it was my own. I left him sound and well."

"There are others," she exclaimed scornfully, "who may believe that, but
not many, I should think."

"Joan," he said earnestly, "you will be a happier woman all your life if
you will listen to me now. Your father was killed that night and
robbed, but not by me. I took twenty pounds, which was not a tithe of
what belonged to me--not a penny more. It was after I had left--"

"Two in one night?" she interrupted. "It doesn't sound ingenious,
Douglas Guest, though you are welcome, of course, to your own story."

"Ingenious or not, it is true," he answered. "You are very bitter
against me, and some hard thoughts from you I have certainly deserved.
But of what you think I am not guilty, and unless you want to do a thing
of which you will repent until your dying day, you must put that thought
away from you."

"Do you think that I am a child?" she asked scornfully. "Do you think
that I am to be put off with such rubbish as that? I made all my
arrangements long ago for when I found you. In less than an hour you
will be in prison."

"Joan, you are very hard," he said.

"I loved my father, and I hate you," she returned, passionately.

He nodded.

"I misjudged you," he said reflectively. "I never gave you credit for
such tenacity of purpose. I did not think that love or hate would ever
burn their way into your life."

"Then you were a fool," she answered shortly. "You have never
understood me. Perhaps when you have the rope about your neck you will
read a woman's nature more truthfully."

"You are very vindictive, Joan."

"I want justice," she replied sharply, "and I hate you!"

"Listen," he said. "I am not going to make any attempt to escape. I
will answer this charge of yours when the time comes. Meanwhile there
is something which I want to show you. It will not take long and it may
alter your purpose."

"Nothing could ever alter my purpose," she remarked emphatically.

"You cannot tell," he answered. "Now, I declare to you most solemnly
that if you have me arrested before you do what I ask, you will never
cease to repent it all your life."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

He took down his hat from a peg behind the door.

"It is something I have to show you. We must go to my rooms. They are
only just the other side of the Strand."

In absolute silence they walked along together. Joan had but one
fear--the fear which had made her grant his request--and t