," 
 she added, with a look that made the heart of the 
 Englishman beat faster. 
 
 " I think I could give you some pleasure in Eng 
 land. At all events I should esteem it a favor to be 
 164
 
 allowed to do anything in my power for your enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 " You are very, very kind. I wish I could say 
 now that I shall go, but I will let you know defi 
 nitely within a day or two. I really cannot decide 
 tonight."
 
 XXX. 
 
 IT was with an aching heart that Derringforth 
 ascended the brown stone steps of the Kingsleys . 
 His venture into Wall Street, instead of helping him, 
 had only added to his anxiety. It had already re 
 sulted in a small loss and the end was not yet. But 
 worse than this a thousand times worse, was the 
 crisis in the firm s affairs. 
 
 He would gladly give ten years of his life, it seemed 
 to him, for a little more time, but he had told 
 Marion that he was free for that evening and knew 
 that she would expect him. There was no reasonable 
 and satisfactory excuse to offer her for further delay. 
 No, there was no hope, he must go to her and ask 
 that the engagement be postponed or the idea aban 
 doned forever. The thought was torture to him, 
 but there was no other way. 
 
 He entered the drawing room, feeling like one 
 about to pass sentence upon himself. Marion came 
 down a minute later and greeted him in the old time, 
 cordial way. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you, Phil," she said. 
 166
 
 " And I am glad to see you," replied Derringforth, 
 taking both her hands in his. "I am always glad to 
 see you, little girl." There was feeling in the words 
 as he spoke them, though he tried to hide the gloom 
 of his soul, and be the light hearted boy of a year be 
 fore. 
 
 Marion led the way to the sofa. "I was afraid 
 you no longer cared to see me since you couldn t 
 come last evening," she answered. 
 
 " But it was impossible for me to come," he. re 
 plied. The words were out before he realized that 
 he was uttering a falsehood. The sound of the last 
 syllable had not died away when his conscience 
 thrust a picture before his eyes. It was a distorted 
 likeness of himself with the word "liar" written 
 obliquely across it. He winced and shifted his posi 
 tion, moving cautiously a few inches further away 
 from Marion. She made no reply for an instant. 
 The silence gave Derringforth time to feel a tremor 
 of contempt for himself. 
 
 Meantime Marion was doing a little thinking on 
 her own account. The thought flashed through her 
 mind that it was only the night before last when she 
 occupied precisely the same position on that same 
 sofa, and that Burton Edwards then sat where Phil 
 now sat. 
 
 Derringforth was wrought up to a highly sensitive 
 state. Nothing escaped him. The flush of her face 
 and the sudden confusion of her manner impressed 
 167
 
 themselves upon him with photographic accuracy. 
 He interpreted these outward signs as evidence of 
 contempt for him, fancying that she knew he had 
 said what was not true. The thought of deliberately 
 lying to Marion was revolting to his sense of manli 
 ness. 
 
 "It is the devil that is in me that spoke those 
 false words," he said to himself. " I never intended 
 to say anything of the sort. It was not impossible 
 for me to call." He was upon the point of confess 
 ing when Marion said : 
 
 " I was bitterly disappointed." She raised her 
 eyes. They met his, and a blush of self condemna 
 tion leaped to his face. 
 
 " I was right," cried Marion to herself, stung 
 by the pang of jealousy. "I was right," she re 
 peated; "there is something he is keeping from 
 me." 
 
 " I am very sorry," answered Derringforth, strug 
 gling to appear natural. " I wanted to come more 
 than you can realize, but you know you asked for a 
 few days delay, and so I went into a little business 
 venture with a friend." 
 
 Derringforth paused for an instant, and Marion, 
 supposing he had finished, said : 
 
 " I didn t think you would let business keep you 
 from coming to see me. Would it have kept you a 
 year ago, I wonder ? 
 
 There was something in the way this was said that 
 1 68
 
 sent a chill through Derringforth. Marion had tried 
 to speak kindly. It was that pang of jealousy that 
 keyed her vocal cords to harsher tones. He had in 
 tended to explain further about the business venture, 
 and also confess the falsehood that was rankling in his 
 soul. But he couldn t quite bring himself to do this 
 now. There was an involuntary tightening about the 
 cords of his heart. He answered guardedly, saying : 
 
 " I cannot always shape things quite to my liking. 
 I have already said that I wanted to spend the even 
 ing with you, and I waited till towards night to see 
 if I could not do so. In asking if I should have let 
 business keep me from you a year ago you imply 
 a doubt of my loyalty. 
 
 The word "loyalty" made Marion wince. Her 
 own heart was her accuser not Derringforth. " I 
 did not really mean that," she said nervously. 
 " I felt hurt and disappointed, and you gave no 
 reason for not coming you give none now not 
 quite enough, Phil, to satisfy a girl s heart. I didn t 
 feel a bit like going out, and fancied that we could 
 have such a quiet, good time at home. 
 
 "I am very sorry," answered Derringforth, melting 
 again into sunnier mood. " I am very sorry, but 
 hope my not coming did not spoil your evening." 
 
 " Oh, no, I went to the Harbury reception and had 
 a most delightful time." 
 
 "I am glad," returned Derringforth. "As it 
 turned out, then," he went on a trifle stiffly, " I hope 
 169
 
 you arc not sorry I couldn t come you would have 
 missed a good time, and now you have me with you 
 tonight." 
 
 Derringforth paused for an answer. Marion hesi 
 tated. She would not utter a falsehood, and she could 
 not w r ell say how glad she was that she went to the 
 party could not bring herself to tell Phil of Devon 
 shire and the delightful hours she had spent with him. 
 
 It was a trying moment for Marion. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon the carpet. Derringforth seyes were fixed 
 upon her. He was waiting. The flush on her cheek 
 and the nervous fumbling with her fan answered his 
 question. It could have been no plainer if put into 
 words. 
 
 The answer stung his pride and wounded him al 
 most to the death. 
 
 The blaze of the big lamp in the corner had crawled 
 up to a point that terminated in a shaft of smoke. 
 Derringforth saw it streaming high towards the ceiling 
 as ha raised his head with a stifled groan, searching for 
 something to break the painful silence. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, rising suddenly and starting 
 to cross the room. 
 
 Marion looked up and saw the smoke streaming from 
 the chimney. 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed, and in an instant was by 
 Derringforth s side. 
 
 "It s all right now," he said, as he reduced the 
 blaze beyond the possibility of further trouble. 
 170
 
 " I wonder I didn t see it," remarked Marion, at 
 the same time thanking heaven secretly for the relief 
 this trifling incident brought her. 
 
 " You were not looking in the right direction," re 
 plied Derringforth. " I am the one that should have 
 seen it before. 
 
 He turned towards her and looked down into her 
 eyes. His expression startled her, it was so unlike the 
 Phil of the old days. He took a piece of bric-a-brac 
 from the mantel with the remark, " This is something 
 new, is it not ? 
 
 " Yes," answered Marion, " and it is a very rare 
 specimen." 
 
 She eagerly seized the opportunity to turn the con 
 versation from the theme that had so embarrassed her. 
 
 "Very antique, strikes me," rejoined Derringforth, 
 apparently studying it with much interest. 
 
 " Yes, very antique. A friend of papa s brought it 
 from Europe only last week." 
 
 "Europe is full of interesting things," returned 
 Derringforth. " I feel that I should like to go abroad 
 and remain for an entire year, well away from business 
 and business annoyances." 
 
 This remark was made with the view of leading up 
 to his financial troubles. 
 
 " Oh, I wish you would go with us," said Marion, 
 with a sudden burst of enthusiasm and, it may be 
 said truthfully, with a thrill of delight even at the 
 thought. 
 
 171
 
 " Are you going?" asked Derringforth, looking 
 up quickly. 
 
 " Mama has been urging the matter." 
 
 The look that flashed into his eyes made her wish 
 that she had been more cautious. 
 
 " When shall you sail ? " he asked, trying to appear 
 indifferent. 
 
 " We may not sail at all. It is not settled yet," 
 answered Marion, more diplomatically. His expres 
 sion became grave and, Marion thought, a trifle stern. 
 He stood erect, tall, and dignified. All the boyish 
 lines of his face, it seemed to her, had yielded to the 
 strength of mature manhood. 
 
 " But when your mother urges anything isn t it as 
 good as settled ? " he said. 
 
 He had tried to disguise his feelings, but there was 
 a touch of sarcasm in his words that cut. 
 
 " Mama doesn t do all the thinking for the family. 
 Your remark is hardly complimentary," returned Ma 
 rion with considerable spirit. 
 
 " Pardon me, I didn t mean to be uncomplimen 
 tary," he said, returning with her to the sofa. "But 
 I have had good reason, as you know we have had 
 good reason to recognize the force of your mother s 
 will." 
 
 An expression of pain came into Marion s face. " I 
 am sure mama has never urged anything with me that 
 she did not believe best for me. No one knows this 
 better than you, Phil." 
 
 172
 
 "Yes, that is true, but one sometimes errs in judg 
 ment. It was just a year ago, little girl, that you and 
 I yielded to your mother s will. You can tell better 
 than I whether she or we were right. 
 
 Marion hesitated, thinking what answer to make. 
 She tapped her folded fan lightly against her forehead 
 as if to quicken thought. Why do you think I can 
 tell better than you ? " she asked, raising her eyes to 
 his in ingenuous query. 
 
 It was his turn to hesitate now, but at the end of 
 an. instant he answered : " Because I have never had 
 but one opinion yours may have changed." 
 
 " In all the years you have known me, Phil, you 
 have never found me so very changeable, have 
 you ? 
 
 The expression of her eyes and the appealing tones 
 of her voice made it plain to Derringforth that his 
 words had hurt, and they had. It was no easy matter 
 for her to keep back the tears. He felt that he would 
 like to take her in his arms and like a child cry with 
 her and for a time forget the past forget everything 
 but her. 
 
 " No, I have not," he said softly almost ten 
 derly. " Forgive me for the suggestion," and then 
 he killed the effect by an ill timed effort to justify 
 himself, adding, " but you know you have seen so 
 much of life during the year have had so many good 
 times have met so many men." 
 
 Marion looked up quickly with flushed face. The
 
 reference to the good times she had had and the men 
 she had met startled her. Derringforth saw the color 
 in her cheeks and misinterpreted its meaning, fancy 
 ing that he had again offended her. But not knowing 
 just how to help matters he said nothing, trusting to 
 luck for an improvement in the situation. 
 
 A little silence and a good deal of thought followed. 
 Marion was the first to speak. She had regained her 
 composure, but the sting of her conscience was still 
 felt, and the fear that perhaps he knew more of her 
 flirtations than he had admitted prompted caution. 
 
 "You have been quite as free to meet girls as I 
 have men," she said, bringing him forward as the 
 subject of discussion, " and since they have not influ 
 enced your opinion, why should the acquaintances I 
 have made influence mine? " 
 
 " But I have met scarcely any one," replied Der 
 ringforth, not altogether sure that luck had served 
 him especially well. At all events this was a turn to 
 the conversation that he had not expected. 
 
 " You have never told me anything about the girls 
 you have met," pursued Marion, in justification of 
 her own omission to inform Derringforth of the de 
 licious little flirtations she had had. 
 
 " There has been nothing worth the telling." 
 
 " Oh, Phil," she said, with a captivating little gest 
 ure that should have made him own up to anything, 
 true or false. 
 
 " There has not," he repeated, unmoved.
 
 " Don t blush so about it or I shall really believe 
 there is something that you don t want me to know." 
 She was far more serious than her manner indicated. 
 Derringforth was angry at himself, but the color grew 
 deeper. 
 
 Marion smiled. It was that sort of smile that irri 
 tated him. Derringforth shifted his position and ap 
 peared ill at ease, all of which had a tendency to con 
 firm Marion s suspicions. It fed the slight feeling of 
 jealousy already awakened. 
 
 " It seems to me we are drifting away from the 
 subject," remarked Derringforth, in the effort to free 
 himself. 
 
 "Yes, drifting to a rather more interesting sub 
 ject," answered Marion. 
 
 " Not to me." 
 
 " But to me." 
 
 " Suppose we take them up in order, then, and re 
 turn to the one with which we began ? I believe we 
 were trying to determine whether the year that has 
 just closed has proved your mother s judgment to be 
 right or wrong. 
 
 " Yes, but can we be sure either the one way or the 
 other ? " 
 
 " I don t understand you." 
 
 " I mean to say that without further knowledge of 
 the future I can t see that we can say positively that 
 mama was wrong or that we were right. I am sure 
 you will admit this."
 
 "I don t know that I shall," answered Derring- 
 forth, with the growing suspicion that Marion was 
 parrying with him and that her views had changed 
 a good deal more than she was willing to admit. The 
 thought increased his reserve. 
 
 " Then if we can t agree, what is the object of dis 
 cussing the question, and what good can come of it, 
 since we can t recall the past ? " 
 
 The errors of the past are guides to the future, 
 returned Derringforth sententiously. 
 
 " Very true." 
 
 " Then why is there nothing to be gained by the 
 discussion ? 
 
