ide
down Broadway, Ferris had arranged the "subject matter" evidently
to his own satisfaction. But he floundered under the mute inquiry
of those frosty eyes, and the floundering finally ceased.

"Do I understand that you ask or demand an interview with Miss
Worthington?" icily said the old lawyer. "If you will put your
wishes in writing, I will convey them to her. That is all I can
say. I admit that she is my guest, and I also desire to say that
she shuns all intrusion."

"Messrs. Boardman and Warner,"--began Ferris. "With them I have
nothing to do," coldly replied Stillwell. "You will hear of them
and from them in due time."

With trembling fingers, Arthur Ferris wrote a few lines, sealed
them, and handed them to the lawyer, whose formal bow froze the
words trembling upon his lips.

Two long days of mental agony passed before Ferris, seated at his
desk in the Trading Company's executive offices, received a formal
letter from the men whom now he most feared on earth. "Not much to
speculate on here," growled Ferris, as he pondered over the curt
permission.

"Our client, Miss Alice Worthington, will receive you, on business,
at No. 248 Central Park West, at 2 P.M. to-day. "BOARDMAN AND
WARNER, "Executors, Hugh Worthington Estate."

The signature seemed to be a fluttering banner of hostile hosts.

And yet, summoning all his trained calm, Arthur Ferris, with
unmoved gravity, bowed as he was ushered into the drawing-room of
the great New York pleader. He knew the flag of no surrender was
flying. He saluted, in silence, the two gentlemen who advanced to
meet him.

And then an angry flush stole over his pale face. It was not the
chilly greeting of the massive Lemuel Boardman, not the sharp,
attentive nod of Mr. Ezra Warner, which sent the blood leaping to
his heart; it was the slight inclination of the head of Mr. John
Witherspoon, his secret antagonist. For he scented danger when
the young Detroit lawyer appeared here in the stronghold of his
rebellious wife in name.

"Miss Worthington will join us in a few moments," said Mr. Boardman.

There was the rustling of heavy, trailing robes, and Arthur Ferris
scarcely dared raise his eyes as the figure of his girl bride
darkened the door.

And he knew his fate at the first glance! He knew that he had lost
her forever, the bride of a crime.

There was a majesty in that slight figure, clad in its sombre
mourning drapery, which awed him. There was a set, marble pal