gone, went over to his visitor, and
laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder.

"My dear Miss Dundas, my son desires to see you, and speak with you
alone. He will say--he will tell you things that may make you take a
harsh view of--of his parents. I exhort you, in all Christian charity, to
suspend your judgment, and be merciful--to us, at least. I am a weak
man--weaker than I thought. This is a time of humiliation for us, a time
of difficulty, bordering on ruin. Have mercy. That is all I ask."

Without waiting for a reply, he led the way upstairs. Dora followed with
beating heart, conscious of a sense of mystery. At the door of Dick's
room, the rector left her.

"Go in," he murmured, hoarsely.

"Dora!"

It was Dick's voice. He was reclining in a deck-chair, wrapped around
with rugs, and with a book lying in his lap. He was less drawn and
pinched than when he first returned, but the change in him was still
great enough to give her a sudden wrench at the heart.

"Oh, Dick! Dick!" she cried, flinging away her muff and rushing to him.
"Oh, my poor Dick! What have they done to you?"

He smiled weakly, and allowed her to wind her arms about his neck as she
knelt by his side.

"They've nearly killed me, Dora. But I'm not dead yet. I'm in hiding
here, as I understand father told you. You don't mean to give me the
go-by just because people are saying things about me?"

"Indeed, no. But the things they're saying, Dick, are dreadful, and I
wanted to hear from your own lips that they're not true."

"You remember what I said to you before I went away?"

"I remember, and I have been loyal to my promise."

"Well, you can continue loyal, little one. I am no forger--but I fear
they're going to put me into jail, and I must go through with it, as I've
had to go through lots of ugly things out there." He shuddered.

"But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you refute it?"

"Ah, there you have me, Dora. If you force me to explain, I will. It
concerns one who is near and dear to me, and I would rather be silent.
If, however, there is the slightest doubt in your mind of my innocence,
you must know everything."

"I--I would rather know," pleaded Dora, whose curiosity was
overmastering.

"But is your faith in me conditional? Is not my word enough?"

"It is enough for me, Dick--but it is the others--father, and--"

"Ah! I understand. But what do other people matter--now? You're going to
marry Ormsby, I understand."

D