my sickness,' she said, and how strangely I talked of
going to prison as an accessory or a substitute? Well, it was for your
brother I was ready to go; and when he told me, as he did one day, that
he knew nothing of the diamonds, I was never more astonished in my life;
but afterward, as I grew older, I came to believe that he had forgotten
them, as he did other things, and that some time he would remember and
make restitution, I am glad we know where they are, but we cannot get
them until he returns. When do you think that will be?'

Frank did not know. It would depend, he said, upon whether he was in San
Francisco when Tom's telegram was received. If he were and started at
once, travelling day and night, he would be home in a week.

It seemed a long time to wait in Jerrie's state of mind, and very, very
short to the repentant man, who shrank from his brother's return as from
an impending evil, although it was a relief to think that he need not
tell him what a hypocrite he had been.

'Thank you, Jerrie,' he said at last, as he rose to go, 'Thank you for
being so kind to me. I did not deserve it. I did not expect it. Heaven
bless you. I am glad for you, and so is Maude. Oh, Jerrie, heaven is
dealing hard with me to take her from me, and yet it is just. I sinned
for her; sinned to see her in the place I was sure was yours, although
the shadow was always telling me that I did not and never could know for
sure that you were Arthur's child; but I did, and I meant to go to
Germany some day, when I had the language a little better, and clear it
up, and then I had promised myself to tell you. Will you lay again that
you forgive me before I go back to Maude?'

He was standing before her with his white head dropped upon his hat, the
very picture of misery and remorse, and Jerrie laid her hand upon his
head, and said:

'I do forgive you, Uncle Frank, fully and freely, for Maude's sake if no
other; and if she lives what is mine shall be hers. Tell her so, and
tell her I am coming to see her as soon as I am able, I am so tired
to-day, and everything is so strange. Oh, if Harold were here.'

Jerrie was indeed so tired and exhausted that for the remainder of the
day she lay upon the couch in her room, seeing no one but Judge St.
Claire and Tom, both of whom came up together, the latter bringing the
answer to his telegram, and asking what to do next.

'Why, Tom,' Jerrie said, as she read Arthur's reply, 'pay him then, for
I sha