paper down his vile throat! I
had not considered that sacrifice. And I can not touch him by law,
either."

"But you can silence him effectually. This business will end right
here."

"You are right," said John with reluctance. "If I met him in this
rage. I should probably kill him."

"Let us go and pay him a visit together, John," Warrington suggested.
"I can manage to keep in between you."

"That's better. We'll go together." And John went for his hat. Then he
ran up stairs quickly. There was a loving heart up there that ached,
and he alone could soothe it.

And then the two men left the house. As they strode down the street,
side by side, step by step, their thoughts were as separate as the two
poles. To the one his wife was still his wife, in all the word
implied; to the other there was only a long stretch of years that he
must pass through alone, alone,--not even the man at his side would
ever be quite the same to him, nor his wife. There was a shadow; it
would always walk between them.

"Remember, Dick, Patty must never know anything of this. Nothing must
come between her and my wife."

"I shall say nothing to any one, John." Who had written to Patty?

It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade's office.
Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office and
alone. The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone. He was still
wondering why Osborne's niece had resigned so unexpectedly. Probably
she was going to get married. They always did when they had saved a
penny or two. He laughed. He had been careless now and then, but
whatever she might have picked up in the way of business or political
secrets could not profit her. Boss McQuade felt secure. Warrington was
as good as beaten. He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man who
had turned him out of doors.

It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light over
his desk. He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual;
so he went on with his writing.

"Well, what's wanted?" he called, folding his letter, but not yet
turning his head.

As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot.
He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once. By and by his
eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Instantly he was on his feet,
pressing the button connecting the wall-lights. There was no possible
exit save by that door, and these two men stood between. To do McQuade
justice, he was not a physical co