rs. Gibson and Nellie"--she turned, grasping her
chair--"you have been kind friends. If I have imposed on your
hospitality, you will forgive me--"

Unstrung and in tears, she threw herself into Mrs. Gibson's outstretched
arms, and Nellie and her mother, overcome with surprise and grief,
supported her as she walked into another room.

"Hosley, I demand that you tell me what this means," said Mr. Gibson,
advancing, the lines of his stern face tightly drawn. He had such faith
in Gabrielle he could not doubt her words--and yet he had loved Jim
Hosley these many years, and he could not, dared not, believe that his
faith in Jim was founded on a cleverly contrived imitation of the finest
qualities of manhood. "What does this all mean--this opposition of
Tescheron, this sudden action of Gabrielle?"

[Illustration: "I WROTE IT, GABRIELLE--AND FORGIVE ME."--_Page_ 288.]

Jim could only feebly remonstrate against the pursuing evil which had
clung close to his heels since the very day he had asked Mr. Tescheron
for his daughter's hand, he told Mr. Gibson; since the very night of the
fire; since the very night of my connection with the problem when it
began to develop as a simple affair of the heart.

"Mr. Gibson, I wrote those letters years ago, foolishly, to be sure, but
innocently, believe me. They now appear to ruin me," he huskily
proceeded. "But Gabrielle would be fair and forgive me that. No, it is
not that I wrote the letters--there is something hidden. She will not
tell me what it is. I have begged her to tell me, but she will not. She
would only tell me she loved me when I entreated her to confide in me
the cause of her father's hatred. Now in a flash she infers something,
and I can see she believes her father, and joins him against me. Mr.
Gibson, bear with me a moment. Let me see her now--"

Mr. Gibson went to the door and called her softly.

His wife's voice was heard in reply:

"Gabrielle has gone."

CHAPTER XX

A shambling step along the floor of my hall one evening, long past nine
o'clock, aroused me from thoughts of Hosley, the man whose image filled
my home hours with a creeping shame and dread. A knock on my door, the
first since I had been living there, startled me.

Before I could advance, Jim Hosley stumbled in and braced his worn body
against the wall. He reached for my hand and I took it, and forgave him
everything I had suspected he had done, and every crime he might have
committed. The