sort of shadowy resemblance
between father and son was apparent to her. "Well, you've wiped the
reckonin' off the slate by what you've done for me. You've given me my
Aura. Say, you have been my fairy godmother, all right. Talk about wishes
comin' true!"

Again he looked about the room, and that wistfulness of the visionary
stole into his face. His eyes came back to her with an expression that
was almost beautiful. "If only that Englishman was here," he sighed. "Yes
ma'am. I'm sure celebratin' to-night!"

It was soon very apparent that he was celebrating. For an hour he stood
every newcomer to a drink, and then he withdrew to a table in a shadowy
corner, and sitting there, tilted against the wall, he sipped from his
glass, smoked and dreamed. Hour after hour of the slow, noisy night went
by and still he sat there, watching Sheila through the smoke, seeing in
her, more and more glowingly, the body of his dream.

It was after dawn when Sheila touched Carthy's elbow. The big Irishman
looked down at her small, drawn face.

"Mr. Carthy," she whispered, "would it be all right if I went home now?
It's earlier than usual, but I'm so--awfully tired?"

There was so urgent an air of secrecy in her manner that Carthy
muttered his permission out of the corner of his mouth. Sheila melted
from his side.

The alley that had been silvery cool with dusk was now even more silvery
cool with morning twilight. Small sunrise clouds were winging over it
like golden doves. Sheila did not look at them. She ran breathless to her
door, opened it, and found herself face to face with Dickie.

CHAPTER XIV

THE LIGHT OF DAWN

There was a light of dawn in the room and through the open window blew in
the keen air of daybreak. Dickie was standing quite still in the middle
of the floor. He was more neat and groomed than Sheila had ever seen him.
He looked as though he had stepped from a bath; his hair was sleek and
wet so that it was dark above the pure pallor of his face; his suit was
carefully put on; his cuffs and collar were clean. He did not have the
look of a man that has been awake all night, nor did he look as though he
had ever been asleep. His face and eyes were alight, his lips firm and
delicate with feeling.

Before him Sheila felt old and stained. The smoke and fumes of the bar
hung about her. She was shamed by the fresh youthfulness of his slender,
eager carriage and of his eyes.

"Dickie," she faltered, and stood agai