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 not—that! He kept back his honest palm, from the one that had forged his father's name, to the blasting of his honor, all these years—from the hand that had seized Gerald's arm in a brutal scheme worthy of a Greek bandit! He did not raise his own hand—not feeling quite sure whether he was doing what was really the right thing, but unable to extend it.

"Good-night. Mr. Jennison," he said, bowing gravely. "I—I—shall not forget you."

"That is precisely the thing I should urge you most to do," answered Jennison, laughing. Without the least resentment at the slight, he bent his head to finish buttoning his glove, and he did not look up until Philip had left the building.

Jennison kept his word. He managed to slip away from his captors that night on the train; but our friends never heard of him again.

When Philip reached the Kossuth House Mr. Saxton and Gerald had gone to bed. He had a long interview with Mr. Marcy; Samuel Sixmith's statement and exoneration (it was practically ready for publication, in any way) lying between them.

"I've done your father and you a great