nything congenial to herself in his dissipated and purposeless
life. But the freaks of youthful passion are endless, and it was evident
that they loved each other sincerely.

Her tremulous condition and meek complaint went to my heart,
notwithstanding my growing dread of any conversation between us on this
all-absorbing but equally peace-destroying topic. Reassuringly pressing
her hand, I was startled to find a small piece of paper clutched
convulsively within it.

"For Arthur," she explained under her breath. "I thought you might find
some way of getting it to him. Father and mother are so prejudiced. They
have never liked him, and now they believe the very worst. They would
lock me up if they knew I was speaking to you about him. Mother is very
stern and says that all this nonsense between Arthur and myself must
stop. That we must never--no matter whether he is cleared or--or--"
Silence, then a little gasp, after which she added with an emphasis which
bespoke the death of every hope: "She is very decided about it, Elwood."

I hardly blamed the mother.

"I--I love Arthur. I don't think him guilty and I would gladly stand by
him if they would let me. I want him to know this. I want him to get such
comfort as he can out of my belief and my desire to serve him. I want to
sacrifice myself. But I can't, I can't," she moaned. "You don't know how
mother frightens me. When she looks at me, the words falter on my tongue
and I feel as if it would be easier to die than to acknowledge what is in
my heart."

I could believe her. Mrs. Fulton was a notable woman, whom many men
shrank from encountering needlessly. It was not her tongue, though that
could be bitter enough, but a certain way she had of infusing her
displeasure into attitude, tone, and manner, which insensibly sapped your
self-confidence and forced you to accept her bad opinion of you as your
rightful due. This, whether your judgment coincided with hers or not.

"Yet your mother is your very best friend," I ventured gently, with a
realisation of my responsibility which did not add much to my
self-possession.

She seemed startled.

"Not in this, not in this," she objected, with a renewal of her anxious
glances, this time up and down the street. "I must get a word to Arthur.
I _must_."

I saw that she had some deeper reason than appeared, for desiring
communication with him. I was debating how best to meet the situation and
set her right as to my ability to serv