to me in a
sealed parcel the last time I saw him. It's only a hundred pounds. Yes,
that was the message he wrote. Can you read it? 'With apologies from the
man who swindled you.' As if I cared for the wretched money!"

Babbacombe frowned over the writing in silence.

"Why don't you say what you think, Jack?" she said. "Why don't you call
him a thieving scoundrel and me a poor, romantic fool!"

"I am trying to think how I can help you," he answered quietly. "Have
you any plans?"

"No, nothing definite," she said. "It is difficult to know what to do.
He knows one thing--that he has a friend who will help him when he comes
out. He will be horribly poor, you know, and I'm so rich. But, of
course, I would do it anonymously. And he thinks his friend is a man."

Babbacombe pondered with drawn brows.

"Cynthia," he said slowly, at length, "suppose I take this matter into
my own hands, suppose I make it possible for you to see this man once
more, will you be guided entirely by me? Will you promise me solemnly to
take no rash step of any description; in short, to do nothing without
consulting me? Will you promise me, Cynthia?"

He spoke very earnestly. The firelight showed her the resolution on his
face.

"Of course I will promise you, Jack," she said instantly. "I would trust
myself body and soul in your keeping. But what can you do?"

"I might do this," he said. "I might pose as his unknown friend--another
philanthropist, Cynthia." He smiled rather grimly. "I might get hold of
him when he comes out, give him something to do to keep his head above
water. If he has any manhood in him, he won't mind what he takes. And I
might--later, if I thought it practicable--I only say 'if,' Cynthia, for
after many years of prison life a man isn't always fit company for a
lady--I might arrange that you should see him in some absolutely casual
fashion. If you consent to this arrangement you must leave that entirely
to me."

"But you will hate to do it!" she exclaimed.

He rose. "I will do it for your sake," he said. "I shall not hate it if
it makes you see things--as they are."

"Oh, but you are good," she said tremulously--"you are good!"

"I love a good woman," he answered gravely.

And with that he turned and left her alone in the firelight with her
romance.

II

It was early on a dark November day that the prison gate at Barren Hill
opened to allow a convict who had just completed twelve years' penal
servitude t