ust know that her name has been in the past
connected with the man for whom I am asking the boon of another chance
in life. I have felt convinced that for her sake, if for no other, you
would make this sacrifice."

"My daughter, I am glad to inform you, never cared for the man. She is
too young, too undeveloped. It is the one thing that makes it possible
for me to contemplate what he has done with any degree of sanity. Had he
won her affections, had she loved him--" He paused: it was impossible
for him to proceed.

"Thank God that she was spared that!" Father Honore ejaculated under his
breath. Mr. Van Ostend looking at him keenly, perceived that he was
under the influence of some powerful emotion. He turned to him, a mute
question on his lips. Father Honore answered that mute query with
intense earnestness, by repeating what, apparently, he had said to
himself:

"I thank my God that she never cared for him in that way, for otherwise
her life would have been wrecked; nor could you, who would lay down your
life for her happiness, have spared or saved her,--her young affections,
her young faith and joy in life, all shattered, and Life the iconoclast!
That is the saddest part of it. It is women who suffer most and always.
In making this appeal to you, I have had continually in mind his mother,
and you, the father of a woman. I know how your pride must have suffered
in the knowledge that his name, even, has been connected with hers--but
your suffering is as naught compared with that mother's who, at this
very moment, is waiting for some telegram from me that shall tell her
her son is found, is saved. But I will not over urge, Mr. Van Ostend. If
you feel you cannot do this, that it is a matter of principle with you
to refuse, there is no need to prolong this interview which is painful
to us both. I thank you for the time you have given me." He rose to go.
Mr. Van Ostend did likewise.

At that moment a girl's joyous voice sounded in the hall just outside
the door.

"Oh, never mind that, Beales; papa never considers me an interruption.
I'm going in, anyway, to say good night; I don't care if all Wall Street
is there. Has the carriage come?"

There was audible the sound of a subdued protest; then came a series of
quick taps on the door and the sound of the gay voice again:

"Papa--just a minute to say good night; if I can't come in, do you come
out and give me a kiss--do you hear?"

The two men looked at each other. M