omes of letting her go
running around at nights, buggy-riding, walking the streets. I thought
so. God in heaven!--"

He broke from his dramatic attitude and struck out in a fierce
stride across the narrow chamber, turning like a caged animal.

"Ruined!" he exclaimed. "Ruined! Ha! So he has ruined her, has
he?"

Suddenly he stopped like an image jerked by a string. He was
directly in front of Mrs. Gerhardt, who had retired to the table at
the side of the wall, and was standing there pale with fear.

"He is dead now!" he shouted, as if this fact had now first
occurred to him. "He is dead!"

He put both hands to his temples, as if he feared his brain would
give way, and stood looking at her, the mocking irony of the situation
seeming to burn in his brain like fire.

"Dead!" he repeated, and Mrs. Gerhardt, fearing for the reason of
the man, shrank still farther away, her wits taken up rather with the
tragedy of the figure he presented than with the actual substance of
his woe.

"He intended to marry her," she pleaded nervously. "He would have
married her if he had not died."

"Would have!" shouted Gerhardt, coming out of his trance at the
sound of her voice. "Would have! That's a fine thing to talk about
now. Would have! The hound! May his soul burn in hell--the dog!
Ah, God, I hope--I hope--If I were not a Christian--" He clenched
his hands, the awfulness of his passion shaking him like a leaf.

Mrs. Gerhardt burst into tears, and her husband turned away, his
own feelings far too intense for him to have any sympathy with her. He
walked to and fro, his heavy step shaking the kitchen floor. After a
time he came back, a new phase of the dread calamity having offered
itself to his mind.

"When did this happen?" he demanded

"I don't know," returned Mrs. Gerhardt, too terror-stricken to tell
the truth. "I only found it out the other day."

"You lie!" he exclaimed in his excitement. "You were always
shielding her. It is your fault that she is where she is. If you had
let me have my way there would have been no cause for our trouble
to-night.

"A fine ending," he went on to himself. "A fine ending. My boy gets
into jail; my daughter walks the streets and gets herself talked
about; the neighbors come to me with open remarks about my children;
and now this scoundrel ruins her. By the God in heaven, I don't know
what has got into my children!

"I don't know how it is," he went on, unconsciously commiserating
him