stice of his position, and resolved to tell
her at once the whole story and let her judge. He had in his pocket
the deed to the house and lot, which he determined now to give her at
once, and to make explanations at the same time.

This he did. He called to see her the following afternoon and found
her surrounded with women and gowns and flowers. The women fled when
he approached, but the gowns and flowers remained, and there was talk
upon them till at last, in sheer desperation, Clement said:

"Ellice, here is something that I want to give you now. It is my
wedding gift."

He placed in her hand the deed. She looked at it.

"Oh, there's so much fine print. I can't read it now. What is it?"

"It is the deed to the new home."

Her eyes misted with quick emotion.

"How good you are to me, Richard."

"No, it's precaution," he replied as lightly as he could. "We will
have a home always if you don't lose it in some wild speculation."

She put her arms about his neck, an infrequent caress with her.

"How rich we are. God is good to us. And is it not good to think that
our wealth does not come from anybody's misery? It comes out of the
earth like a spring--like the spring that made me well."

As he looked down into her face it seemed lit from within by some
Heavenly light, and her voice made his head grow dizzy. He could not
tell her his story then.

He sat down and listened to her talk. She wanted to know what troubled
him, and he was forced to lie.

"Oh, nothing. I'm a little worried about a--new piece of machinery."
This gave him a thought. "I must be away this evening. I can't take
dinner with you."

She was not one of those who worry with expostulations or
complainings. She had a mind of her own, and she granted the same
decision to others.

"Very well," she said, and she flashed a sudden roguish look at him.
"Don't forget to breakfast with me."

He had the grace to return her smile as he said:

"Oh, I'll not forget. I've charged my mind with it."

His going was like a flight. His inner cry was this:

"My God! I am absolutely unworthy of her. I am big, coarse and
dishonest--unfit to touch her hand."

His gloomy face and bent head was a subject of joke for the
acquaintances he met on the street.

"Saddle Susanna," he called sharply to his Mexican hostler. He had
made up his mind to radical measures.

As he sat in his room with his face buried in his hands shutting out
the light of the splendid s