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Rh and letter. He was innocent. It was not his doing, at any rate.

"You must have been dreaming," he said, looking me full in the face with his big, honest blue eyes. "It's too good to be true." He gave a wry little chuckle that only a clear conscience could have made possible.

I lay back in bed and laughed with him, partly from weakness, partly to hide my shaking, which I was terrified he would notice. I changed the subject a moment later, as he said nothing more; then, still acting on impulse and with no preconceived plan or idea of my next move, I sat bolt upright in bed and fixed him with my eyes. I assumed a very convinced and serious tone. I felt serious and convinced. The mood of horror had rushed suddenly up in me:

"Boyde, I remember it all now." I spoke with great emphasis. "It was not a dream at all. You came to this bedside and showed me the letter. You held it out for me to read. It was dated from my old Toronto Dairy three days ago. You showed me the cheque too. It was for seventy-five dollars, signed by Kay, and made out to your order. I remember every single detail of it suddenly. And--so do you."

He gazed at me as a little child might gaze. He made no movement. His eyes neither dropped nor flinched. He merely gazed--with a puzzled, innocent, guileless stare. A pained expression then stole across his face.

"Blackwood, what on earth do you mean? It's not likely I should forget it if seventy-five dollars came, is it?" he went on quickly in his most sympathetic voice, an aggrieved note in it that stirred all my affection instantly. "The most he has sent so far is ten dollars. I should have given you the money at once. And you know it, Blackwood." He got up and walked quietly to and fro.

It was the way he uttered those last four words that sent ice down my spine and brought the mood of horror back. Why this was so, I cannot explain. Perhaps the phrase rang false; perhaps its over-emphasis failed. I Rh