my arms.

"Don't be frightened, little girl. Give me your hand. See! I'll kiss it,
dear. Now, don't cry; don't, honey."

Her arms were around me. She clung to me ever so tightly.

"Garry," I said, "this is my wife. When I have lost my belief in all
else, I will believe in her. You have made us both suffer. As for what
you've said--you're mistaken. She's a good, good girl. I will not
believe that by thought, word or deed she has been untrue to me. She
will explain everything. Now, good-bye. Come, Berna."

Suddenly she stopped me. Her hand was on my arm, and she turned towards
Garry. She held herself as proudly as a queen.

"I want to explain now," she said, "before you both."

She pulled from her bosom a little crumpled note, and handed it to me.
Then, as I read it, a great light burst on me. Here it was:

"Dear Berna:

"For heaven's sake be on your guard. Jack Locasto is on his way
north again. I think he's crazy. I know he'll stick at nothing, and
I don't want to see blood spilt. He says he means to wipe out all
old scores. For your sake, and for the sake of one dear to you, be
warned.

"In haste,

"Viola Lennoir."

"I got it two days ago," she said. "Oh, I've been distracted with fear.
I did not like to show it to you. I've brought you nothing but trouble,
and I've never spoken of him, never once. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, little girl, I understand."

"I wanted to save you, no matter at what cost. To-night I tried to
prevent you going out there, for I feared you might meet him. I knew he
was very near. Then, when you had gone, my fear grew and grew. There I
sat, thinking over everything. Oh, if I only had a friend, I thought;
some one to help me. Then, as I sat, dazed, distracted, the 'phone rang.
It was your brother."

"Yes, go on, dear."

"He told me he wanted to see me; he begged me to come at once. I thought
of you, of your danger, of some terrible mishap. I was terrified. I
went."

She paused a moment, as if the recital was infinitely painful to her,
then she went on.

"I found my way to his room. My mind was full of you, of that man, of
how to save you. I did not think of myself, of my position. At first I
was too agitated to speak. He bade me sit down, compose myself. His
manner was quiet, grave. Again I feared for you. He asked me to excuse
him for