ow;
yet she felt the thing was impossible for Richard to do, and that she
must hold the secret a little longer--all the more because even her
father seemed now to credit the terrible accusation. She threw her
arms about his neck and implored him.

"Oh, father, dear! Take me to the jail to see him, and after that I
will try to do what is right. I can think clearer after I have seen
him."

"I don't know if that will be allowed--but--"

"It will have to be allowed. How can I say if it is Richard until I
see him. It may not be Richard. The Elder is too blinded to even go
near him, and dear Mrs. Craigmile is not here. Some one ought to go in
fairness to Richard--who loves--" She choked and could say no more.

"I will talk to your mother first. There is another thing that should
soften your heart to the Elder. All over the country there is
financial trouble. Banks are going to pieces that never were in
trouble before, and Elder Craigmile's bank is going, he fears. It will
be a terrible crash, and we fear he may not outlive the blow. I tell
you this, even though you may not understand it, to soften your heart
toward him. He considers it in the nature of a disgrace."

"Yes. I understand, better than you think." Betty's voice was sad, and
she looked weary and spent. "If the bank breaks, it breaks the Elder's
heart. All the rest he could stand, but not that. The bank, the bank!
He tried to sacrifice Peter Junior to that bank. He would have broken
Peter's heart for that bank, as he has his wife's; for if it had not
been for Peter's quarrel with his father, first of all, over it, I
don't believe all the rest would have happened. Peter told me a lot. I
know."

"Betty, did you never love Peter Junior? Tell father."

"I thought I did. I thought I knew I did,--but when Richard came
home--then--I--I--knew I had made a terrible mistake; but, father, I
meant to stand by Peter--and never let anybody know until--Oh, father,
need I tell any more?"

"No, my dear. You would better talk with your mother."

Bertrand Ballard left the studio more confused in his mind, and yet
both sadder and wiser then he had ever been in his life. He had seen a
little way into his small daughter's soul, and conceived of a power
of spirit beyond him, although he considered her both unreasonable and
wrong. He grieved for her that she had carried such a great burden so
bravely and so long. How great must have been her love, or her
infatuation! The pathet