 " Because we cannot, it seems to me, settle the 
 question as to who was in the wrong." 
 
 " Perhaps you don t want to settle it," said Der 
 ringforth coldly. 
 
 The words left a bitter sting. They were nearer 
 the truth than she was willing to acknowledge to her 
 self, even. But it was the way they were spoken that 
 hurt most. Her face flushed. Derringforth watched 
 her expression with keen eyes. The heightened col 
 or, the hesitation, the evident disquietude, all tended 
 to confirm him in his suspicion that Marion had wa 
 vered in her steadfastness. 
 
 He had come to her with the intention of telling 
 her everything about his troubles of telling her of 
 his struggles to free himself from the grasp of a Shy- 
 lock of telling her of the torture he had suffered in 
 176
 
 the thought that perhaps Burton Edwards was winning 
 her love, and of finally saying to her that it was he 
 who must now ask that the engagement be postponed, 
 or perhaps abandoned forever. He had come with the 
 belief that she would be true to her purpose of a year 
 before, but the conversation thus far had led him to 
 suspect that he was mistaken. He turned so that he 
 could place his arm upon the back of the sofa. He 
 put his hand to his throbbing temples. The position 
 brought his face directly towards Marion s. Neither 
 spoke for a time. In the soft light, and in a becoming 
 evening gown, so fashioned that it revealed a glimpse 
 of a white, round neck, she was very pretty. Der- 
 ringforth thought of the past and of the happiness they 
 had had together ; of the happy life they had planned to 
 live together. She was handsomer now, as he saw her, 
 than ever before. He had never craved her love so 
 much as at this instant. To give her up to think of 
 her as the wife of another no, no, he could not do 
 this ; the thought was maddening. He was miserably 
 unhappy. 
 
 Marion was equally unhappy. The conversation 
 had drifted in a way that neither expected that 
 neither desired. The love of their hearts had been 
 forced back into deep recesses where its light could 
 not be reflected in the eye ; where its sweetness could 
 not add music to the voice. 
 
 Marion, too, thought of the past of the simple 
 days of childhood of Phil as he was then as he had 
 177
 
 been all their lives. Her breast heaved with a sup 
 pressed sigh and she raised her face to his. The soft, 
 appealing look in her eyes penetrated almost beyond 
 the reserve that incased his true nature. Oh, that he 
 had had the breadth and sweetness of soul to lift him 
 self above himself, and, forgetting miserable pride, had 
 reached out his hands to her. She would have taken 
 them eagerly in the spirit in which they were given, 
 responding with all the wealth of her heart with all 
 the depth of her love. One word from him would 
 have been enough, and all the world in her eyes 
 would have been as nothing compared with him. 
 One word from her would have caused him to forget 
 everything in life but her would have filled his soul 
 with happiness sweeter and purer and deeper than all 
 else of the treasures of earth. God must have turned 
 away sorrowing that that word was not spoken. 
 
 Once or twice it hovered on Derringforth s lips; 
 once or twice it hovered on Marion s lips. If each 
 could have seen deep into the heart of the other their 
 two lives would have blended into one. There would 
 have been mutual confidence mutual confidings, and 
 love would have softened and sweetened and made 
 radiant the soul of each. 
 
 But their better impulses were forced back, and two 
 hearts moaned piteously. 
 
 " If your mother was right a year ago," said 
 Derringforth, finally breaking the silence, " why 
 shouldn t she wish the same policy to prevail for 
 178
 
 another year and perhaps yet another, and maybe still 
 another? " 
 
 "Mama thinks she was right," answered Marion 
 softly. 
 
 That makes the matter clearer, replied Derring- 
 forth. His voice was not quite steady, though he 
 was steeling himself against all emotion. 
 
 The situation for both Derringforth and Marion 
 was a complicated one. Had he been in a position 
 to become engaged he would have reached the subject 
 in a direct way. He had come with the intention of 
 telling in a straightforward manner of his almost 
 hopeless financial condition, but the unfortunate open 
 ing of the conversation chilled him. He was in a 
 highly sensitive state, due to the strain and anxiety 
 that had reduced him almost to the verge of nervous 
 prostration, and readily became secretive, thinking 
 it better to draw Marion out before opening his heart 
 to her. 
 
 Marion, on the other hand, was at a disadvantage 
 from the start. She knew nothing of his misfortunes, 
 and felt hurt, as a proud spirited girl should, at his 
 seeming indifference. He had not been himself for 
 months. She had seen very little of him, and they 
 had drifted further and further apart as the weeks 
 went by. She blamed him, and had a right to blame 
 him, not knowing the struggle he was undergoing. 
 Had he confided in her he would have drawn her 
 towards him and she would have drawn him towards 
 179
 
 her. There would have been mutual confidence, and 
 the love that began away back in childhood would 
 have continued to grow deeper and fuller and riper. 
 The passion of the human heart cannot live on air ; 
 will not thrive on memory. 
 
 Marion was scarcely less sensitive than Derring- 
 forth, and detecting his diplomatic tactics, felt that 
 his treatment was cold and cruel. But she had too 
 much pride to let him know her thoughts, and follow 
 ing his example became equally diplomatic equal 
 ly cold and indifferent. They were at cross pur 
 poses. Neither understood the other ; each blamed 
 the other. 
 
 One thing was plain to Marion, and that was Der- 
 ringforth s desire to find out, without committing 
 himself, her feeling regarding the engagement. This 
 was not manly, not generous, not right. It annoyed 
 her, and she determined that he should never know 
 without asking her. 
 
 He, on the other hand, could not ask her to engage 
 herself to him, situated as he was ; and if he were to 
 confess his inability to assume such responsibilities he 
 fancied he would never know her mind regarding the 
 matter. With the almost positive knowledge that 
 her mother would wish her to continue free, and with 
 the belief, resting largely, to be sure, on an interpre 
 tation of misleading acts and utterances, that she her 
 self was anxious to avoid the engagement, he vowed 
 that he would say nothing of his own affairs. 
 180
 
 "I have kept faith," he reflected, " and with no 
 prospect of an engagement why should I humiliate 
 myself before her ? It was my place to tell her every 
 thing, as I intended to, had she proved herself worthy 
 of my confidence." 
 
 A half hour later Derringforth went out into the 
 night. The parting was formal not warm, not frigid, 
 but excessively polite.
 
 XXXI. 
 
 THE click of the door closing behind Derringforth 
 brought him to a realizing sense of his position. He 
 was not only shut out from Marion s presence, but 
 with equal truth, it seemed to him, shut out from her 
 heart. He had no sooner reached the street than he 
 stopped and looked back, in the vain hope that he 
 might yet see her face. He was upon the point of 
 turning back with the impulse to implore her for 
 giveness to beg for the assurance of her love when 
 the door was thrown open. It was not Marion, come 
 to recall him, but a servant, who an instant later 
 closed the heavy outer doors. Derringforth gazed 
 longingly at the house. His head drooped ; his 
 shoulders sagged. 
 
 Marion hurried to her own room, and in the dark 
 ness went quickly to the window and looked out, with 
 the hope that she might yet see Derringforth. She 
 looked down the street to a point where she imagined 
 he would be, but saw no one. She turned to the 
 other side of the bay window and looked in the op 
 posite direction, but was not rewarded with the sight 
 182
 
 of him she sought. She returned to her original 
 position and again peered into the gray, misty dark 
 ness. Her heart cried out with disappointment and 
 bitter anguish. She threw herself upon a hassock 
 at the base of the window, and with her head resting 
 upon her hand still looked far down the street. 
 
 A heavy mist, that was almost rain, made the at 
 mosphere wet and cold. Marion shuddered, chilled 
 by the sight and by a sense of loneliness so keen that 
 the tears stole down her white cheeks. She wiped 
 them away with her handkerchief, and in doing this 
 cast her eyes downward. 
 
 At that instant Derringforth threw up his hands in 
 a pathetic gesture that seemed to say, "It is all over 
 there is no longer any hope;" and he turned away, 
 bent forward with a burden of sorrow that was crush 
 ing out all the spirit of his young life. 
 
 Marion was stunned dumb, helpless for an instant, 
 and then she raised the window and called to the man 
 she loved to come back to her. But he heard her 
 not. 
 
 Marion sank again upon the hassock and gave way 
 to deep, bitter, cruel sobbing. 
 
 The angel of love had again taken the hands of 
 these two and stretched them forth till they almost 
 touched. But the chasm was not quite spanned 
 the currents of love not reunited, and each turned 
 away, hopeless.
 
 XXXII. 
 
 EARLY the following morning Marion received a 
 note from Richard Devonshire, asking if he might 
 not call upon her during the forenoon. It was a 
 straightforward request, written in a manly, clear cut 
 hand. 
 
 "I can t see him," she exclaimed, thrusting the 
 note away from her. " I must not see him again, I 
 must not." 
 
 She leaned languidly upon the arm of her chair 
 and pondered. Her eyes were fixed upon the carpet 
 in a vacant stare. The maid s presence was forgot 
 ten. But the latter very soon recalled her from her 
 reverie, saying, " The boy is waiting for an answer, 
 Miss Marion." 
 
 " Tell him there is no answer," said Marion, almost 
 peevishly. 
 
 The maid closed the door and started to do her 
 bidding. 
 
 Marion hurried to the stairs and called her back 
 with the remark that she must say something. She 
 went to her desk and wrote : 
 184
 
 MY DEAR MR. DEVONSHIRE : I am very sorry, but 
 it will be impossible for me to see you this forenoon, 
 and unfortunately every hour of the day and evening 
 is engaged. You are very kind to suggest calling. 
 I wish it were so that I could receive you, but 
 
 Here Marion paused. Her penholder found its 
 way to her mouth, and she bit it very hard with her 
 pretty white teeth in the effort to solve the problem. 
 She got up, went to the table, picked up Devonshire s 
 letter and returned with it to her writing desk. She 
 read it again. 
 
 " It s really very nice of him to want to see me," 
 she reflected. " He is such a charming man, and so 
 handsome. I should be so sorry to offend him, and 
 I am afraid he would be offended if I should refuse 
 to see him. But I don t want to see him I can t 
 see him, and yet really I ought to, I suppose. Mama 
 would wish me to, I am sure." 
 
 She turned her head and saw the maid staring at 
 her in dumb surprise. She felt a tremor of nervous 
 ness, and wished the girl would leave her. She took 
 up the unfinished note and tore it into a thousand 
 pieces, a rosy tint spreading over her face. Then 
 she began a second letter. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. DEVONSHIRE : I am very glad that 
 you have not forgotten me. 
 
 She held up the paper and read thus much, and 
 then did some more thinking. " I am glad," she
 
 said to herself, " I am glad that he hasn t forgotten 
 me. No girl likes to be forgotten by a nice man the 
 minute she is out of his sight. I wonder what he 
 wants. I wonder but I shall never know if I refuse 
 to see him, and would it be treating him right to do 
 so? It can do no harm to see him. I don t want 
 him to call. I wished he had not asked me to let 
 him call; but now that he has done so, I don t like 
 to offend him, and Mrs. Harbury she too might 
 be offended." 
 
 The note was finally finished, and an hour later Mr. 
 Richard Devonshire was in Marion s presence.
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH turned away from before Marion s 
 home in despair. He had stood there for hours, it 
 seemed to him, but minutes were hours at that bitter 
 moment. The unseemly haste in closing the outer 
 doors and turning off the lights as soon as he was out 
 of the house, sent a cold shudder through him. It 
 was not late. The neighboring residences were still 
 cheerful and bright with illumination. Between 
 them stood the Kingsley home, somber and gloomy. 
 
 Derringforth turned > his eyes towards Marion s 
 room, hoping, even yet, that a light would appear in 
 her window for him that he might see her face, or 
 in some way be assured that she still thought of him 
 still loved him. But the longing of his heart was 
 not satisfied. All was darkness. 
 
 Life had never been so black and bleak and dreary 
 as at this instant. The foundations that he had built 
 upon had crumbled and tottered before his eyes. 
 That hope which had been his life which had given 
 to it sweetness and inspiration and enthusiasm was 
 dead. 
 
 187
 
 He walked on and on in the cold, wet night, suf 
 fering as only a sensitive, sincere nature can suffer. 
 The pain was so keen that he could scarcely bear it ; 
 death would be a welcome relief. 
 
 " What is there left to me ? " he cried. " With 
 Marion there was everything ; without her there is 
 nothing." 
 
 He had wandered far over towards the East River, 
 and was walking through a gruesome part of the town. 
 He had turned up one street and down another with 
 no definite purpose, with no care for his whereabouts, 
 when suddenly he was awakened from his reverie by 
 the discovery that he was being followed. His pur 
 suer was almost upon him when Derringforth came to 
 a realizing sense of his danger, and in a flash all the 
 unhealthy desire for death vanished from his mind. 
 The instinct of self preservation sprang to the front 
 with as keen a desire for life as Derringforth had ever 
 known. Marion and all his troubles were instantly 
 forgotten, and his whole mind was alert for some way 
 to escape the peril which threatened him. 
 
