d not let him see how desperately sorry for him she felt;
the most perfunctory phrase might betray her. Her knowledge of his
falseness stood between them like a wall; blindly she struggled to keep
it staunch, not letting her rushing pity undermine and crumble it. He
had been false to her, like his father. Father and son, they had
deceived and betrayed her; honor and truth were not in them.

"So you see," the son was saying, "I have a close personal interest in
this question of the money. Naturally it--means a good deal to me
to--have as much of it as possible restored. Of course there is a great
deal which--he took, and which--we are not in position to restore at
present. I will explain later what is to be done about that--"

"Oh, don't!" she begged. "I never want to see or hear of it again."

Suddenly she turned upon him, aware that her self-control was going, but
unable for her life to repress the sympathy for him which welled up
overwhelmingly from her heart.

"Won't you tell me something more about it? Please do! Where is he? Have
you seen him--?"

"I cannot tell you--"

"Oh, I will keep your confidence. You asked me if I would. I
will--won't you tell me? Is he here--in the city--?"

"You must not ask me these questions," he said with some evidence of
agitation.

But even as he spoke, he saw knowledge dawn painfully on her face. His
shelter, after all, was too small; once her glance turned that way, once
her mind started upon conjectures, discovery had been inevitable.

"Oh!" she cried, in a choked voice.... "It is Professor Nicolovius!"

He looked at her steadily; no change passed over his face. When all was
said, he was glad to have the whole truth out; and he knew the secret to
be as safe with her as with himself.

"No one must know," he said sadly, "until his death. That is not far
away, I think."

She dropped into a chair, and suddenly buried her face in her hands.

Surface's son had risen with her, but he did not resume his seat. He
stood looking down at her bowed head, and the expression in his eyes, if
she had looked up and captured it, might have taken her completely by
surprise.

His chance, indeed, had summoned him, though not for the perfect
sacrifice. Circumstance had crushed out most of the joy of giving. For,
first, she had suspected him, which nothing could ever blot out; and
now, when she knew the truth about him, there could hardly be much left
for him to give. It needed no treache