s
companions to stay as long as it pleased them, and, when they had
finished, to let themselves out with a key which he had coaxed out of
the indulgent hostess. Nancy knew that young John was using her rooms
for gambling purposes. At first the knowledge disturbed her peace of
mind, and she had determined to speak to him about it, but after mature
consideration, her theory that until his sin had lost its pleasure it
would be only driving him away from under her watchful eye to
interfere, made her decide to wait.

"Sin in the loikes o' young John Keene is the same as a person
sufferin' from the fever, and no remedy can successfully combat its
ravages until the poison has worn itself out," she declared to Jennie,
who had mildly criticised the appearance of the room after a night's
occupation. The night previous to the call of Miss Piper and her
friend young John had held Nancy in a serious conversation. From it
she gathered that his conscience was disturbed, for he had made
repeated references to his losses at the game, and vowed that could he
forsake his idle habits without running the gauntlet of his friends'
derision, he would be better pleased with himself.

"'Tis the work of a lady, Mistress McVeigh," he had confessed, and
Nancy went to her bed with a light heart when she heard of it.

Nancy did not retire after Will Devitt had reported everything closed
for the night. Instead, she went to her room and started a letter to
Corney, her second effort in that direction in three months. Her
correspondence was one of the sweetest trials of her existence. She
took weeks of silent reflection between her busy spells to plan out
what she would write before she was satisfied to take up her pen, and
then her trouble began in earnest. This night it was next to
impossible to compose her thoughts, as young John Keene's affairs had
been thrust before her with startling vividness. The midnight hour
passed, and still she sat by her little table, with pen lying flat on
the paper and a great daub spreading outward from its point. Her head
dropped upon her arm, and she was dreaming of Corney. The disturbance
of the party breaking up in the adjoining room made her eyes open, and
she listened intently, for she had a premonition that she had not seen
the last of them. The men were talking in low tones, but with evident
suppressed passion. Presently one spoke up clearly, as if in temper,
and then she heard John Keene laugh, bu