Just let me rest here alone for a little while, and I will be myself again." She looked up at him with a smile, and Brian Kent, kneeling beside the bed, bowed his head and caught the dear old hands to his lips.

Without trusting himself to speak again, the man left the room,--closing the door.
He moved about the apartment as one in a dream.

With a vividness that was torture, he lived again that hour in the bank when, opening the afternoon mail, he had found the letter from Susan Wakefield with the Argentine notes, which her letter said she had received from her brother John in Buenos Aires, and which she was sending to the bank for deposit to her little account.

It had been a very unbusinesslike letter and a very unbusinesslike way to transmit money.

It was, indeed, this nature of the transaction that had tempted the hard-pressed clerk.
Mechanically, Brian stopped at his writing-table to finger the manuscript which he had finished the evening before.