t my father at the bank for three hundred dollars,
and the money is gone."

Nancy bent near to him and whispered as if telling her unspoken
thoughts, "Ye have done wrong by yer father's money, John!"

The young man put his face in his hands and rocked to and fro for some
minutes, while his body shook with suppressed emotion. A great joy
surged through Nancy McVeigh's being, and her hand stole lovingly over
his head and rested there. She knew that the change was upon him, and
if victory came of it, John Keene of the past would be forgotten.

"Johnny, I've a letter from Corney in Chicago, and he says he could
find a place fer just such a man as you. Ye must take it and work
hard, and the first money ye earn ye must use it to make it right with
your father."

"'Twould be sending me to hell to go there," John replied, looking up:
and then, as if his answer was not as he wished, he was about to speak
again, but Nancy continued in even tones:

"There was a certain young lass--I'll no tell ye her name, but she is
fit fer the best man in the world--came to me to-day and asked me to
speak to ye fer her sake. Man, ye must be up and doin', fer she loves
ye. She told me so with her own lips. Ye can go away fer two years.
It's no time fer youngsters to abide, and when ye have proved yerself,
come back an' she'll be waitin' and proud o' ye."

Young John Keene slowly rose to his feet. He took Nancy's hand in his
and looked her squarely in the eye.

"You are not joking, Mrs. McVeigh?" he asked.

"As I hope to live, John Keene, I'm tellin' ye the honest truth," she
replied.

"I'll do it," he muttered, hoarsely.

When Nancy went to her bed she gazed awhile at the two photos tacked on
the wall, then at the sleeping face of Katie Duncan. "I've won him,
thank God!" she murmured, and fell asleep smiling.

CHAPTER IV.

_THE WRECK AT THE JUNCTION._

The widow McVeigh's face was a picture of sobriety, in fact, almost
severity. The features were conspicuous because of the abrupt falling
in of her cheeks, and her grey eyes were deep set and touched at the
corners by plenteous crowsfeet. Yet when the world looked at her
casually it saw a smiling countenance. Some thought her face hard, and
the smile bold rather than a kindly one; others, that she was of coarse
intellect and smiled because she could not appreciate the daily trials
and troubles of the poor. These opinions were more generally shared by
the good temp