"you couldn't!"

"But if I could?" she persisted, gently, "and if I did--what then?"

"I should hate you," he said, passionately. "You would be worse than a
murderess. You would kill every good impulse and belief in me. I would
never trust anything or anybody again--but there," he added, his voice
once more growing tender, "you will never fail me, I feel sure of
that."

"Thank you," said Beatrice, almost in a whisper. "Thank you," she
repeated, after a moment. She stood up and held out her hand. "I think
I must go now. Good-bye, dear laddie. Write to me from Rome. I shall
always be glad to hear from you wherever you are. And--and--I shall
always try to live up to your ideal of me, Stephen."

He sprang to his feet and took her hand, lifting it to his lips with
boyish reverence. "I know that," he said, slowly. "Good-bye, my sweet
lady."

When Mrs. Longworth found herself in her room again, she unlocked her
desk and took out a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Maurice
Cunningham. She slowly tore it twice across, laid the fragments on a
tray, and touched them with a lighted match. As they blazed up one
line came out in writhing redness across the page: "I will go away
with you as you ask." Then it crumbled into gray ashes.

She drew a long breath and hid her face in her hands.

The Promissory Note

Ernest Duncan swung himself off the platform of David White's store
and walked whistling up the street. Life seemed good to Ernest just
then. Mr. White had given him a rise in salary that day, and had told
him that he was satisfied with him. Mr. White was not easy to please
in the matter of clerks, and it had been with fear and trembling that
Ernest had gone into his store six months before. He had thought
himself fortunate to secure such a chance. His father had died the
preceding year, leaving nothing in the way of worldly goods except the
house he had lived in. For several years before his death he had been
unable to do much work, and the finances of the little family had
dwindled steadily. After his father's death Ernest, who had been going
to school and expecting to go to college, found that he must go to
work at once instead to support himself and his mother.

If George Duncan had not left much of worldly wealth behind him, he at
least bequeathed to his son the interest of a fine, upright character
and a reputation for honesty and integrity. None knew this better than
David White, and it was on this account