ede for him!" To the butler, who entered, he said:
"See if Mr. Jefferson is still in the house. If he is, tell him I
would like to see him here at once."

The man disappeared, and Ryder strode angrily up and down the room
with the letters in his hand. Then, turning abruptly on Stott, he
said:

"And now, sir, I think nothing more remains to be said. I shall
keep these letters, as they are my property."

"As you please. Good night, sir."

"Good night," replied Ryder, not looking up.

With a significant glance at Shirley, who motioned to him that she
might yet succeed where he had failed, Stott left the room. Ryder
turned to Shirley. His fierceness of manner softened down as he
addressed the girl:

"You see what they have done to my son--"

"Yes," replied Shirley, "it's the girl's fault. If Jefferson
hadn't loved her you would have helped the judge. Ah, why did they
ever meet! She has worked on his sympathy and he--he took these
letters for her sake, not to injure you. Oh, you must make some
allowance for him! One's sympathy gets aroused in spite of
oneself; even I feel sorry for--these people."

"Don't," replied Ryder grimly, "sympathy is often weakness. Ah,
there you are!" turning to Jefferson, who entered the room at that
moment.

"You sent for me, father?"

"Yes," said Ryder, Sr., holding up the letters. "Have you ever
seen these letters before?"

Jefferson took the letters and examined them, then he passed them
back to his father and said frankly:

"Yes, I took them out of your desk and sent them to Mr. Stott in
the hope they would help Judge Rossmore's case."

Ryder restrained himself from proceeding to actual violence only
with the greatest difficulty. His face grew white as death, his
lips were compressed, his hands twitched convulsively, his eyes
flashed dangerously. He took another cigar to give the impression
that he had himself well under control, but the violent trembling
of his hands as he lit it betrayed the terrific strain he was
under.

"So!" he said, "you deliberately sacrificed my interests to save
this woman's father--you hear him, Miss Green? Jefferson, my boy,
I think it's time you and I had a final accounting."

Shirley made a motion as if about to withdraw. He stopped her with
a gesture.

"Please don't go, Miss Green. As the writer of my biography you
are sufficiently well acquainted with my family affairs to warrant
your being present at the epilogue. Besides, I want an excu