uld be first to give it all to his beloved Vic."

And then came Satan's ten strike. "No need to settle things now. Wait
and think it over." And Vic decided in a blind way to think it over.

In the rotunda he met Trench, old Trench, slow of step but a lightning
calculator.

"Where are you going?" he exclaimed, as he saw Vic's face.

"I'm going to the whirlpool before I'm through," Vic said, hoarsely.

Trench caught him in a powerful grip and shoved him to the foot of the
rotunda stairs.

"No,-you re-not-going-to-the-whirlpool,"' he said, slowly. "You're
going up to the top of the dome right against that _Ad Astra per Aspera_
business up there, and open the west window and look out at the world
the Lord made to heal hurt souls by looking at. And you are going to
stay up there until you have fought the thing out with yourself, and
come down like Moses did with the ten Commandments cut deep on the
tables of your stony old heart. If you don't, you'll not need to go to
old Lagonda's pool. By the holy saints, I'll take you there myself and
plunge you in just to rid the world of such a fool. You hear me! Now, go
on! And remember in your tussle that that big S cut over the old Sunrise
door out there stands for Service. That's what will make your name fit
you yet, Victor."

Vic slowly climbed up to where an hour ago the sudden opportunity for
the fruition of his young life and hope had been brought to him. Lost
now, unless--Nobody would ever know and Bug could lose nothing. He
opened the west window and looked out at the Walnut Valley, dim and
shadowy now, and the silver prairies beyond it and the gorgeous crimson
tinted sky wherefrom the sun had slipped. And then and there, with his
face to the light, he wrestled with the black Apollyon of his soul. And
every minute the temptation grew to keep the funds "in trust," and to
keep on caring for the boy he had cared for since babyhood. He clinched
his white teeth and the tiger light was in his eyes again as the longing
for Elinor's love overcame him. He pictured her as only one sunset
ago she had looked up into his eyes, her face transfigured with love's
sweetness, and he wished he might keep that picture forever. But,
somehow, between that face and his own, came the picture of little Bug
alone in the wretched dugout, reaching up baby arms to him for life and
safety; on his baby face a pleading trustfulness.

Victor unbuttoned his cuff and slipped up his sleeve to the scar on