'll see if we can make a deal. I'll have my proposition fixed up
straight and square, but this is the gist of it. While doing your best
for your own advantage, hold Julius Savine's name clean before the
world, win the most possible for Helen out of the wreck, and rush
through the reclamation scheme--which is the key to all."

"As you said--it's a big undertaking, but I'll do my best," began
Geoffrey, but Savine checked him.

"Go down and see what you make of things. Maybe the sight of them will
choke you off. I'll take no other answer. Send Tom to me," he
commanded.

It was the next day when Geoffrey had an interview with Helen, who sent
for him. She was standing beside a window when he came in. She looked
tall in a long somber-tinted dress which emphasized the whiteness of
her full round throat and the pallor of her face. The faint, olive
coloring of her skin had faded; there were shadows about her eyes. At
the first glance Geoffrey's heart went out towards her. It was evident
the verdict of the physicians had been a heavy shock, but he fancied
that she was ready to meet the inevitable with undiminished courage.
Still, her fingers were cold when, for a moment, they touched his own.

"Sit down, Geoffrey. I have a great deal to say to you, and don't know
how to begin," she said. "But first I am sincerely grateful for all
you have done."

"We will not mention that. Neither, I hope, need I say that Miss
Savine of all people could never be indebted to me. You must know it
already."

Helen thanked him with her eyes as she sank into the chair he wheeled
out so that the light left her face in shadow. Geoffrey stood near the
window framing and he did not look directly towards her. Helen
appreciated the consideration which prompted the action and the respect
implied by his attitude.

"I am going to ask a great deal of you, and remind you of a promise you
once made." There was a little tremor in her voice. "You will not
think it ungracious if I say there is no one else who can do what seems
so necessary, and ask you if you do not consider that you owe something
to my father. It is hard for me, not because I doubt you, but
because----"

Geoffrey checked her with a half-raised hand. "Please don't, Miss
Savine--I can understand. You find it difficult to receive, when, as
yet, you have, you think, but little to give. Would that make any
difference? The little--just to know that I had helped you--would