 He quickened his pace gradually. By this means 
 he widened the gap between himself and his pursuer. 
 But within another minute he was made aware of 
 greater danger. A low whistle sounded from the op 
 posite side of the way and a little in advance of him. 
 Instantly the man behind made a dash forward, while 
 another ran across the street to cut off escape. The 
 two were closing in upon Derringforth. 
 188
 
 It was a critical moment. To turn back would 
 land him in the hands of the enemy. To go forward 
 would bring about a similar result. Derringforth 
 thought quickly. The man in front, club in hand, 
 was almost upon him. Derringforth sprang for him 
 and forced the fight. In a flash the club had been 
 struck from his hand by Derringforth s heavy cane, 
 and a quick blow across the head sent him reeling to 
 the ground with a cry that pierced the darkness and 
 awakened a slumbering policeman on the corner be 
 low. The shriek from his confederate terrified the 
 other assailant, and instead of bringing his sandbag 
 down upon Derringforth he turned and ran for his 
 life. 
 
 Derringforth pursued him with the speed of a 
 sprinter, and had almost run him to earth, when the 
 awakened policeman joined in the chase and captured 
 him. Derringforth explained the situation, and with 
 the officer hurried back to where the other man had 
 fallen. He lay there still, half stunned by the heavy 
 blow he had received. The policeman lifted him to 
 his feet, and in a few minutes Derringforth s assailants 
 were on the way to the station house. 
 
 It was past midnight. The heavy mist had de 
 veloped into rain. The air was chilly and penetrat 
 ing, but Derringforth did not feel it. The incident 
 with the footpads had sent the warm, young blood 
 bounding through his veins. A healthy glow was 
 upon his face. His shoulders had regained their 
 189
 
 usual position. He walked erect as he made his way 
 homeward. There was a decision and swing in his 
 movement that suggested strength and power sug 
 gested the man in his own consciousness and in fact. 
 
 The contrast with the Derringforth of half an hour 
 before was marvelous. Then he was wandering aim 
 lessly, he knew not and cared not whither. His 
 shoulders were bent forward, his head drooped, his 
 step was slow and uncertain. He had reached that 
 degree of despair when death began to appeal to him 
 as the only source of deliverance from a misery that 
 it seemed to him he could never endure. The 
 thought once gaining access to his mind, it began 
 to possess him, and in a cold, unnatural, unhealthy 
 sense comfort him. 
 
 There is a strange inclination in human nature to 
 make a luxury of misery to dwell upon it and paint 
 it, in morbid fancy, in its most harrowing, most 
 direful, most dreadful colors in its most dramatic 
 and disheartening and gruesome aspects. This is 
 especially true of women, but men are not free from 
 it ; Derringforth was not free from it. 
 
 It is a novel experience to be suddenly confronted 
 with death just when one is yearning for it. It rare 
 ly makes its appearance at such a time. The dif 
 ference between the real thing and the mawkish fancy 
 of a disordered mind is so great that one should be 
 excused if, in unseemly haste, he abandons his desire 
 to pass beyond into the unknown. 
 190
 
 We excuse Derringforth and rejoice that his life 
 was threatened by these two murderous scoundrels. 
 Nothing could have brought him to his senses more 
 effectually nothing could have given him a fuller 
 realization of his folly. 
 
 He shuddered at the possibility of what might 
 have happened but for this incident. The thought 
 of his father, struggling along alone under a crushing 
 load, and the picture of his mother, pale and broken 
 hearted, racked his soul with deepest emotion. It 
 gave him a conception of his own selfishness that 
 frightened him. 
 
 The encounter with the footpads was so heroic a 
 treatment that it did more for Derringforth than six 
 months would ordinarily have done for him. It was 
 a tremendous shock, a tremendous struggle, a tre 
 mendous awakening. He was stronger and braver 
 and better able to bear the sorrow of his life because 
 of it.
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 A YEAR of struggle had wrought a change in Der- 
 ringforth, but he was still the boy when he called on 
 Marion to tell her that the engagement must be post 
 poned, and, like a boy, sensitive, petulant, almost 
 childish, he was swayed by foolish pride. 
 
 When he entered his office the following morning 
 there was a quiet determination in his face that sug 
 gested the man. The turbulent spirit of the boy had 
 vanished, and in its place had come a certain firmness 
 a grim stoicism. 
 
 A close observer might have detected a trace of 
 recklessness in his manner might have fancied, too, 
 from the somewhat dogged way in which he went 
 about his work, that the sweeter elements of his nat 
 ure had petrified into unyielding rigidness. There 
 was a slight suggestion of cynicism about the mouth, 
 and an expression in the eyes that was almost stern 
 perhaps more cold than stern perhaps more pathetic 
 than cold. 
 
 A crisis stared the Derringforths in the face this 
 morning. The heavy hand of the Hay den National 
 192
 
 Iron Company was raised to strike them down. 
 Behind that hand was Van Stump. In his search 
 for some means to crush the Derringforths, he dis 
 covered that they were large debtors of the Hayden 
 Company. The latter was a corporation whose stock 
 was listed on the New York exchange. It was, 
 therefore, an easy matter for him to buy a control 
 ling interest. The business was prosperous, and the 
 purchase would not only prove a paying investment, 
 but would serve his purpose regarding the Derring 
 forths. 
 
 At the end of a couple of days he was in a position 
 to dictate to the management of the Hayden Com 
 pany, and the very first stroke of his hand was 
 leveled at the Derringforths. The amount of the 
 claim was sixty seven thousand, four hundred dollars. 
 
 The Derringforths had not expected to be called 
 upon for this money. They had in fact been told to 
 take their own time for paying it, and had accord 
 ingly felt easy in this quarter. All their energies had 
 been bent towards freeing themselves from the Shy- 
 lock who had brought them to the very verge of 
 bankruptcy. But the demand from the Hayden 
 people was couched in language that left no doubt of 
 its meaning. Van Stump not only wanted to humili 
 ate young Derringforth, but was anxious to crush the 
 firm. The collaterals he held, for money advanced, 
 were improving steadily. With a better feeling 
 in financial circles, the Derringforths would soon be
 
 able to raise money on them through legitimate 
 channels, and then he would lose the securities that 
 he greedily coveted. It was, therefore, important to 
 him that the blow be struck without delay. 
 
 " Sixty seven thousand dollars will smash them," 
 lie muttered, gloating over the fancied downfall. 
 "A clever move, getting hold of this Hayden busi 
 ness," he went on, smiling at his own cunning, " a 
 very clever move. It will crush them so flat that 
 they will never rise again." 
 
 From the Derringforths his mind drifted to Marion, 
 and a look of cruel triumph came into his hard, cold 
 face. " You shall rue the day, young woman, that 
 you ever snubbed me," he hissed. 
 
 Van Stump had presumed too much on the meek 
 ness and weakness of the Derringforths. A new spirit 
 had entered the firm. Mr. Derringforth had magni 
 fied the importance of protecting his name. His 
 sensitiveness and pride on this point amounted to little 
 short of weakness. Phil had, from the first, ques 
 tioned the advisability of bolstering up a name by 
 such ruinous expedients as his father had resorted to. 
 He had protested mildly from time to time, but his 
 protestations had been those of a boy ; now they were 
 those of a man. He was in no mood for conciliating 
 ugly creditors. 
 
 " I think we have had quite enough of this defen 
 sive policy," he said to his father. He spoke in a 
 quiet, decisive way that lent force to his words. 
 194
 
 " In the effort to save our name we have ruined it. 
 From the minute we placed ourselves at the mercy of 
 that miserable Shylock from that minute we were 
 doomed. It was a mistake. I thought so at the 
 time ; I know it now." 
 
 " It was a mistake, Phil, you are right," responded 
 Mr. Derringforth. "But we can t retrace our 
 steps," he continued. "We can t undo the mis 
 takes of the past. We must meet the situation as it 
 is today, and it is very grave. 
 
 "The past is dead," said Phil. "Let us forget 
 it." 
 
 There was indescribable gloom, indescribable reso 
 lution in these words, as he spoke them. They told a 
 story that pierced the father s heart. Neither spoke 
 for an instant. Phil was the first to break the silence. 
 
 "Let us face the future without sentiment," he 
 said, " and meet the situation boldly. If we had only 
 done this a year ago we should not be where we are 
 today. There wasn t a creditor then who would not 
 have cheerfully given us time to turn around in. We 
 could have made a showing that would have satisfied 
 every one of our ability to pay, and of the profitable 
 business we were doing. But what might have been is 
 neither here nor there. It is no longer a question of 
 pride, but one of expediency. This ugly demand from 
 the Hayden Company has worried you until you are 
 sick ; it has made me mad. We have done the walk 
 ing long enough ; now let somebody else do it.
 
 Mr. Derringforth was astounded at the change in 
 Phil. His manner, and the aggressive spirit he mani 
 fested, were a revelation to the father. 
 
 It was only after a prolonged protest that the man 
 agement of the Hayden Company yielded to Van 
 Stump s dictation for forcing a settlement from the 
 Derringforths. On receipt of a reply from the lat 
 ter the Hayden management felt as if it had run up 
 against a stone wall. The letter, which was inspired 
 by young Derringforth, ran as follows : 
 
 HAYDEN NATIONAL IRON COMPANY : 
 
 DEAR SIRS Comment on your action of yester 
 day is hardly necessary. You can perhaps imagine our 
 opinion of a house that would take the position you 
 have taken, considering the years we have dealt 
 together, and the assurances we have had from you 
 upon which assurances much of the business be 
 tween us was done. Whether you can imagine it or 
 not, it matters little. But what we wish to say is 
 and this we desire to emphasize that there is some 
 doubt, in our minds, about your ability to make an 
 immediate collection of sixty seven thousand, four hun 
 dred dollars from this house. You may understand the 
 situation better than we do, but, as we see it, we are 
 persuaded that, if you attempt the measures you fore 
 shadow, you will begin a walk that will prove a long 
 and wearisome one to you. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 DERRINGFORTH & DERRINGFORTH. 
 
 The letter was at once forwarded to Van Stump for 
 196
 
 his edification and advice. There was a mingling of 
 contempt and sarcasm and defiance in it that he little 
 expected from the Derringforths. He was livid with 
 rage, and stormed about his library in a way that terri 
 fied Strum.
 
 XXXV. 
 
 IT was no easy matter for Derringforth to bring his 
 father around to a fighting standpoint. But the young 
 man had developed a strength of will that prevailed in 
 the end, and the letter to the Hayden Company rep 
 resented the now dominating spirit of the Derring- 
 forths. 
 
 The condition of their affairs called for vigorous and 
 extraordinary measures. A survey of the situation 
 made it clear that some one should go West, to put 
 certain property in such shape that it would be safe 
 from attack. Mr. Derringforth was too nearly worn 
 out to attempt the journey. He was actually ill, and 
 ought not to have been at business. The only alterna 
 tive was that Phil should go, and at six o clock that 
 night he stepped aboard the train at the Grand Cen 
 tral Station, bound for Nebraska. 
 
 Before going, he called on Burrock to talk over the 
 situation in Wall Street. 
 
 " The market has rallied a good deal today," said 
 Burrock. " It has developed a strength that few men 
 looked for. My advice is that you hang on to West- 
 198
 
 ern Union. While you are away I will look after your 
 interests for you." 
 
 " All right," replied Derringforth. " You know I 
 always act on your advice. But be sure not to let me 
 lose very much on the deal. I m the next thing to a 
 bankrupt." 
 
 It was a relief to Derringforth to get away from 
 New York, and to feel that three full days stretched 
 out before him, without a hand s turn to be done 
 no notes to pay, no mail to answer, no accounts to 
 audit nothing but nothingness. The last twenty 
 four hours had been so long and so full that he felt 
 older by a score of years. Until now he had not 
 had a minute to reflect calmly upon all that had 
 occurred. His suffering had been so keen, so deep, 
 and so cruel that, it seemed to him, it never could 
 have been compressed into a single day. 
 
 In memory he went back to the previous night, and 
 saw Marion enter the room to greet him. He could 
 feel her hands in his could see himself beside her on 
 the sofa. But how far back it all seemed, and yet 
 the pain of his heart was that of a fresh wound. He 
 thought of every word she had spoken and of every 
 look she had given him. The scene stood out vividly 
 before him. Once he suddenly reached forth his 
 hands as if stretching them out to her. It was at that 
 point where he had almost asked her forgiveness, 
 almost begged for her love. A look of tenderness 
 came into his eyes, and the rigid lines of resolution 
 199
 
 about his mouth began to relax. For a little time 
 the old hopeful, pleasant smile was on his lips. The 
 stern determination vanished, and he was a boy again. 
 
 But as his mind wandered on, and the breach 
 between Marion and himself widened as he saw 
 himself leaving her with a formal good night saw 
 himself stopping, after reaching the street, and turn 
 ing back, swayed by love too powerful to yield longer 
 to his pride as these thoughts surged through his 
 mind, and he saw the house suddenly darkened, his 
 expression changed. A stony resolution came into 
 his eyes, and the light of love and hope and sweetness 
 faded from his face. 
 
