ess sobbing in a wild
grief.

And but twenty-four hours later the open switch left unguarded by
a drunken laborer had sent a thundering special crashing into Hugh
Worthington's special car.

Strangers had tenderly lifted his bruised and bleeding body; but
no one but the mourning girl had heard the awful confession of
those early morning hours at Pasco.

Alice Worthington shuddered as the dying man gasped out his fateful
words, driven on by a self-torment which was a living hell. The
millionaire faltered out the shameful discovery of Randall Clayton's
vast birthright.

"I was forced to take advantage of Everett Clayton in the panic
days when we separated. It was his ruin or mine. It was only after
I had nurtured and educated Randall that I found the forgotten land
had leaped into a priceless estate. The railway changes made it a
princely fortune.

"I was tempted! I feared to disclose my plans of handling Dunham.
I was forced to buy Dunham's influence with speculating for him. It
was only another form of bribery. And so, to seal Dunham's faith,
I married you to Arthur Ferris!"

The girl bride's, eyes settled into a stony stare as the wretched
man grasped her hands. "It is too late now. The company has been
my dream, the crown of my life. But you can make restitution. You
are now nineteen. I have left all to you, in my will. Boardman
and Warner are the executors. They are honest. There is young
Witherspoon, too, their junior; he is Clayton's friend. You can tell
him that you have discovered this property interest for Clayton.

"Spare my name. Spare yourself the public shame. You can make
restitution. Tell Arthur Ferris all. He has my confidence. He
knew the whole intrigue. And make him give Clayton his half of
the proceeds of the land sale. You will have all my millions! Your
husband is powerless to interfere. I intended to leave him a handsome
sum. But you can take Randall Clayton's deed to the railroad land
and give him one-half of what they pay me. Ferris has carried the
whole matter through. He knows."

When the dying man recovered from the weakness of his effort at
disclosure, he lay whispering, "Nemesis! Nemesis! I am punished!"

And Alice Worthington, at her dying father's side, felt herself now
chained to the galley, a slave of millions. She had become twenty
years older in half an hour. In low tones she asked questions to
which the repentant man replied only by a feeble motion of assent