but he could see that his presence in the contracted
household was not desired. Even his offer to take Jimmy with him to the
hotel was declined, and at midnight he returned alone.

What his thoughts were that night may be easily imagined. Cissy's death
had removed the only cause he had for concealing his real identity.
There was nothing more to prevent his revealing all to Miss Boutelle and
to offer to adopt the boy. But he reflected this could not be done until
after the funeral, for it was only due to Cissy's memory that he should
still keep up the role of Dick Lasham as chief mourner. If it seems
strange that Bob did not at this crucial moment take Miss Boutelle into
his confidence, I fear it was because he dreaded the personal effect
of the deceit he had practiced upon her more than any ethical
consideration; she had softened considerably in her attitude towards him
that night; he was human, after all, and while he felt his conduct had
been unselfish in the main, he dared not confess to himself how much her
opinion had influenced him. He resolved that after the funeral he would
continue his journey, and write to her, en route, a full explanation of
his conduct, inclosing Daddy's letter as corroborative evidence. But on
searching his letter-case he found that he had lost even that evidence,
and he must trust solely at present to her faith in his improbable
story.

It seemed as if his greatest sacrifice was demanded at the funeral! For
it could not be disguised that the neighbors were strongly prejudiced
against him. Even the preacher improved the occasion to warn the
congregation against the dangers of putting off duty until too late. And
when Robert Falloner, pale, but self-restrained, left the church with
Miss Boutelle, equally pale and reserved, on his arm, he could with
difficulty restrain his fury at the passing of a significant smile
across the faces of a few curious bystanders. "It was Amy Boutelle, that
was the 'penitence' that fetched him, you bet!" he overheard, a barely
concealed whisper; and the reply, "And it's a good thing she's made out
of it too, for he's mighty rich!"

At the church door he took her cold hand into his. "I am leaving
to-morrow morning with Jimmy," he said, with a white face. "Good-by."

"You are quite right; good-by," she replied as briefly, but with the
faintest color. He wondered if she had heard it too.

Whether she had heard it or not, she went home with Mrs. Ricketts
in some