 The devil if there be such a creation has a very 
 bad habit of doing things, at times, that he ought not 
 to. He is popularly supposed to inspire all evil acts 
 and to perform, personally, an overwhelming propor 
 tion of them. If it be so that he does all this, the 
 activity of his majesty commands our admiration, and 
 paralyzes our comprehension. He is certainly very 
 great in his line. 
 
 But there is a suspicion, in the minds of some 
 people, who think a little now and again, that it 
 would be a trifle more just if humanity, as a whole, 
 would to some extent divide with this satanic genius 
 the responsibility for some of the thoughts that go 
 astray from the canons of morality and purity 
 divide with him the responsibility for an occasional 
 censurable act.
 
 There are some things credited to him, however, 
 that look very suspicious assuming, of course, that 
 he is what he is supposed to be. One of these is his 
 trick of stepping in at a critical moment, and turning 
 the current of one s thoughts in a way that perhaps 
 changes the whole life. 
 
 For example, Marion was reassured of Derringforth s 
 love by the discovery that he had waited so long out 
 side the house, after she had said good night to him. 
 She interpreted his motives perfectly, and her own 
 love went out to him. In the morning she started to 
 write and tell him all. She had written but a few 
 sentences, when the note from Devonshire was handed 
 to her. 
 
 This was a crisis in her life. She had turned 
 towards Derringforth, and, left to herself, the im 
 pulses of her heart, and the true, womanly instincts 
 of her nature, would have led her to him. But she 
 was not left to work out her destiny in her own way, 
 guided by love. 
 
 It was at this critical point that the devil began to 
 get in his work. Richard Devonshire became the in 
 strumentality through which his satanic majesty gained 
 touch with Marion. The result may be inferred 
 from the following letter, which was written several 
 days after Derringforth had started for the West. 
 
 DEAR PHIL : I can t go away without telling you 
 that I am going. I hope I shall not have to go 
 without seeing you. I said something, you know,
 
 the last time you were here about the possibility of 
 our going to Europe. We have decided to go, and 
 shall sail Thursday, one week from today. We may 
 be away a long time perhaps more than a year, as 
 papa wishes to spend next winter in Egypt. I hope 
 you will come to see me. I cannot go away happy, 
 without seeing you. There is so much I want to say 
 to you there was so much I wanted to say to you, 
 the last time you called, but, as you know, there was 
 an atmosphere of constraint that made us both untrue 
 to ourselves. I hope you will forgive me, and come 
 to see me. 
 
 As ever, 
 
 MARION. 
 
 If our tickets were not already bought, I should 
 rebel, even now, against going. 
 
 This letter was sent to Derringforth s office, and 
 from there it was forwarded to Nebraska. Before it 
 reached him, Derringforth had left for Dakota. The 
 letter was again sent after him, but before it had 
 overtaken him, he started East, having been sum 
 moned home by a telegram, informing him of the 
 serious illness of his father. 
 
 Mr. Derringforth had dragged himself down to 
 the office for several days after Phil went away, but 
 finally he gave up and took to his bed. His illness 
 speedily developed into pneumonia, and he had no 
 reserve force with which to combat the disease. He 
 Avas worn out in body and mind from worry, and the 
 struggle he had undergone. The blow from the Hay- 
 den Company was the final stroke that crushed him.
 
 He was barely alive when Phil reached home. He 
 had fixed his mind, it seemed, on holding on to life 
 long enough to see his boy once more. He had 
 prayed that this wish might be granted, and had 
 asked often for the time, as if calculating the number 
 of minutes before Phil would come. 
 
 Mrs. Derringforth met her son at the door. One 
 hurried glance of inquiry at her eyes, and his heart 
 sank within him. She led him softly to his father s 
 side. A smile lighted up the dying man s face when 
 he felt the pressure of Phil s hand. He opened his 
 eyes and looked into Phil s. The son pressed his 
 lips to his father s forehead. The father tried to 
 speak. "My boy," flickered on his lips, and he 
 was gone.
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 MARION sailed without receiving any response to 
 the letter she had sent Derringforth. A week of 
 waiting and hoping ended in disappointment, and 
 she went on board the steamer with listless tread. She 
 had never known deeper depression had never faced 
 gloom so dense. 
 
 The fancies of pleasures abroad, that had won her 
 consent to go, had lost all their charm. They were 
 as dull and cheerless as the morning. A nasty east 
 wind was blowing, and a great gray mass of fog hung 
 over the city and shut in the ship. Marion could 
 scarcely have felt more oppressed if she were going 
 to her doom. When she had passed up the gang 
 plank she stopped and looked back with the hope, 
 even yet, that she might see Derringforth. She could 
 not believe that he would allow her to go away with 
 out taking her by the hand and wishing her God 
 speed. It was not like him to be unforgiving not 
 like him to be rude ; and the failure to answer her 
 note was rudeness. 
 
 At this instant a cab dashed down the pier. She 
 204
 
 saw it, and her heart gave a sudden bound. The 
 door was quickly thrown open, and Richard Devon 
 shire stepped out. Marion turned away and hur 
 riedly sought her stateroom. A look of unutterable 
 disappointment was on her face. Her last hope was 
 shattered. The gang plank was run ashore, and the 
 great steamer moved out into the dense fog. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Kingsley ! " exclaimed Devonshire, 
 some little time later, rushing up to her and seizing 
 her hand with undisguised pleasure; "I have been 
 looking everywhere for you for the last half hour. 
 
 " I am so sorry," answered Mrs. Kingsley, with a 
 smile that made Devonshire feel very much at home 
 with her. 
 
 " I had almost concluded that some dreadful thing 
 had happened at the last minute to prevent you from 
 sailing, and I was upon the point of going back on 
 the tug. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Devonshire ! " protested Mrs. Kingsley. 
 
 "Upon my soul, I was. You can t imagine my 
 disappointment ; but where is Miss Kingsley? I hope 
 she did not fail to come." 
 
 "Oh! no; she is in her stateroom. The excite 
 ment of getting away and the early hour of sailing 
 have given her a slight headache, and she thinks it 
 best to be quiet for a little time." 
 
 If Mrs. Kingsley had said heartache she would 
 have been more accurate in her statement. Possibly, 
 though, she thought it was headache ; possibly she 
 205
 
 thought that the early hour and the excitement of 
 getting away were alone responsible for Marion s utter 
 wretchedness. To give one the benefit of a doubt is 
 charitable even commendable. 
 
 " I am so sorry/ answered Devonshire, with a 
 good deal of feeling. 
 
 "You are very kind," returned Mrs. Kingsley. 
 " A few hours will quiet her head, I am sure." 
 
 "A few hours! " repeated Devonshire, an expres 
 sion of disappointment coming into his face. 
 
 "That is not so very long," rejoined Mrs. Kings- 
 ley, understanding him, and secretly elated. 
 
 "Time is comparative, you know. A day is a 
 year, or a year is a day, as the case may be. 
 
 " And how is it in this case? " 
 
 "I am sure you cannot go astray in judgment," 
 said Devonshire earnestly, convincingly. 
 
 " Marion will be very much flattered. I shall tell 
 her how time drags with you during her absence." 
 
 " Do, please. It is very good of you. I wish you 
 would." 
 
 Compliments, sincere or otherwise, never fell flatter 
 than these from Devonshire, when they were repeated 
 to Marion. She was in no mood to be flattered by 
 words from his lips. She had fled to her stateroom to 
 escape him had fled there to be alone. His com 
 pliments only served to irritate her, and the presence 
 of her mother, bearing such a message, was scarcely 
 less annoying. 
 
 206
 
 A combination of influences had brought her to the 
 point of yielding to her mother s will, and now she 
 was bound for Europe. Her heart had fought against 
 going, but the peculiar circumstances surrounding 
 her, the strained relations with Derringforth, and 
 finally the persuasion of Devonshire an influence 
 almost hypnotic in character had overcome her re 
 sistance, and in a weak moment she consented to go. 
 The promise was no sooner given than she began to 
 wish she could recall it, but her pride stood in the way. 
 
 She wrote to Derringforth, hoping he would come 
 to her hoping that he would rescue her from the 
 influences that had persuaded her to do the thing she 
 had fought against doing. One word of encourage 
 ment from him one word of frank, sustaining love 
 and she would have fled to him even now and given 
 him all the sweetness of her youth all the love and 
 confidence of her heart. 
 
 But he did not come to her did not answer her 
 letter did not give any evidence that he had one 
 thought for her, and the ship put out upon the ocean 
 and she had not seen him. She was unspeakably 
 wretched and wanted to be alone. It was while in 
 this mood that her mother came to her with Devon 
 shire s compliments. They were nauseating at this 
 time, almost maddening. 
 
 " I wish you would be good enough not to annoy 
 me with his flattery," she said, speaking as she had 
 never spoken to her mother before. 
 207
 
 "Why, Marion! " exclaimed Mrs. Kingsley, as 
 tounded. 
 
 "I can t help it. I wish I had never seen him. 
 If it hadn t been for him I should not be here now." 
 
 " You should not be unjust, my dear." 
 
 " I don t believe I am. I have been persuaded 
 to make myself wretched. I have yielded to please 
 others yielded to please him, in part." 
 
 " It breaks my heart to hear you talk this way, 
 my child. God forgive me if I have had a selfish 
 motive in urging you to take this trip." 
 
 "Forgive me, mama," said Marion, drawing her 
 mother to her and kissing her. " But I can t help 
 thinking it is all a mistake. I know you have done 
 everything for my happiness have done everything 
 that seemed to you best for me, but, my dear mama, 
 is the result all that you could wish ? I was very 
 happy a year ago Phil was very happy ; now we 
 are both wretched. He has lost faith in me hates 
 me, perhaps. He did not come to see me off did 
 not answer my letter. I am sure I have treated him 
 very badly, or he would never have allowed me to 
 come away without seeing me. " 
 
 " Do you think you have treated him so very 
 much worse than he has treated you ? asked Mrs. 
 Kingsley, after a few moments thought. 
 
 "I am sure I must have," answered Marion, 
 bitterly condemning herself. 
 
 "I can t think your conclusion is right, Marion, 
 208
 
 but I would suggest that you go over the events of 
 the year carefully and with a view to dealing justly 
 with yourself as well as with Phil." 
 
 Mrs. Kingsley paused, and the conversation ceased 
 for a few minutes, during which time Marion s mind 
 reverted to Derringforth, and for the thousandth time 
 she asked herself why he had not answered her letter 
 why he had not come to see her ? She knew noth 
 ing of his trip West knew nothing of his father s 
 sickness and death. 
 
 "You spoke of being very happy a year ago, 
 Marion," said Mrs. Kingsley, breaking the silence, 
 and speaking more seriously than usual. " Has the 
 social life of the last year given you no happiness ? " 
 
 "It has given me a great deal of pleasure," an 
 swered Marion. 
 
 " But not happiness? " 
 
 "A different kind of happiness. " 
 
 " Would you not expect a different kind of happi 
 ness now that your school days are over ? Life is ever 
 changing. One cannot go back from one period to 
 another and take up the old pleasures and find them 
 the same. This is one reason why I have aimed to 
 lead you into broader fields. Your happiness has 
 been my study. I have lived for you, not for my 
 self, and it hurts me, my child it hurts me more 
 than you can realize, to hear you say that you are 
 miserable, knowing as I do that the blame for your 
 unhappiness rests on me." 
 
 209
 
 " I am very sorry, mama. I wish I had not spoken 
 the way I did. I am not myself this morning. You 
 cannot understand how cruelly hurt I am at not see 
 ing or hearing from Phil. I blame myself, not you. 
 Forgive me, dear mama. I am selfish I am horribly 
 selfish. If I had not been, I should not have treated 
 Phil in a way to offend him, and I should not have 
 spoken those mean words that hurt you so much. I 
 was annoyed by Mr. Devonshire s silly flattery. I 
 suppose I ought not to feel unkindly towards him, but 
 I do. You will forgive me for what I said, won t 
 you? I am so sorry." 
 
 " I am only too glad to forgive anything in you, 
 my dear child," said Mrs. Kingsley, taking Marion 
 in her arms with a mother s love. " I do not expect 
 you, at your age, to understand life as I do," she 
 went on. " But when you have grown older, I think 
 you will see it from a broader point of view. This 
 trip will be an education to you. You will be very 
 glad, in a few years, that you had the opportunity to 
 see so much of the Old World, and under such favor 
 able circumstances. But what shall I say to Mr. 
 Devonshire ? He will naturally wish to know what 
 you said when I gave you his message." 
 
 " There is only one thing you could say if you 
 were to tell the truth." 
 
 " Imagine my saying to him that you requested me 
 to be good enough not to annoy you with his flattery. 
 That would be a rudeness of which I could never be
 
 guilty. Isn t it just as well, Marion, to be a little bit 
 reasonable? Mr. Devonshire is a gentleman. He 
 has been especially nice to you, and has done nothing 
 for which you should blame him. He is ignorant of 
 any motive you may have for wishing not to go 
 abroad, and his desire that you should go is compli 
 mentary to you. He will be on this ship with us 
 for a week. I hope you will treat him with the 
 courtesy that he deserves." 
 
