o the adjoining bath closet where
Father Honore, not liking to dispose of them until Champney should have
spoken of them at least, had left the clothes in a bundle. He had put
the little handkerchief, discolored almost beyond recognition, in with
them. Champney came out in a few minutes.

"They're no good," he said. "I'll have to wear these, if I may. I
believe it's one of the regulations that what a man takes in of his own,
is saved for him to take out, isn't it?"

"Yes." An hour later when Father Honore disposed of the bundle to the
janitor, he knew that Aileen's handkerchief had been abstracted--and he
read still deeper into the ways of the human heart....

* * * * *

Within ten days sentence was passed: seven years with hard labor.

There was no appeal for mercy, and speedy commitment followed. A
paragraph in the daily papers conveyed a knowledge of the fact to the
world in general; and within ten days, the world in general, as usual,
forgot the circumstance; it was only one of many.

PART FIFTH

Shed Number Two

I

"It's a wonder ye're not married yet, Aileen, an' you twenty-six."

It was Margaret McCann, the "Freckles" of orphan asylum days, who spoke.
Her utterance was thick, owing to the quantity of pins she was
endeavoring to hold between tightly pressed lips. She was standing on a
chair putting up muslin curtains in her new home at The Gore, or Quarry
End Park, as it was now named, and Aileen had come to help her.

"It's like ye're too purticular," she added, her first remark not having
met with any response. She turned on the chair and looked down upon her
old chum.

She was sitting on the floor surrounded by a pile of fresh-cut muslin;
the latest McCann baby was tugging with might and main at her apron in
vain endeavor to hoist himself upon his pudgy uncertain legs. Aileen was
laughing at his efforts. Catching him suddenly in her arms, she covered
the little soft head, already sprouting a suspicion of curly red hair,
with hearty kisses; and Billy, entering into the fun, crowed and
gurgled, clutching wildly at the dark head bent above him and managing
now and then, when he did not grasp too wide of the mark, to bury his
chubby creased hands deep in its heavy waves.

"Oh, Maggie, you're like all the rest! Because you've a good husband of
your own, you think every other girl must go and do likewise."

"Now ye're foolin', Aileen, like as you used to at the