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 which she had just found in the files; his fine, fair, frank letter. She knew the substance of it for his father had dictated to her the reply and quoted many of Jay's words. How fine and fair and frank the boy had been! But if he had written it, with Lida Haige on his soul, how false and low and utterly base!

Ellen sat up straighter, with her heart pounding harder and more slowly, with stifling hardness and slowness, as she recollected phrases of Jay's letter. If he had written it, with Lida Haige on his soul, she could not forgive him. But never, never could he have written it then. She could imagine him doing wrong with Lida Haige but she could not imagine him, having done it, composing that letter.

Her heart pounded and pounded but it was ceasing to stifle her. Slowly, pulling herself up on her hands upon the desk, she arose. She had to return to the other room. She went to the first door, opened it, heard their voices—Mr. Rountree's voice. She opened the second door.

"Do not come in!" Mr. Rountree faced her. Jay faced her, very white. He, too, wanted her out.

She clung to the door and gazed at him, holding his eyes on hers. He looked away but his eyes returned to her and with the flood of her faith in him, color crept into his cheek; and her faith filled her, filled her again.

"Do not come in!" Mr. Rountree forbade her.

She almost cried out in reply. Cried out what? That Jay had not done that which he had admitted—but there he stood before his father, having confessed it.

"You don't want me?" was all she could say.

"No."

She retreated; and through the door beat and beat the