ront of the portrait--Olivia's face, with that strange,
wan expression which the fading light always brought to view, seemed
to stand out from the frame as if in appeal, a discovery that brought
a further sinking of the heart to his already overburdened spirit.

With a quick movement, as if dreading the power of prolonged darkness,
he struck a match and flashed up the circle of gas jets, flooding the
studio with light.

Suddenly he stopped and swept his eyes rapidly around the room. Some
one beside himself was present. He had caught the sound of a slight
movement and the murmur of whispering voices. Then a low, rippling
laugh fell upon his ears--the notes of a bird singing in the dark, and
the next instant Madeleine sprang from behind a screen where she had
been hiding and threw her arms around his neck.

"Guess!" she cried, pressing his ruddy cheeks, fresh from his walk,
between her tiny palms. "Guess what's happened! Quick!"

The revulsion was so great that for the moment he lost his breath.

"No! you couldn't guess! Nobody could. Oh, I'm so happy!
_Father's--made--it--up--with--Phil!_"

"Made it up! How do you know?" he stammered.

"Phil's just left him. Come out, Phil!"

Phil's head now peered from behind the screen.

"What do you think of that, Old Gentleman?" he cried, clasping Adam's
outstretched hand.

"And there isn't any trouble, Phil, over Mr. Stockton's note?"
exclaimed Gregg in a joyous but baffled tone of voice: he was still
completely at sea over the situation.

"Trouble over what?" asked Phil, equally mystified.

"That's what I want to know. You wrote me that it meant more trouble
for your firm."

"Yes, but that was before I had seen Mr. Stockton. Then I ran across
Mr. Eggleston just as he was coming out of the trust company, and he
sent me to Madeleine--and we couldn't get here quick enough. She beat
me running up your stairs. Hasn't she told you? And you don't know
about Stockton's letter? No! Why, he has offered me the position of
head of the bond department of the trust company at a salary of ten
thousand a year, and I go to work to-morrow! Here's his letter. Let me
read you the last clause:"

"No, let me," cried Madeleine, reaching for the envelope.

[Illustration: "It is all her doing, Phil."]

"No--I'll read it," begged Phil.

"No, you won't! I'll read it myself!" burst out Madeleine, catching
the letter from Phil's hand and whirling around the room in her glee.
"Listen: 'The