 " I do not like to be rude to any one," answered 
 Marion, " but it was his persuasion that finally made 
 me commit myself, and I have been sorry ever since, 
 wishing I had never seen him. The feeling is unrea 
 sonable, I know." 
 
 " Then if you realize that it is unreasonable, as it 
 undoubtedly is, I shall have no further fears of your 
 treating him rudely." 
 
 " What shall you tell him I said ?" asked Marion, 
 as her mother was leaving her. 
 
 " I have not decided yet what you did say," an 
 swered diplomatic Mrs. Kingsley, with a triumphant 
 smile.
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE load that had crushed Mr. Derringforth was 
 one that few young men of Phil s age would have 
 attempted to shoulder. A few weeks before, Phil 
 himself would have hesitated and turned away. The 
 situation was aggravated by the death of his father. 
 Creditors whose faith in Mr. Derringforth, personally, 
 had made them lenient in the matter of collections, 
 now pressed hard for their claims. 
 
 The Hayden Company, obedient to Van Stump s 
 command, sued for something over sixty seven thou 
 sand dollars. Derringforth fought the suit, feeling 
 that he could well afford to pay lawyers fees and 
 court expenses in order that he might gain time ; for 
 time to him then meant everything. The conditions 
 under which the transactions were had with the Hay- 
 den Company enabled him to make a technical 
 defense. Their procedure had been nasty in the 
 extreme. Derringforth believed that this blow from 
 them was the final stroke that sent his father to the 
 grave. He felt very bitter. The spirit of charity 
 was not dominating his thoughts and acts just now.
 
 Pride did not stand in his way, as it had in his 
 father s. He was ready to take any legitimate action 
 that would tend to improve the situation. His first 
 aim was to get out of the clutches of the money 
 sharks. He discussed the situation with his mother, 
 and they agreed in the opinion that the wise thing 
 would be to turn their house into money at once. 
 This was speedily done, and a sum was realized from 
 the sale that enabled him to pay back several of the 
 loans that had been secured from Strum. 
 
 This released a lot of valuable securities which the 
 latter had held as collateral. On these Derringforth 
 was able to raise, through legitimate channels, enough 
 money to take up the remainder of the firm s notes 
 held by Van Stump. 
 
 A few weeks of his management, and Derringforth 
 & Derringforth were free from the grasp that had 
 dragged them to the verge of bankruptcy. But they 
 were far from being out of debt. Their obligations 
 had been lessened slightly merely to the extent of 
 the proceeds from the sale of the house but, for the 
 most part, they had only been shifted. 
 
 This change was not brought about without fric 
 tion not without an injury to the name that would 
 have cut deep into the pride of Mr. Derringforth. 
 Several suits had been begun against the firm, and the 
 atmosphere was squally indeed. The standing of the 
 house in financial circles had been very nearly de 
 stroyed. But this was inevitable. Derringforth s 
 
 2I 3
 
 boldness bordered on recklessness. Conservative 
 creditors shook their heads ominously as they watched 
 his methods, and pressed with redoubled vigor for the 
 collection of their claims. There were others, of less 
 timid nature, who saw something in the young man 
 that commanded their admiration. They liked the 
 fighting qualities he displayed. But had they known 
 that he was plunging deeper and deeper into Wall 
 Street every day, they, too, would have wagged their 
 heads ominously. 
 
 When his father died, Derringforth held two hun 
 dred shares of Western Union. Had he closed out 
 then, his experience in the Street would have cost him 
 a trifle less than six hundred dollars. He went to his 
 office the morning after the funeral with the intention 
 of selling his stock with the conviction that he 
 would have nothing more to do with speculation. 
 
 A large accumulation of mail was awaiting him. 
 The demands on his time were so numerous and so 
 imperative that the thought of Wall Street did not 
 come into his head until towards night. 
 
 " Another hundred perhaps three or four hun 
 dred gone," he reflected. There was a look of in 
 evitable resignation in his face. He evidently had 
 no hope that the market had turned in his favor. His 
 manner was grave, almost gloomy. Dense clouds 
 had set in about him, and they were so dark that his 
 eye could not penetrate to the silver lining. An 
 hour later a darker tinge spread over them. 
 214
 
 He had finished his dinner, and was sitting by the 
 library table. His mother sat opposite. She was 
 prostrated by the death of her husband. The atmos 
 phere of the house was gloomy and sad. Derring- 
 forth had been trying to comfort her had been trying 
 to say something that would lighten the sorrow of her 
 heart. He picked up a paper that had not yet been 
 removed from its wrapper. He opened it and glanced 
 over its contents. He was not reading. His mind 
 was not with his eyes. He could not have recalled a 
 word not until the name Kingsley riveted his atten 
 tion. He read eagerly. A sickening sensation made 
 him grasp the arm of his chair. The item stated that 
 the Kingsleys had gone abroad for a protracted stay 
 perhaps two years. It went on to tell something of 
 their plans, and ended with a highly flattering refer 
 ence to Miss Kingsley. It spoke of her as one of the 
 most popular girls in society, adding that she had 
 both beauty and cleverness to aid her in her social 
 aspirations. 
 
 Derringforth turned pale. His hands shook as he 
 laid the paper down. A steely coldness came into 
 his face. He was trying to master himself. 
 
 The gloom of the night did not disappear with the 
 coming up of the sun. It was denser and blacker 
 than on the previous day. Derringforth faced it 
 with grim resolve. It had been a night of bitterness, 
 of sorrow, of regret, of indignation. He could see 
 no light anywhere. But the sadness of his mother s 
 215
 
 face called up all his pity. He tried to speak a few 
 words of cheer to her before going down town to 
 business, but his words were without life; there was 
 no cheer within his own heart. He could not give 
 forth that which he did not have. 
 
 The day was on, and the work of the day must be 
 done. The first thing war, to close out his stock. 
 He turned to the market report and ran his eye over 
 the list. It rested on Western Union. He started, 
 and then held the paper up closer, to make sure. 
 
 "An advance of five points and a quarter ! " he 
 exclaimed. "Impossible, impossible!" Then he 
 read the financial editorial, and found that the quota 
 tion was correct that the stock had actually made 
 this sudden leap. 
 
 " This is marvelous," he meditated. " It makes 
 me richer by over a thousand dollars than I was yes 
 terday richer by twelve or thirteen hundred than I 
 expected." 
 
 He had been so sure that the stock had made a fur 
 ther decline that he had not looked at the quotations 
 in the evening paper, fearing that the loss would be 
 greater than he even dared to fancy. 
 
 Gloom always breeds gloom. A shaft of sunshine 
 penetrating the clouds spreads a flood of light over 
 all. The atmosphere is warmed and sweetened and 
 made buoyant. This sudden bit of good luck re 
 awakened an almost forgotten sensation in Derring- 
 forth. He had pulled against a stubborn, adverse 
 216
 
 tide until his stroke had become fixed. He plied 
 the oars with a dogged persistency. Hope had played 
 him false so many times that he no longer looked 
 toward it. He had turned his back upon it with a 
 frown. It was at this time, when everything was 
 blackest, that this shaft of sunshine penetrated the 
 gloom. He faced towards it with a glad heart. A 
 new light was in his face as he looked forward to a 
 career which, but a day before, he had resolved to 
 abandon forever. Verily it is the little things of life 
 that shape our ends.
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 THE scope of Derringforth s transactions in the 
 Street constantly broadened. The tide was with him 
 luck was with him. His profits grew amazingly. 
 It mattered little what he touched, he seldom sus 
 tained a loss. The excitement was exhilarating. It 
 largely absorbed his thoughts, leaving him little op 
 portunity for unhappy reflections, and yet he could 
 not get entirely away from these. 
 
 A good share of his time was still devoted to the 
 old business of Derringforth & Derringforth. Every 
 thing connected with it reminded him of his father. 
 The wound healed slowly. That other sorrow that 
 living sorrow, still cast its shadow over him. 
 
 Marion had been abroad six months now, and he 
 had not heard a word from her. The letter she sent 
 him a week before sailing was still in Dakota, tucked 
 away in a dusty pigeonhole in the little country hotel, 
 where Derringforth had stopped in the winter. He 
 did not leave his address, and the proprietor of that 
 inconsequential hostelry, thinking that without a 
 street number in New York the letter would never 
 218
 
 reach its owner, decided to hold it for him. It was 
 accordingly put aside and forgotten. 
 
 Derringforth had been astounded, on reading of 
 Marion s departure for Europe, to think that she 
 would go away without giving him a chance to say 
 good by. He needed no further proof of her faith 
 lessness. Embittered, he tried to force himself to 
 forget her. 
 
 But it is not an easy matter to forget one who has 
 entered so largely into a life as Marion had into Der 
 ringforth s. 
 
 Down deep in his heart far down beneath the 
 bitterness and cynicism that tinged his thoughts, 
 lurked the hope that some day he might receive a 
 letter from her. A strange eagerness possessed him 
 to get his mail on the days of incoming steamers from 
 Europe. This feeling was incompatible with his ef 
 forts to forget Marion. He knew it, and despised 
 himself for the longing that he had not yet been able 
 to force from him. But each time the will pressure 
 was increased, and the sweetness of his heart yielded 
 to deeper cynicism. 
 
 Sometimes the thought had occurred to him that 
 he was at fault that Marion could not have written 
 to him after his coldness the last time he saw her. 
 
 " I wonder if this is the real cause? " he reflected. 
 "If I thought it were but no, it can t be. There 
 is no shadow of reason for such a belief." 
 
 Nevertheless the impulse to write to her almost mas- 
 219
 
 tered him at times, but with a grim resolve he choked 
 back these better feelings. 
 
 One day in searching through his pocketbook he 
 came across a clipping from a newspaper. The color 
 suddenly left his face, and a dark frown gathered on 
 his brow as he read. A strange, fierce light came into 
 his eyes. Presently he took up the item and read 
 again : 
 
 " She has both beauty and cleverness to aid her in 
 her social aspirations. Then with a flash of scorn 
 he crushed the scrap of paper and hurled it from him, 
 repeating contemptuously the words, "social aspira 
 tions." 
 
 " Nothing is too sacred to be sacrificed to this god 
 of pleasure," he muttered, with a curl of the lip. 
 "Little she cares for a man s heartache; little she 
 cares for anything except the flattery and dazzle of 
 society. My father s death, even, has not moved 
 her, and it was she this girl, whose heart hasn t a 
 single throb of loyalty, whom I wanted to make my 
 wife. 
 
 " Poverty was indeed kinder to me than 1 
 thought," he went on, swayed by the bitterness of his 
 heart. " The grasp of that miserable, cringing Shy- 
 lock was soft and tender compared with the fate I 
 sought. God be praised that I escaped. I was blind, 
 but now I see. Men are fools in their eagerness to 
 enslave themselves. I was one of them was ready 
 to give up my freedom, my life even, and for what? 
 220
 
 Love love, did I say? No, no, there is no longer 
 any such thing as love." 
 
 The growth of Derringforth s cynicism had been 
 stimulated by close association with Burrock. The 
 latter had had an " affair," and his regard for woman 
 was tinged with contempt. He had not sought to 
 make Derringforth think as he thought feel as he 
 felt. Had he attempted this, the effect would have 
 been healthful on Derringforth, as it would have 
 aroused his resistance. As it was, there was no guard 
 against the insidious influence of Burrock s unhealthy 
 views. 
 
 Burrock was not a man of fine fiber. There was a 
 world of difference between him and Derringforth. 
 Their association was a matter of accident. Wall 
 Street had brought them together at a time when Der 
 ringforth was ready to grasp at any straw that prom 
 ised the aid he sought. But beyond Wall Street there 
 was little in common between them at first. As time 
 went on, however, they grew toward each other. The 
 growth was to the advantage of Burrock to the dis 
 advantage of Derringforth. 
 
 Burrock knew that Marion had gone abroad, al 
 though Derringforth had not mentioned her name since 
 her departure in fact, not since the night on which 
 he had last seen her. It was evident to Burrock that 
 a rupture of some kind had taken place. Derring 
 forth s silence increased his curiosity. Delicacy of 
 feeling was not a conspicuous trait in his character,
 
 but it had been sufficient to prevent him from men 
 tioning Marion s name to Derringforth. There never 
 happened to be a reasonable excuse for doing so. But 
 one day his chance came. It was Sunday. He was 
 lounging back in an easy chair at his rooms, reading 
 the foreign gossip. Presently he came across an ac 
 count of a coaching trip. The mention of a Miss 
 Kingsley of New York as one of the party fastened 
 his attention. The item went on to say that she was 
 one of the most attractive American girls in Europe. 
 " It is rumored," continued the writer, "that Rich 
 ard Devonshire, a young Englishman of excellent 
 social position, who is also of the party, is paying 
 devoted attention to Miss Kingsley. But his is 
 not the only British heart that this American girl 
 has set to quicker action. Lord Hethersford and the 
 Duke of Huntingdon are among her most ardent 
 admirers. 
 
