r than love, had carried
her through that awful ordeal without a break, now out of sight, lay
sobbing in the arms of Jess.

She had won her fame without a flaw, and then, womanlike, had
collapsed.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE CYNIC'S SHADOW

The doubt and distrust of all humanity, first implanted in Winn Hardy's
mind by his friend and adviser, Nickerson, was now working its
inevitable injury. Much of it had been brushed away during Winn's
association with the simple and honest people of Rockhaven and
especially Jess; but now that he was back again in the city and in touch
with its pushing, selfish life, once more cynicism ruled him. His
vocation as reporter paid poorly; he was in daily contact with
unscrupulous and suspicious men, saw poverty begging in alleyways and
arrogant wealth riding in carriages, men obsequiously bowing before the
rich and snubbing the poor, and on all sides and in all ways he was made
to realize that money was the god the city worshipped, and show, its
religion.

On Sunday, when the usual morning chimes answered each other, his
thoughts flew to Rockhaven and the two bells there; but when with his
aunt, in church, he listened to the operatic singing and classic
sermon, it all seemed to lack heart and sincerity, and not one solitary
note of supplication entered the minister's prayer. Then the elegantly
dressed ladies who greeted one another as at a reception, the men who
looked bored and at the close of the service seemed relieved, each and
all seemed to Winn to be there on exhibition.

Then, too, his moral safeguards were in daily danger, and the sneering
Nickerson, their assailant.

"Well, old boy," he said to Winn one evening at the club, "how do you
like penny-a-lining these cold winter days? Is an editorship any nearer
in sight?"

"Nothing in sight for me except one demnition grind," replied Winn,
disconsolately; "I get discouraged sometimes and think I am no good on
earth."

Nickerson looked at him with a sarcastic smile.

"Winn, my dear fellow," he said at last, "I'm going to be very candid
with you, so don't be angry with me. To begin with you are too honest
and too good-hearted. You think of others first and yourself last, and
then you have scruples. Now scruples don't go here in the city, and
whoever cultivates them gets left. In the first place, Weston & Hill
played you for a dupe, and if I hadn't come to the rescue, you'd have
been stranded on the island and out five hund