ly; it looked as if her
primitive mother-passion were at bay for her young. "Where's help to
come from? I've nothing left."

"But I have." He spoke with confidence and took out the package from
his breast pocket. He held it out to her. "See here, Aurora, here's the
value of twenty thousand dollars--take it--use it as your own."

She drew away from it.--"Money!" She spoke almost with horror.

"Yes, Aurora, honest money. Take it and see how far 't will go towards
saving prosecution for him."

"You mean--," she hesitated; her dry eyes bored into his that dropped
before her unwavering gaze, "--you mean you're giving your hard-earned
wages to me to help save my boy?"

"Yes, and glad to give them--if you knew how glad, Aurora--"

She covered her face with her hands. Octavius took her by the arm and
drew her to a chair.

"Sit down," he said gently; "you're all worn out."

She obeyed him passively, still keeping her hands before her face. But
no sooner was she seated than she began to rock uneasily back and forth,
moaning to herself, till suddenly the long-dried fount was opened up;
the merciful blessing of tears found vent. She shook with uncontrollable
sobbing; she wept for the first time since Champney's flight, and the
tears eased her brain for the time of its living nightmare.

Octavius waited for her weeping to spend itself. His heart was wrung
with pity, but he was thankful for every tear she shed; his
gratefulness, however, found a curious inner expression.

"Damn her--damn her--damn her--" he kept saying over and over to
himself, and the mere repetition seemed to ease him of his over-powering
surcharge of pity. But it was Almeda Champney he had in mind, and, after
all, his unuttered inner curses were only a prayer for help, read
backwards.

At last, Aurora Googe lifted her face from her hands and looked at
Octavius Buzzby. He reddened and rose to go.

"Tave, wait a little while; don't go yet."

He sat down.

"I thought--I felt all was lost--no one cared--I was alone--there was no
help. You have shown me that I have been wrong--all wrong--such
friends--such a friend as you--" Her lips quivered; the tears welled
from the red and swollen lids. "I can't take the money, Tave, I
can't--don't look so--only on one condition. I've been coming to a
decision the last two days. I'm going straight to Almeda, Tave, and ask
her, beg her, if I have to, on my bended knees to save my boy--she has
more than enough--you