f a millionaire, as a "college graduate,"
as an influential man of affairs; he liked to imagine Amy as the wife
of such another. In short, Ditmar's wife had left him, as an unconscious
legacy, her aspirations for their children's social prestige....

The polished oak grandfather's clock in the hall had struck one before
he went to bed, mentally wearied by an unwonted problem involving, in
addition to self-interest, an element of ethics, of affection not wholly
compounded of desire.

He slept soundly, however. He was one of those fortunate beings who
come into the world with digestive organs and thyroid glands in
that condition which--so physiologists tell us--makes for a sanguine
temperament. And his course of action, though not decided upon, no
longer appeared as a problem; it differed from a business matter in that
it could wait. As sufficient proof of his liver having rescued him from
doubts and qualms he was able to whistle, as he dressed, and without a
tremor of agitation, the forgotten tune suggested to his consciousness
during the unpleasant reverie of the night before,--"Only a Bird in a
Gilded Cage!" It was Saturday. He ate a hearty breakfast, joked with
George and Amy, and refreshed, glowing with an expectation mingled with
just the right amount of delightful uncertainty that made the great
affairs of life a gamble, yet with the confidence of the conqueror, he
walked in sunlight to the mill. In view of this firm and hopeful tone of
his being he found it all the more surprising, as he reached the canal,
to be seized by a trepidation strong enough to bring perspiration to his
forehead. What if she had gone! He had never thought of that, and he had
to admit it would be just like her. You never could tell what she would
do.

Nodding at Simmons, the watchman, he hurried up the iron-shod stairs,
gained the outer once, and instantly perceived that her chair beside the
window was empty! Caldwell and Mr. Price stood with their heads together
bending over a sheet on which Mr. Price was making calculations.

"Hasn't Miss Bumpus come yet?" Ditmar demanded. He tried to speak
naturally, casually, but his own voice sounded strange, seemed to strike
the exact note of sickening apprehension that suddenly possessed him.
Both men turned and looked at him in some surprise.

"Good-morning, Mr. Ditmar," Caldwell said. "Why, yes, she's in your
room."

"Oh!" said Ditmar.

"The Boston office has just been calling you--they wan