 There was a gleam of satisfaction in Burrock s eyes 
 when he had finished reading this bit of gossip. 
 
 " Confirms my theory just what I expected 
 wouldn t trust a woman far as I could throw an ele 
 phant all alike sorry for Derringforth explains 
 why he has kept so glum something he had to learn, 
 though every man learns it sooner or later. 
 
 Burrock s concern for Derringforth was far less than 
 his delight at what he regarded as the discovery of 
 Marion s disloyalty. He had no object in wishing her 
 to be disloyal beyond the desire to see his insane the- 
 
 222
 
 ory regarding woman verified. He was fond of Der 
 ringforth, in so far as his selfish nature was capable of 
 fondness. 
 
 Armed with this cutting he started out to find Der- 
 ringforth. It was the opportunity he had been long 
 ing for. It would open a subject that he had not 
 hitherto dared approach. 
 
 Derringforth was at home. Burrock shot a quick 
 glance at him. " No," he said to himself, " he can t 
 liave seen it. He is as cool and undisturbed as 
 usual." 
 
 "I m glad you called," said Derringforth. "I 
 have just read a capital financial article. I want you 
 to read it. We are going to have a strong market, 
 mark my words." 
 
 Burrock took the paper and glanced over the article 
 in a halfhearted fashion. " Yes, looks well," he said. 
 " I think you are right market should boom." 
 
 Derringforth began telling why he looked for an 
 advance in prices when Burrock interrupted him. 
 
 " By the way, old man," he said, plunging his fin 
 gers into his vest pocket and bringing out a scrap of 
 paper, "here is something I clipped from today s 
 Herald may interest you." 
 
 Derringforth took the cutting and quickly ran his 
 eye over it. A pallor like that of death came into his 
 face. But beyond this and a slight trembling of his 
 hand as he passed the clipping to Burrock, there was 
 no indication of the tumult within. 
 223
 
 "You may keep it," said Burrock. "Doubtless 
 interests you more than me." 
 
 "You are very kind, but it does not interest me 
 sufficiently to stimulate a desire to retain it," an 
 swered Derringforth with steely indifference. There 
 was something in the way he spoke that warned Bur 
 rock of the danger of proceeding further with the sub 
 ject. Nevertheless he was not going to be put off in 
 this way. He wished to say his say about women 
 about this woman in particular. He was sure that she 
 had misused Derringforth, and he wished to "sympa 
 thize " with him. 
 
 "I am glad, old man, you have so little interest in 
 her thought you were still in love with her wanted 
 for months to talk it over with you glad I was mis 
 taken fortunate you ve got over it so easily she isn t 
 worthy of " 
 
 "Stop ! " said Derringforth, raising his hand in a 
 warning gesture. " Not a word that reflects on Miss 
 Kingsley." The fire flashed in his eyes as he spoke, 
 but his control over himself was perfect. 
 
 Burrock was chagrined. The hot blood burned in 
 his cheeks, but he bridled his tongue with caution. 
 
 " I did not intend to reflect on her individually," 
 he said in an attempt at apology. " I know nothing 
 against her personally simply know that she is a 
 woman, and that is enough." 
 
 " No, not enough to warrant you in even breathing 
 aught against her, individually or collectively," an- 
 224
 
 swered Derringforth. His manner left no room to 
 doubt his earnestness. " This is the first jar we have 
 had, Burrock," he went on. "It must be the last. 
 You will apologize for the reference you made to Miss 
 Kingsley, or I shall forget that I ever knew you." 
 
 Burrock hesitated for an instant and then held out 
 his hand. "I am sorry, Derringforth; I certainly 
 did not intend to say anything offensive to you. I 
 hope you will overlook what I said. I know nothing 
 against Miss Kingsley, and will take good care not to 
 speak of her again. 
 
 Derringforth took the proffered hand, believing it 
 was extended in good faith. " I am sure you did not 
 intend to offend me," he replied, " and I am glad you 
 have made it possible for me to forget the occurrence 
 of this unpleasant incident."
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 A LARGE English steamer was plowing through the 
 waves toward Sandy Hook. A pilot boat had just 
 been sighted. The passengers crowded eagerly to the 
 rail and watched its approach. It was to be the first 
 coming in touch with things of home. A little boat 
 put out from the vessel with the huge number on her 
 sail, and a pilot was rowed to the side of the big steam 
 er. A bundle of newspapers was sticking out from 
 his pocket. These were quickly bought up by the 
 ocean travelers, thirsting for "news." 
 
 On the forward deck was a tall, graceful young 
 woman, with a bright, cheerful face that had won much 
 admiration abroad. She leaned over her father s chair 
 and ran her eye over the paper he was reading. Pres 
 ently Mr. Kingsley turned the page. Marion gave a 
 sudden start and grasped her father s arm. A big dis 
 play heading had attracted her attention. This is what 
 she read beneath it : 
 
 Phil Derringforth, the young man who has made 
 things lively in the Street for the last few months, has 
 
 226
 
 gone to the wall with a crash. His losses, as near as 
 can be learned, amount to something over two million 
 dollars. He was believed to be worth a clean million 
 twenty four hours ago ; now he is this much worse off 
 than nothing. The dramatic side of Wall Street is 
 seen to perfection in his case. 
 
 Derringforth began speculating at about the time of 
 his father s death, which occurred nearly two years 
 ago. The firm of Derringforth & Derringforth, which 
 consisted of father and son, was heavily involved at 
 the time of the senior partner s death. It had been 
 in a bad way for a year and a half. Young Derring 
 forth showed great ability in managing the firm s af 
 fairs, after the business came into his hands so great, 
 in fact, that he was able to pay up all indebtedness, and 
 come out with a profit. But he had become interested 
 in Wall Street, and finally closed out the old business 
 and gave all his time to speculation. His boldness 
 brought him quickly into prominence. He was begin 
 ning to be a power in the Street when his mother died 
 suddenly. The shock was very severe on him. He 
 kept away from the Street for a few weeks, but on re 
 turning began speculation with a recklessness that 
 seemed born of desperation. Luck was with him until 
 he was stabbed in the back by a friend one Burrock, 
 a miserable fellow who would sell out his own father if 
 it were to his interest to do so. 
 
 It came about in this way. It seems that about a 
 year before the death of the senior Derringforth the 
 firm fell into the hands of J. Harrington Van Stump, 
 a rich Shylock who squeezed the life blood out of the 
 house. Van Stump is well known in social circles, is 
 very rich, and poses as a man of exemplary character. 
 The Derringforths, up to the time of the senior partner s 
 death, did not know the hand that had dragged them 
 
 227
 
 to the verge of bankruptcy. Their transactions were 
 had through an attorney one Martin Strum, a tool 
 of Van Stump s. But after the father died the son in 
 some way found out the name of the real Shylock, and 
 with the daring of a young man he entered into a fight 
 that caused Van Stump a great deal of annoyance and 
 eventually a heavy loss. There was mutual hatred be 
 tween the two men. Van Stump, as the story goes, 
 bought a controlling interest in the Hayden National 
 Iron Company with the evident purpose of crushing 
 the Derringforths. He succeeded to the extent of 
 driving the senior Derringforth to his grave. Young 
 Derringforth finally came into possession of certain in 
 formation that enabled him, in company with others, 
 to make a powerful attack on the Hayden Company. 
 The stock went down with a rush. Van Stump bought 
 liberally, with the purpose of stemming the tide, but 
 the coup was so well planned that the bottom seemed 
 to drop completely from under the stock. Van Stump, 
 always a coward, got frightened and sold his entire 
 interest in the Hayden Company, netting a loss of 
 nearly half a million dollars. 
 
 This was sweet revenge for Derringforth, but it was 
 not all. The assault netted him a profit of nearly a 
 hundred thousand dollars. This was the first big 
 money he had made, and it gave him a sense of his 
 own power. 
 
 Van Stump, it is said, was the most angry man 
 New York has seen in a generation. He swore venge 
 ance on Derringforth. War was declared. But the 
 god of battle was with the young man until treachery 
 in one he trusted landed him at the feet of his foe. 
 It was a contemptible procedure on the part of Van 
 Stump, and inconceivable on the part of Burrock. It 
 seems that the latter and Derringforth had been old
 
 school friends, and that it was through Burrock that 
 Derringforth got into speculation. The two had 
 worked together for a time, but eventually Derring 
 forth branched out independently of Burrock. The 
 latter was envious of Derringforth 5 rapid rise in the 
 Street, but as a matter of policy kept on friendly terms 
 with him. He retained Derringforth s confidence, 
 and was familiar with his assault on the Hayden Com 
 pany. 
 
 Finally, through some means, Burrock was brought 
 in touch with Van Stump. From that hour Derring 
 forth s fate was sealed. Van Stump was kept in 
 formed of his plans. Every move he made or con 
 templated making was laid before the old Shylock. 
 Armed with this information it was not a difficult 
 matter for him to lead Derringforth into a trap. 
 Much sympathy is expressed for the young man in the 
 Street. 
 
 It was a singular coincidence that the first thing 
 that greeted Marion s eyes, as she approached home, 
 should be this startling account of Derringforth s 
 downfall, giving as it did a brief outline of his career 
 during her absence of almost two years. 
 
 "Oh, poor Phil!" she exclaimed. "This is 
 dreadful, dreadful ! and we knew nothing about the 
 death of your father and mother. 
 
 "It is shocking," said Mr. Kingsley. "I can 
 not realize it." 
 
 In all the time Marion had been away she had not 
 heard from Phil. Her letter remained unanswered, 
 and she was too proud to write him a second time. 
 229
 
 There was but one conclusion to draw, and that was 
 that he was angry and wished to break with her. The 
 thought was a bitter one, but there was no other 
 reasonable explanation. Why then should she humil 
 iate herself by venturing to write again ? The possi 
 bility that her letter did not reach him never entered 
 her mind. 
 
 He had deliberately ignored her note ; had delib 
 erately refused to call on her before her departure. 
 This was a cutting conclusion for a girl of Marion s 
 pride. Indignation was the inevitable result. The 
 love of her heart was embittered. She tried to forget 
 Derringforth, even as he was trying at that very time 
 to forget her. 
 
 There was nothing in her life abroad to remind her 
 of him ; there was everything in it to bury the past 
 deep beneath a constantly changing panorama of 
 pleasures. She had hitherto held herself in check, 
 always with the thought of Derringforth. But she 
 was free now to accept attention without restraint. 
 Conscience had dropped its warning finger. She 
 filled her lungs with deep, long draughts of pleasure. 
 She lived in an atmosphere of delicious intoxication. 
 She was courted, admired, flattered, feted. The ex 
 hilaration was sweet to her. It became her life, her 
 soul, her very self. Suitors for her hand failed to en 
 tice her from these effervescent delights. 
 
 "Mama was right," she told herself. "A girl 
 ought not to marry before she is twenty five. I cer- 
 230
 
 tainly shall not, and I shall keep myself free from all 
 entanglements so that I can enjoy myself. One thing 
 is sure, I will never become engaged until I am ready 
 to marry. When I have grown tired of this sort of 
 pleasure, then I suppose I shall marry, but I m not 
 going to tie myself down so long as I enjoy the life of 
 a girl. There is plenty of time yet for me to think of 
 marrying. 
 
 Richard Devonshire s fate was only that of many 
 another man whose heart Marion had quickened to 
 the tune of love. But she managed with a clever tact 
 that enabled her to retain the friendship of all the 
 admiration of many. This was true of Devonshire ; 
 it was equally true of Burton Edwards, who still 
 loved her deeply, though he had followed her to 
 Europe and turned his face homeward without the 
 promise he had sought. Sometimes Marion contrasted 
 the ardor of Edwards with the indifference of Der- 
 ringforth. But Edwards was not the only man she 
 had contrasted with Phil. All alike had been com 
 pared with him, and though she had tried to for 
 get him there was still, down deep in her heart, a feel 
 ing for him that she had never had for any other 
 man. 
 
 Whenever her thoughts strayed to Derringforth 
 she saw him as she had seen him in the past. There 
 was no change in his appearance. He had grown no 
 older. In fancy, she could see him at his office, pen 
 in hand, busy with correspondence, or perhaps at 
 231
 
 home reading in his favorite corner. She could see 
 his father in his big easy chair, smoking an after din 
 ner cigar, and Mrs. Derringforth, a little way from 
 him, busy with some piece of fancy work. The 
 thought had never occurred to her that anything out 
 of the ordinary had taken place with the Derring- 
 forths during her absence. 
 
 This newspaper account, telling of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Derringforth s death, and of Phil s failure, was there 
 fore a rude awakening to a sad reality. She was in 
 expressibly shocked. Her heart was warm with sym 
 pathy for Phil, while she condemned herself for the 
 bitter feelings she had had for him condemned her 
 self for the little thought she had given him.
 
 XL. 
 
 COLONEL GEOFFREY RAYBURN invited Derring- 
 forth to go down to his Southern home with him for 
 a few days rest. The invitation was little short of a 
 command. 
 
