his shrine of dreams and the organ which might have graced
a cathedral. If they would allow him ten minutes there alone--ten
minutes to finger the keys for the last time--at least he meant to ask
it. It was a much changed man who presented himself diffidently at a
house to which the public had been invited by the commissioner's
advertisement. His clothes were already beginning to indicate his
deteriorated condition though, thanks to Mary's care, they were
scrupulously neat. The things to be sold this morning could find
purchasers only among the very rich, and for that precise reason the
occasion had attracted a horde of people who came as they might have
gone to a fire or to a museum. Paul Burton found it easy enough to meet
these eyes. It was when he encountered the gaze of old associates that
he shrunk and trembled.

The sale had not yet begun and the crowds were drifting hither and
thither, bent on preliminary inspection, jostling arms with the men from
the detective agencies assigned to the occasion.

Paul found the person who seemed vested with authority and to him put
his request. The individual looked at this pale young man and recognized
him. There was a pathos in his face that could hardly be denied--and
there was no reason for denying him.

"Certainly, Mr. Burton," he agreed. "I'll instruct the door-man not to
let any one else in--unless you have friends you'd like to take with
you."

Paul shook his head. "I'd rather be alone," he said. But as the two
elbowed their way through the crowd he found himself face to face with a
dark-haired, deep-eyed woman in fashionable and becoming mourning, upon
whose fingers sparkled a number of rings. The musician halted in his
tracks and turned desperately pale. He had heard that Loraine Haswell
had returned from Europe--and he had heard vague rumors which had deeply
shocked him. If they were based on truth it seemed improbable that she
would care to risk meeting any of her old associates. Yet when his eyes
encountered hers he found her laughing gaily, and he realized that,
whatever else had happened to Loraine Haswell, she had lost none of her
beauty.

"Loraine!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying his excitement, and she
responded calmly, but with no emotion, "Good-morning, Mr. Burton." It
was as though they had parted yesterday, but also as though they had
never met, save casually, before that parting; as though their lives had
never touched more intimately than in the