he sentence was never finished. He seemed to realize that there could be
nothing worse than to be falsely denounced by his own mother--the mother
whom he loved and idolized, the most wonderful mother son ever had, the
most beautiful woman in New York, the wife of John Swinton, chosen man of
God.

"You'd better not come home," urged the colonel; "at any rate, as far as
we are concerned."

"Ah, that means you intend to cut me."

"Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned--Well, the fact is, she's engaged
to Ormsby now."

"Engaged to Ormsby?"

Dick put out his hand almost blindly to take his cap, and adjusted it on
his head like a man drunk. He arose and staggered from the table. This
was the last straw.

"Look here, boy--you want some money," exclaimed the colonel, brusquely.
"I've come prepared. You'll find some bills in this envelope. Put it in
your pocket."

Dick's hands hung limply at his sides. The colonel seized him by the
loose front of his ulster, and kept him from swaying, at the same time
thrusting the envelope into one of his pockets. Then, he took the young
man's arm, and led him out into the vestibule.

"Bear up, my boy--bear up," he whispered. "You've got to face it. You're
dead--remember that. Nobody but myself knows the truth. Be a man, for
God's sake--for your mother's sake--for your father's. You've got the
whole world before you. If things go very wrong--well, you can rely upon
me for another instalment--just one more, like the one in your pocket.
Write to me under some other name. Call yourself John Smith--do you
hear?"

"Yes--John Smith," echoed Dick, huskily.

"Well, good-bye, my boy--good-bye," the colonel exclaimed. "I must catch
my train." He tried to say something else. Words failed him. He turned
and ignominiously escaped, leaving Dick standing alone, helpless and
dazed.

"I'm going home--I'm going home," muttered Dick, as he thrust his hands
into his ulster pockets, and tottered along toward the elevator, for he
felt that he must get to his room at once.

"My own mother!--I can't believe it."

CHAPTER XX

THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED

When the colonel suppressed Dick's telegram, and as he fondly imagined,
silenced the young man in Boston, he left out of the reckoning a prying
servant, who secretly examined the message which the colonel had thrown
into a wastebasket torn across only twice. In consequence of this,
hundreds of persons, presently, were discussing a rumor to the