 " Rest ! " exclaimed Derringforth, when the colonel 
 mentioned the matter the day after his failure. 
 
 " Certainly, and why not? You will never have 
 a better opportunity. There is nothing you can do 
 here during the next few days. Your affairs are in 
 the hands of your lawyers." 
 
 " You are extremely kind," answered Derringforth. 
 " I appreciate the invitation very much, but think 
 how it would look for me to go off on a pleasure trip 
 at this time." 
 
 " Hang the looks ! " returned the colonel. " I am 
 your largest creditor, and if I do not grumble no one 
 else should." 
 
 But every one has not your generous eyes. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, young man. Make your 
 plans to start with me tomorrow morning. I can t 
 allow you to break down you owe me too much 
 
 2 33
 
 money. A few days rest will give you a firmer 
 stroke. You must put yourself in condition to jump 
 in and hammer out another fortune. 
 
 It was ten o clock on the morning after Marion had 
 read of Derringforth s failure. She stood by the rail 
 of the big Cunarder that had borne her safely across 
 the Atlantic. The steamer was moving majestically 
 up the Narrows. Marion s heart beat with joy as she 
 saw the familiar sights dear to all American eyes. 
 
 The great ship steamed steadily on and presently 
 ran into the busy waters of the Hudson. A ferry 
 boat put out from the New York side and headed 
 straight for the New Jersey shore. 
 
 The great ocean steamer loomed up as a monster 
 beside the little side wheeler. A sea of faces peered 
 over the rail and looked down upon the upturned faces 
 on the little boat. Two men stood somewhat apart 
 from the others on the river craft. One was a tall, 
 athletically built young man, dressed in a traveling 
 suit. His companion was his senior by perhaps a 
 score or more of years a man of military bearing and 
 strikingly fine presence. 
 
 A cry escaped the lips of one of the steamer s pas 
 sengers, followed by the frantic waving of a feminine 
 handkerchief. Derringforth saw it, and saw, too, a 
 very pretty face turned towards his with an eager 
 smile. He looked for an instant and then turned 
 his head away without a sign of recognition. 
 
 Marion s heart sank within her. The distance be- 
 
 234
 
 tween the two boats widened ; the distance between 
 herself and Phil, it seemed to her, widened in geo 
 metrical progression. 
 
 It was a bright, crisp November morning when 
 Derringforth and Colonel Rayburn reached their des 
 tination. The soft rays of the Virginia sun made it 
 seem to Derringforth like October in the Berkshires. 
 Colonel Rayburn held the lines. Derringforth sat 
 beside him. The horses flew over the ground at a 
 rattling pace. The air was exhilarating. Derring 
 forth drew in long breaths and feasted his eyes on the 
 scenery, made beautiful by the autumn foliage. 
 
 " This will do you a world of good, my boy," said 
 the colonel. 
 
 " It has done me a world of good already, I 
 fancy," answered Derringforth. "I believe my chest 
 is larger by two inches," and he swelled it with an 
 other long breath of that life giving air. 
 
 The horses shot between two great stone piers and 
 into the curving roadway of private grounds. Der 
 ringforth caught a glimpse, through the trees, of a 
 typical Southern home. A flitting shadow attracted 
 his eye and instantly vanished behind the foliage. 
 The carriage swung to the left. The horses bounded 
 forward. The trees thinned. A tennis costume, a 
 racket, a graceful figure burst upon his vision. Ah, 
 yes ! another similar costume, flying after a ball, 
 speeding from the racket of a young man on the 
 other side of the net.
 
 XLI. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH felt more at home with the Ray- 
 burns at the end of an hour than he would have felt 
 with some New England family at the end of a week. 
 He saw Southern hospitality in its perfection. It was 
 a revelation to him a delightful realization of a fancy 
 founded on what he had read and heard. He was 
 glad he had come, though but a little while before, 
 when he first caught sight of the tennis players, he 
 felt like leaping from the carriage and running cross 
 lots to the railway station, to escape meeting these 
 girls. He had not known that Colonel Rayburn had 
 a daughter, and only expected to meet his wife. 
 
 But no young man in his right mind could regret 
 making the acquaintance of Dorothy Rayburn. He 
 felt like calling her Dorothy already, and fancied that 
 she was likely to call him Phil at any moment. Her 
 cousin, Nellie Bradwin, was also an attractive girl, and 
 Mrs. Rayburn was a charming woman. Stanley Ved- 
 der was the young man playing tennis with the girls 
 when Colonel Rayburn and Derringforth drove up 
 from the station. 
 
 236
 
 Vedder started to go after meeting Derringforth 
 and talking for a few moments with him. 
 
 "You must not go, Stanley," said the colonel. 
 " I want you to help entertain Mr. Derringforth." 
 
 Vedder s face lighted up. He did not want to go. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to do anything I can to add 
 to Mr. Derringforth s pleasure," he replied. 
 
 The two young men were of about the same age. 
 The one had made a reputation as an athlete in col 
 lege ; the other had made and lost a fortune. The 
 training of these t\vo had been widely different. 
 Which was the better equipped to fight the battles of 
 life Derringforth with an indebtedness of a million 
 dollars and not a cent with which to pay it, or Ved 
 der with his enviable football record and a consider 
 able knowledge of Latin and Greek? Possibly this 
 thought came into Colonel Rayburn s mind as he saw 
 these two young men side by side. It would not 
 have been surprising if he had asked himself which 
 would make the more desirable husband. The look 
 in Vedder s eyes whenever they met Dorothy s would 
 certainly have suggested the query. 
 
 In the afternoon the horses were saddled and the 
 four young people mounted them and started off in 
 gay spirits for an hour s royal sport. Vedder had 
 cleverly managed to take a position that would natu 
 rally bring him beside Dorothy. Derringforth did 
 not notice the maneuver. He found himself between 
 the two girls, and as all rode abreast at first, he felt 
 
 237
 
 that he was in luck, happening to be just where he 
 was when the start was made. 
 
 But when the main road was reached they broke 
 up into couples. Then it was that he realized he had 
 not been quite so lucky as he thought, for instead of 
 two girls he now had only one. He fancied that he 
 saw a slight look of disappointment in Nellie s face, 
 and he feared that he had inadvertently made a blun 
 der in falling in where he did. 
 
 If Vedder had wanted to ride with this one ever 
 so much I suppose he would have made no move 
 toward doing so, thought Derringforth, a trifle un 
 comfortable. " This Southern courtesy is so exces 
 sively fine that I dare say he wouldn t utter a word 
 of protest if I were to tread on his toes." 
 
 But Nellie made herself so agreeable that it was not 
 long before Derringforth s fears began to subside. 
 They would have vanished altogether but for a move 
 that transferred him to Dorothy s side. The summit 
 of a high hill had been reached, from which a fine 
 view could be obtained. All stopped to look at the 
 surrounding country. When they began the descent, 
 Derringforth found himself beside Dorothy. He 
 didn t know just how the change came about, but he 
 was conscious of a sense of delight that he was with 
 her. He felt, too, that he had got out of Vedder s 
 way, and that in itself was a satisfaction. Then the 
 thought occurred to him that the stop might have 
 been made on Vedder s suggestion, with a purpose of 
 238
 
 bringing about the change, in so clever a way that he 
 would not suspect the other s aim. 
 
 "This is indeed a courteous people," he reflected. 
 " I like such delicacy." 
 
 He was partially right. The stop was a diplomatic 
 one. But it was Dorothy s diplomacy that had 
 brought it about not Vedder s. If Derringforth had 
 looked back he would have seen a very troubled ex 
 pression on some one s face. But he was not look 
 ing back just now. 
 
 " Here is a good stretch of road ahead," said Dor 
 othy. " Shall we not have a little dash? " 
 
 She turned her eyes toward Derringforth s. There 
 was a something in them that awakened an almost 
 forgotten thrill in his heart. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I should like it immensely," he 
 replied, with an eagerness that made Dorothy smile. 
 
 The horses were off on the instant and racing at 
 full speed. 
 
 " This is glorious sport," said Derringforth, when 
 they had reached the foot of a hill and slowed down. 
 
 "I am so glad you like it," rejoined Dorothy, 
 with delight in her eyes. " I was afraid you would 
 find our simple country life very stupid, but now I 
 know how to entertain you. 
 
 "Your life here is charming," declared Derring 
 forth, " and there is nothing I like so much as a dash 
 on a spirited horse. These two are very evenly 
 matched." 
 
 239
 
 " They seem to be today, but Billy is a little the 
 faster, I think. You are, aren t you, Billy?" she 
 added, appealing to the horse himself for confir 
 mation. 
 
 " I think I would be willing to back Jack against 
 him," said Derringforth. 
 
 "All right," laughed Dorothy. " We would like 
 nothing better, would we, Billy ? " 
 
 Billy didn t make it quite clear whether he relished 
 the idea of a race or not, but Dorothy cast the de 
 ciding vote, and it was settled that there should be a 
 race between Billy and Jack, with the respective 
 riders that were then up. 
 
 Derringforth forgot all his business troubles. His 
 heart was as light as that of one who had never known 
 a sorrow. 
 
 " She is very sweet," he said to himself, stealing 
 an admiring glance much oftener than one of his 
 cynical tendencies should. " I Avonder why Vedder 
 fancies the cousin? She isn t so pretty as Dorothy 
 hasn t the same charm of manner. But there is no 
 accounting for tastes. He probably knows what suits 
 him." 
 
 Derringforth was not quite sure on this point, 
 however, when they reached the house. He and 
 Dorothy had dismounted and were standing on the 
 veranda, chatting, when Vedder and Nellie rode up. 
 There was a considerable difference in the expression 
 of their faces. Nellie s was more than passively 
 240
 
 happy ; Vedder s was more than passively unhappy. 
 Derringforth was quick to note this, for he had ex 
 pected to see each beaming with joy. He was puz 
 zled by the contrast. 
 
 Vedder tried to appear light hearted, but his effort 
 was a palpable failure. There was no spirit in his 
 words ; no buoyancy in his soul. He seized the first 
 opportunity to get away without seeming abruptness, 
 and went home in a very gloomy mood. 
 
 In the evening, Colonel Rayburn and his wife, the 
 two girls, and Derringforth, sat down to a game of 
 hearts. Dorothy was prettily gowned in a light, soft 
 silk that was especially becoming. Derringforth 
 found himself admiring her. She talked very well 
 played very well. Now that they were side by side 
 the contrast between her and Nellie was certainly in 
 her favor. He liked Dorothy s blue eyes better than 
 the deep black ones of her cousin. Dorothy s fea 
 tures, too, were rather more delicate. She resembled 
 her mother. 
 
 " Some people, though," he admitted to himself, 
 "might fancy Nellie s looks more. I suppose Ved 
 der does. But I can t understand him. He was cer 
 tainly in the dumps when he came home from the 
 ride." 
 
 It was a jolly game. Every one was in the best of 
 
 spirits. Colonel Rayburn called Derringforth Phil, 
 
 and this made him feel even more -at home. The 
 
 evening swept by and was gone. It had been a day 
 
 241
 
 of life and happiness to Derringforth. He was sorry 
 that it was over, never again to be relived. But 
 the hope of another equally enjoyable on the mor 
 row gave sweetness to his sleep. 
 
 The morning dawned as bright as the one that pre 
 ceded it. Derringforth went out on the veranda before 
 breakfast and filled his lungs with the invigorating 
 air. 
 
 "This is life," he reflected, looking off over a 
 wide expanse of beautiful country. " This is nature 
 not the cold, unyielding granite of the city. I 
 like God s work." 
 
 The door opened, and he saw it in its perfection. 
 Dorothy was beside him, as fresh and pretty as a wild 
 flower. 
 
 " Isn t this a perfect morning for our race ? " she 
 said, adding with mischief in her eyes, " I hope you 
 haven t weakened." 
 
 " No, indeed. I m anxiously awaiting the start," 
 he answered, delighted by her beauty. 
 
 "You are enjoying the anticipation of victory, I 
 see." 
 
 " It s best to cling to a sure thing," he laughed. 
 " Faith is the substance of things hoped for, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, but faith often leads us such a merry chase 
 only to disappoint us in the end." 
 
 And that is the way I shall find it in this race, 
 you think? " 
 
 242
 
 " Well, I warn you I shall ride to win." 
 
 " That is another way of saying I shall be beaten. 
 All right. I have great faith in Jack." 
 
 " You will persist, then, in spite of my warning, in 
 enjoying the victory in fancy? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But the disappointment when you are beaten 
 just think of that." 
 
 " No, I won t think of that. I, too, shall ride to 
 win." 
 
 " I should be annoyed if you did not. We must 
 have a fair race. 
 
 At ten o clock Jack and Billy were brought out, 
 saddled for the contest. The riders mounted and 
 jogged along slowly to the place selected for the race. 
 Colonel and Mrs. Rayburn, and Vedder and Nellie, 
 followed in a carriage. Pedro, the coachman, and 
 several of the other servants were early on the scene. 
 It was a great event with them and many were their 
 wagers. But the betting was by no means confined to 
 the servants. The colonel backed Jack, while Ved 
 der placed his money on Dorothy s horse. He had 
 recovered to some extent from his depression of the 
 night before; still he was not in a happy frame of 
 mind. The disturbance of his heart caused by Der- 
 ringforth s sudden appearance at the Rayburns was 
 not so easily quieted. 
 
