l from her mother--her home," said Iden, slowly.

"Yes, and it was a hard, cruel act," replied Lane, sharply. "You were
wrong. You--"

The mill whistle cut short Lane's further speech. When its shrill
clarion ended, Iden got up, and shook himself as if to reestablish
himself in the present.

"Lane, you come to my house to-night," he said. "I've got to go back
to work.... But I'll think--and we can talk it over. I still live
where you used to come as a boy.... How strange life is!... Good day,
Lane."

Lane felt more than satisfied with the result of that interview.
Joshua Iden would go home and tell Mel's mother, and that would surely
make the victory easier. She would be touched in her mother's heart;
she would understand Mel now, and divine Lane's mission; and she
would plead with her husband to consent, and to bring Mel back home.
Lane was counting on that. He must never even hint such a hope, but
nevertheless he had it, he believed in it. Joshua Iden would have the
scales torn from his eyes. He would never have it said that a dying
soldier, who owed neither him nor his daughter anything, had shown
more charity than he.

Therefore, Lane went early to the Iden homestead, a picturesque
cottage across the river from Riverside Park. The only change Lane
noted was a larger growth of trees and a fuller foliage. It was warm
twilight. The frogs had begun to trill, sweet and melodious sound to
Lane, striking melancholy chords of memory. Joshua Iden was walking on
his lawn, his coat off, his gray head uncovered. Mrs. Iden sat on the
low-roofed porch. Lane expected to see a sad change in her, something
the same as he had found in his own mother. But he was hardly prepared
for the frail, white-haired woman unlike the image he carried in his
mind.

"Daren Lane! You should have come to see me long ago," was her
greeting, and in her voice, so like Mel's, Lane recognized her. Some
fitting reply came to him, and presently the moment seemed easier for
all. She asked about his mother and Lorna, and then about Blair
Maynard. But she did not speak of his own health or condition. And
presently Lane thought it best to come to the issue at hand.

"Mr. Iden, have you made up your mind to--to give me what I want?"

"Yes, I have, Lane," replied Iden, simply. "You've made me see what
Mel's mother always believed, though she couldn't make it clear to
me.... I have much to forgive that girl. Yet, if you, who owe her
nothing--who have wa