ess you are all right," said the pencil dealer, "to ride in a
cab by daylight. Take a look at that, if you like."

He drew a small book from his coat pocket and held it out. Gillian
opened it and saw that it was a bank deposit book. It showed a
balance of $1,785 to the blind man's credit.

Gillian returned the book and got into the cab.

"I forgot something," he said. "You may drive to the law offices of
Tolman & Sharp, at ---- Broadway."

Lawyer Tolman looked at him hostilely and inquiringly through his
gold-rimmed glasses.

"I beg your pardon," said Gillian, cheerfully, "but may I ask you a
question? It is not an impertinent one, I hope. Was Miss Hayden left
anything by my uncle's will besides the ring and the $10?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Tolman.

"I thank you very much, sir," said Gillian, and on he went to his
cab. He gave the driver the address of his late uncle's home.

Miss Hayden was writing letters in the library. She was small and
slender and clothed in black. But you would have noticed her eyes.
Gillian drifted in with his air of regarding the world as
inconsequent.

"I've just come from old Tolman's," he explained. "They've been
going over the papers down there. They found a--Gillian searched his
memory for a legal term--they found an amendment or a post-script
or something to the will. It seemed that the old boy loosened up a
little on second thoughts and willed you a thousand dollars. I was
driving up this way and Tolman asked me to bring you the money. Here
it is. You'd better count it to see if it's right." Gillian laid the
money beside her hand on the desk.

Miss Hayden turned white. "Oh!" she said, and again "Oh!"

Gillian half turned and looked out the window.

"I suppose, of course," he said, in a low voice, "that you know I
love you."

"I am sorry," said Miss Hayden, taking up her money.

"There is no use?" asked Gillian, almost light-heartedly.

"I am sorry," she said again.

"May I write a note?" asked Gillian, with a smile, He seated himself
at the big library table. She supplied him with paper and pen, and
then went back to her secretaire.

Gillian made out his account of his expenditure of the thousand
dollars in these words:

"Paid by the black sheep, Robert Gillian, $1,000 on account of the
eternal happiness, owed by Heaven to the best and dearest woman on
earth."

Gillian slipped his writing into an envelope, bowed and went his way.

His cab stopped again at the offi