 Derringforth wagered a box at the theater with 
 Dorothy, including a supper at Delmonico s. She 
 
 243
 
 bet a silver cigar case. Nellie followed Vedder s judg 
 ment, while Mrs. Ray burn, as a matter of courtesy to 
 Derringforth, bet on his horse. 
 
 " I tell you that Jack will win," said the colonel. 
 " I have always said that he had speed, and today 
 you will see it." 
 
 The bets were numerous and the interest at fever 
 heat, when the flag dropped and the horses were off 
 like a flash. Each seemed to know that something 
 more than usual was expected of him each imbibed 
 the spirit of the occasion, and, responding to his rider s 
 words, tried to vanquish the other. 
 
 The start was almost even, but at the end of a few 
 rods Dorothy was in the lead. A great shout went 
 up from the winning side, but the gap between the 
 riders was not widened. Jack was beginning to 
 attain a dangerous speed. Billy heard the clatter of 
 his hoofs, and urged by Dorothy, almost flew over 
 the ground. But the great stride of the bigger horse 
 pushed him hard. The distance between them began 
 to diminish, and a shout from the other side now rent 
 the air. 
 
 A minute later, and Derringforth was beside Dor 
 othy. The horses were going like arrows. It was 
 neck and neck with them. Derringforth cast a quick 
 glance at Dorothy. Her riding was perfection. 
 Her face was bright with hope. He felt that the 
 race was his, but he would a thousand times rather 
 she should win it, and yet, remembering her words 
 244
 
 of the morning, he could not give it away. He 
 would not incur her displeasure even in the effort to 
 give her a moment s happiness. The stake was but 
 a little way ahead. Derringforth called to Jack for 
 a final spurt. The response was instantaneous. Der 
 ringforth was half a length in the lead. 
 
 " I told you so," cried Colonel Raybtirn, cheering 
 wildly ; but the great excitement was with the colored 
 contingent. A mighty shout went up from those of 
 them on the now winning side. 
 
 The stake was but a dozen rods away. Derring 
 forth was increasing the gap between him and Dorothy. 
 The road swerved sharply to the right. Derringforth 
 was riding to a splendid finish, when a monster St. 
 Bernard dog bounded over the fence on the left with 
 a savage yelp. Jack plunged suddenly to the right. 
 The girth parted. Derringforth kept straight on for 
 an instant, and then fell heavily, the saddle beside 
 him. 
 
 Dorothy was the first to reach him. She bent over 
 him with frightened face. He tried to get upon his 
 feet with her aid, but he could not stand. Colonel 
 Rayburn was soon upon the scene. Derringforth 
 was placed tenderly in the carriage and taken home.
 
 XLII. 
 
 DERRINGFORTH opened his eyes and looked about 
 with a dazed expression. The fumes of ether werf 
 still strong in the room. The surgeon had just 
 finished his work. Colonel Rayburn stood beside 
 him, wearing an anxious look. 
 
 " Jack was going straight for the stake," said Der- 
 ringforth. "I didn t want to win, but she would 
 have been offended if I had given her the race. 
 Something happened. I never was thrown before. 
 They will think I don t know how to ride. She will 
 laugh at me. Well, she won the race any way, 
 and I didn t pull Jack, either. But I can t see 
 why I was thrown. It wasn t the dog no, it wasn t 
 the dog. Something did happen." 
 
 There was a touch of pathos in his struggle, half 
 conscious as he was, to account for his fall. 
 
 "It was not your fault," said Colonel Rayburn. 
 
 Derringforth looked up quickly. Reason began 
 to assert itself. 
 
 Not my fault ? " he repeated eagerly. 
 
 " No, not your fault, but the fault of the saddle." 
 246
 
 "The saddle?" 
 
 "Yes, the girth broke." 
 
 An expression of contentment came into Derring- 
 forth s eyes. 
 
 "I knew something happened," he said. "I 
 couldn t believe that I was thrown like a novice." 
 Then, turning to the surgeon, he asked : "Is my leg 
 really broken, doctor ? 
 
 Yes, and it is a pretty good fracture ; both bones 
 broken just above the ankle." 
 
 That expression of contentment changed suddenly. 
 Derringforth said nothing for a minute. He brought 
 his hand up to his eyes. His brow was knit in 
 thought. 
 
 "You will be as good as new again in a few 
 weeks," continued the doctor in an encouraging 
 tone. 
 
 A few weeks ? repeated Derringforth. 
 
 " Yes, you could hardly expect the bones to heal 
 in less time." 
 
 Can I go back to New York with Colonel Ray- 
 burn ?" 
 
 "Not for the world." 
 
 " But I must be there. It is imperative." 
 
 " Nothing is imperative with you now, young man, 
 except to get back the use of your leg. 
 
 Derringforth raised his eyes to Colonel Rayburn in 
 mute appeal. 
 
 "Don t worry about your affairs in New York," 
 247
 
 said the colonel. " I will look after your interests 
 there for you, and the doctor and Airs. Rayburn will 
 look after your comfort here. Dorothy and Nellie 
 will entertain you, and the time of your imprisonment 
 will slip by before you know it. 
 
 Forced to face the inevitable, Derringforth did it 
 graciously. It was useless for him to think of his 
 business affaire, or to worry about anything. There 
 was nothing for him to do but content himself and 
 let nature do the rest. The tension of his nerves re 
 laxed, and he found a sense of dreamy luxury in his 
 enforced idleness. The days swept by. The past 
 seemed a century away. He was in a new world, with 
 new thoughts, new impulses, new realities. 
 
 But one day that past was brought vividly to his 
 mind. The morning mail had just arrived. Doro 
 thy ran quickly to Derringforth with the New York 
 papers. She never tired of doing for his pleasure. 
 Her coming always sent a smile of glad welcome to 
 his face. 
 
 " You will make me wish these broken bones 
 would never heal," he said, looking into her eyes as 
 he reached his hand out for the papers. 
 
 " Oh, you wicked man ! " replied Dorothy, with a 
 gesture of protest. Just think what you have said. 
 
 " I have been thinking, and that is why I spoke as 
 I did." 
 
 " Dreaming, I fancy. I must have wakened you 
 when I came in. I am so sorry." 
 248
 
 "Your fancy is wrong this time, though I must 
 admit it is usually right." 
 
 " I don t know about that. I m afraid it is very 
 erratic." 
 
 " No, I don t think so. I have reason to remem 
 ber the accuracy with which it hit the mark once, 
 any way. You recollect what you said the morning 
 before our race, when we were standing on the ve 
 randa ? 
 
 " But I would have been wrong had there been no 
 accident." 
 
 " Buts don t go. You were in at the finish, and 
 I well, you know where I was." 
 
 "That isn t fair to yourself; and besides, you 
 wanted me to win the race." 
 
 " I wanted you to win it ?" exclaimed Derring- 
 forth, with a quick look of surprise. 
 
 " Now be honest; didn t you?" said Dorothy. 
 
 " Why in the world do you ask such a question ? " 
 returned Derringforth, a slight flush tingeing his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Ah, you did, didn t you ? " she laughed. 
 
 She said this in a way that made Derringforth feel 
 like admitting almost anything, but he dodged the 
 question nevertheless. 
 
 " I wonder if you will not charge me with being 
 thrown purposely, so that you should win the race? " 
 he returned. 
 
 "Oh, no, you certainly would have resorted to 
 249
 
 some cleverer scheme than that, had you dared to let 
 me win." 
 
 " Had I dared to let you win? Why shouldn t I 
 have dared to ? " 
 
 " Because you were afraid of offending me." 
 
 A deeper shade passed over Derringforth s face. 
 Dorothy laughed at his perplexity. 
 
 " You didn t know I could read your thoughts so 
 perfectly," she said. 
 
 " Upon my soul I must stop thinking." 
 
 " Oh, don t do that. It is such fun for me to read 
 your thoughts." 
 
 " I don t believe you can read them all." 
 
 " Haven t I given you convincing evidence of my 
 powers ? 
 
 " You simply chanced the statement. But I haven t 
 admitted that I didn t dare let you win." 
 
 "You might as well, though you know it is so." 
 
 "By what process of reasoning did you arrive at 
 this conclusion ? 
 
 "Ah, don t you wish you knew? " 
 
 " Yes, won t you tell me? " 
 
 " Perhaps, if you will promise not to wish any more 
 such wicked wishes as you did just now." 
 
 "I ll promise, but really I did not wish that. I 
 simply felt that there was more happiness here with a 
 broken leg than anywhere else in perfect condition." 
 
 Dorothy s cheeks flushed now. The slight embar 
 rassment only added to her beauty. Derringforth 
 250
 
 felt his heart beat faster. There was a minute s si 
 lence, broken by Nellie, who ran in to say that Mr. 
 Vedder had just come, and that they were waiting for 
 Dorothy to join them at tennis. 
 
 " Oh, has he come? " said Dorothy. " I will be 
 right out." 
 
 Nellie had already gone. There was a look in 
 Dorothy s eyes as they met Derringforth s that seemed 
 to say : "I would a thousand times rather stay here 
 with you." 
 
 I wish I could go out with you and take a hand 
 in the game," said Derringforth softly. 
 
 "Oh, I wish you could," returned Dorothy. 
 There was infinite meaning in these words as she 
 spoke them. 
 
 " I hope you will win," added Derringforth, after a 
 moment s hesitation. His voice was hardly natural. 
 
 " Now you see the disadvantage of having a broken 
 leg," said Dorothy, not heeding his last remark. 
 
 " Every phase and condition of life has its disad 
 vantages as well as advantages. 
 
 "You are very patient." 
 
 "You credit me with a virtue that I fear I do not 
 possess. It is my good fortune in being with such 
 friends that contents me." 
 
 " I am sure you are not just to yourself." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I am. If I were in some places, now, 
 flat on my back, as I am here, I should simply rave 
 against heaven and earth."
 
 "Oh, you must not say that. I don t like to 
 think of your raving against heaven. It is dreadful." 
 
 " Pardon me, little girl," returned Derringforth. 
 " I am sorry my thoughtless words pain you." 
 
 This was the first time he had addressed her in so 
 familiar a manner. He did not do it intentionally. 
 He was sorry the minute the words were uttered, but 
 he had no need to be. The slip of the tongue, al 
 though it brought a flush to Dorothy s face, seemed 
 to add sweetness to the tone in which she said : "I 
 really must go they will not forgive me if I keep 
 them waiting so long. 
 
 " Their loss is my gain," said Derringforth. "You 
 see I am selfish in keeping you from them." 
 
 "I am the selfish one in keeping you from your 
 papers," answered Dorothy, and before Derringforth 
 had time to protest she was gone. 
 
 But Derringforth was in no mood for reading just 
 now. He pushed the papers away from him, and 
 stretched his arms above his head and looked idly 
 toward the ceiling. 
 
 " Is this all a dream? " he said to himself. " Is 
 this home nothing but a shadowy vision ? Is Dor 
 othy merely a delightful creation of fancy? " 
 
 He lay there and reflected for a long time over tlr: 
 events of the last ten days. They were startling]} 
 dramatic. He could hardly bring himself to believo 
 they were real, and yet was there not the pain of 
 knitting bones as evidence of his accident ? The 
 252
 
 scenes had changed swiftly. A single stroke, and he 
 was hurled from the eminence of the millionaire to 
 the jagged rocks of bankruptcy. 
 
 But for this crash he might never have visited the 
 Rayburns might never have known the charm of 
 Dorothy s smile might never again have seen that 
 sweet side of life to which his cynicism had blinded 
 him. 
 
 " Does everything come by chance in this world," 
 he reflected, "or is there something just beyond the 
 range of vision that shapes our lives ? " 
 
 When he had wearied of thinking, he turned to his 
 papers. He looked over the market reports and read 
 the meager news. He ran his eyes over the dramatic 
 notes and carelessly scanned the social happenings. 
 Suddenly he came across a name that sent a thrill 
 through him. It was Marion s. He read eagerly. 
 
 " Burton Edwards, a young Californian, and Miss 
 Kingsley, led the german," continued the item. 
 " They were a strikingly handsome couple. Miss 
 Kingsley never looked prettier. Her gown was a 
 fine specimen of Parisian art." 
 
 This was the first intimation Derringforth had had 
 that Marion was in America. 
 
 She may have been at home for months, for aught 
 I know," he said to himself bitterly. "I should 
 never have known of her return but for the news 
 papers. And Edwards ! Edwards is with her." 
 
 A frown flashed to Derringforth s face. 
 
 253
 
 " It is evident," he continued, with a curl of the 
 lip, " that she keeps Edwards informed of her where 
 abouts. 
 
 This thought seemed to rankle within him. The 
 past came surging back with startling vividness. He 
 tried to shut his eyes to it, but this time his will 
 failed him.
 
 A 000688606 3