he sought his room, to sit in darkness, suffering dumbly through the
hours. Sometimes Dawn would find him thus.

Robert Windham and his family had returned from the Hawaiian Islands.
They had found a house in Berkeley; Windham opened offices on Fillmore
street. Robert and his nephew visited occasionally a graveyard in the
western part of town. The older man brought flowers and his tears fell
frankly on a mound that was more recent than its neighbors. But Stanley
did not join in these devotions.

"She is not here," he said one day. "You know that, Uncle Robert."

"She's up above," returned the other, brokenly. "My poor, wronged
child!"

Frank stared at him a moment. "Do you believe in the conventional
Heaven?"

"Why--er--yes," said Windham, startled. "Don't you, Frank?"

"No," said Stanley, doggedly. "Not in that ... nor in a God that lets
men suffer and be tempted into wrongs they can't resist ... makes them
suffer for it."

"What do you mean? Are you an atheist?" asked Windham, horrified.

"No ... but I believe that God is Good. And knows no evil. Sometimes in
the night when I've sat thinking, Bertha seems to come to me; tells me
things I can't quite understand. Wonderful things, Uncle Robert."

The other regarded him silently, curiously. He seemed at a loss.

"I've learned to judge men with less harshness," Frank spoke on. "Ruef
and Schmitz, for instance.... Every now and then I see the Mayor pacing
on the ferryboat. It's rather pathetic, Uncle Robert. Did God raise him
up from obscurity just to torture him? He's had wealth and
honor--adoration from the people. Now he's facing prison. And those poor
devils of Supervisors; they've known luxury, power. Now they're huddled
like a pack of frightened sheep; everybody thinks they're guilty. Ruef's
forsaken them. Ruef, with his big dream shattered, fleeing from
the law...."

He faced his uncle fiercely, questioning. "Is that God's work? And
Bertha's body lying there, because of the sins of her forebears! Forgive
me, Uncle Robert. I'm just thinking aloud."

Windham placed a hand upon his nephew's shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't
answer you, Frank," he said slowly. "You're a young man. You'll forget.
The world goes on. And our griefs do not matter. We fall and we get up
again ... just as Ruef and the others will."

"Do you suppose they'll catch him--Ruef, I mean?"

"Not if the big fellows can prevent it. If he's caught there'll be the
deuce to pay. Our Pillars o