hould."

"But no one in the bank knew you. They couldn't trace you by your
father's draft and letter of identification, could they?"

Charlotte was mystified. "I should suppose they could, if they wanted
to. But why? What if they could?"

"My dear child; don't you see? They are sure to catch the robber, sooner
or later, and if they know how to find you, you might be dragged into
court as a witness!"

Miss Farnham was not less averse to publicity than the conventionalities
demanded, but she had, or believed she had, very clear and well-defined
ideas of her own touching her duty in any matter involving a plain
question of right and wrong.

"I shouldn't wait to be dragged," she asserted quietly. "It would be a
simple duty to go willingly. The first thing I thought of was that I
ought to write at once to Mr. Galbraith, giving him my address."

Thereupon issued discussion. Miss Gilman's opinion upon such a momentous
question--a question involving an apparent conflict between the
proprieties and an act of simple justice--leaned heavily toward silence.
There could be no possible need for Charlotte's interference. Mr.
Galbraith and the teller would be able to identify the robber, and a
thousand eye-witnesses could do no more. At the end of the argument the
conservative one had extorted a conditional promise from her niece. The
matter should remain in abeyance until the question of conscientious
obligation had been submitted to Charlotte's father and decided by him.

Being by nature and inclination averse to shacklings, verbal or other,
Charlotte gave the promise reluctantly, and the subject was dismissed.
Not from the younger woman's thoughts, however. In the reflective field
the scene in the bank recurred again and again until presently it became
a haunting annoyance. To banish it finally she went to her state-room
and got a book for herself and a magazine for her aunt.

An hour later, when Miss Gilman had finished cutting the leaves of the
magazine, and was deep in the last instalment of the current serial,
Charlotte let her book slip from her fingers and gave herself to the
passive enjoyment of the slowly passing panorama which is the chief
charm of inland voyaging.

It was a delectable day, sweet-scented with the mingled perfume of roses
and jasmine and chinaberry trees wafted from the open-air conservatories
surrounding the plantation mansions on either bank. The majestic onrush
of the steamer, the rhythmic drumb