ut what you said
about going away--for my sake--do you think you need to do it?"

"I've made--such a mess of myself," she choked out.

"Other people were to blame," he said. "And out of it all, I think
you're going to be what--what I dreamed you were. And--and--"

There was another stifling silence. "Yes?" she prompted.

"I wanted to keep out of your life--for your sake," he went on in his
strained, suppressed voice. "But--but if you're not ashamed of me
now that you know all"--in the darkness his groping hand closed upon
hers--"I wish you wouldn't--go away from me, Maggie."

And then the surging, incoherent thing in her that bad been struggling
to say itself this last half-hour, suddenly found its voice in a single
word:

"Father!" she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.

"Maggie!" he sobbed, crushing her to him.

All the way to Cedar Crest they said not another word; just clung to
each other in the darkness, sobbing--the first miraculous embrace of
a father and daughter who had each found that which they had never
expected to have.

CHAPTER XXXVII

It was ten the next morning at Cedar Crest, and Larry Brainard sat in
his study mechanically going over his figures and plans for the Sherwood
housing project.

For Larry the storms of the past few weeks, and the whirlwind of last
night, had cleared away. There was quiet in the house, and through
the open windows he could glimpse the broad lawn almost singing in
its sun-gladdened greenness, and farther on he could glimpse the
Sound gleaming placidly. Once for perhaps ten minutes he had seen the
overalled and straw-hatted figure of Joe Ellison busy as usual among the
flowers. He had strained his eyes for a glimpse of Maggie, but he had
looked in vain.

Despite all that had come to pass at the Grantham the previous evening,
Larry was just now feeling restless and rather forlorn. His breakfast
had been brought to him in his room, and he had not seen a single member
of last night's party at the Grantham since they had all divided up
according to Miss Sherwood's orders and driven away; that is he had
really seen no one except Dick.

Dick had gripped his hand when he had slipped in beside Dick in the low
seat of the roadster. "You're all right, Captain Nemo!--only I'm going
to be so brash as to call you Larry after this," Dick had said. "If
you'll let me, you and I are going to be buddies."

He was all right, Dick was. Dick Sherwood was a thorough