ly and
unbeautifully back. It came back with a bang. Jane resolutely set
herself to think the thing out clearly. If the matron or the Irishman
had persuaded Ethel to divulge her dark young past to her suitor, he
would have repudiated her just the same; therefore she--Jane--might
shake off her mantle of guilty responsibility. And after all, bleak as
life looked to the little creature now, still sobbing stormily in Mrs.
Richards' room, wasn't she safer than she would be married to her Jerry
with that stalking secret?--"Whose happiness resteth upon a lie is as a
spirit in prison." The whole world, the whole godly, gossiping,
ferreting world, would have conspired together to tell him. Now she
climbed nimbly to secure conviction in the eternal justice of things.
The girl had gone gallantly, in garish daylight, holding her happiness
in her hand, and told the truth. Now she was in the dust, but wouldn't
it all come right for her in the end? Wouldn't it _have_ to come right
for her? The sense of helpless misery fell away from her and she was so
confident of coming joy that she started toward the closed door of the
matron's room. No; she would not go in, but she was warm with comfort.
It seemed close and breathless in the office and she went to the street
door and opened it for a swallow of the keen winter air, and stood out
upon the top step, looking down into the dingy thoroughfare. There was a
young man, half a block away, on the opposite side. He was walking
slowly, looking at the numbers on the houses, and presently he looked
across at the Agnes Chatterton Home. Then he stood quite still, staring
at it.

Gladness and certainty rose in Jane and she beckoned to him.

He came over very slowly, and mounted the steps with lagging feet, and he
was still staring, his eyes rather dazed.

"Oh," said Jane, "I think I know who you are!" She was a little
breathless with happy excitement. "Aren't you--I don't know the rest of
your name, but aren't you--Jerry?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the youth. There was a close color harmony about him;
his jubilant cravat picked up the dominant note of his striped silk shirt
and the royal purple of his hose struck it again, an octave lower. The
removal of his velvet hat disclosed wide and flanging ears which gave his
face an expression of quaint comedy, now at variance with his aghast and
solemn look.

Jane's bright presence there on that dreary doorstep, her hailing of him,
her knowledge of his iden