own, and that
would be far worse than not to make money quite so rapidly."

"I do not think I am going beyond my strength," Virgie replied, gravely.
"Besides, I am much more content when I am very busy; it keeps me
from--thinking."

"You ought to be far more than simply 'content,'" answered Mr. Knight,
regarding the fair face wistfully, "for you are not only making plenty of
money, but winning fame for yourself also. The name of Alexander bids fair
to become renowned."

Virgie started violently at this, and glanced sharply at her companion.
Then a burning blush suffused her face, and she said, in a low, pained
tone:

"Oh, I hope not! I--I do not wish to be known. I am afraid I have done
wrong in using the name at all. I did it hastily, impulsively----"

She stopped, covered with confusion, a look of distress on her lovely face
for having allowed herself to say so much.

Mr. Knight looked astonished for a moment, while he earnestly studied her
countenance. Then light seemed to dawn upon him suddenly.

"Pardon me," he said, leaning eagerly toward her, "but what you have said
has enlightened me regarding something that has puzzled me since the day I
first met you. You are the daughter of Abbot Alexander who disappeared so
mysteriously from this city several years ago."

"Yes, it is true," Virgie confessed, with bowed head and burning cheeks.
"But, oh, Mr. Knight, pray do not allow any one else to suspect my
identity if you can avoid it. Put some other name to my books, or put no
name at all to them. For my father's sake, I shrink from attracting public
attention to his name."

"My dear young friend, I fear you are morbidly sensitive I used to know
your father, and I always esteemed him as a noble man--one whose honor was
unimpeachable."

"Ah! Then you do not know--"

"Yes, I do know all about that financial earthquake which wrought his ruin
and that of many others; but I am sure <i>he</i> was blameless."

"You judge him, then, more kindly than others," Virgie returned, almost
weeping to hear her father so warmly defended. "There are few, I fear, who
do not believe the very worst of him even now."

"Doubtless that is true," Mr. Knight answered, with a sigh; "but I have
always been convinced that that rascally cashier was at the bottom of the
wrong. You must pardon me for speaking so plainly. I know that he was a
relative, though unworthy the name he bore."

"But all the papers stated that the president and