it. She was pale and
haggard, and she sat down before he could speak to her.

"John," she said in a dead voice that smote his heart, "I have come
for my reward now. I never thought I'd ask it, John, but last night I
thought it all out, and I don't believe it's begging."

"No," he replied quietly, "it's not. I am sure--"

But she did not let him finish. She broke in with: "Oh, I don't want
any of your money; I want my own money--money that you got when you
sold me into bondage, John Barclay--do you remember when?" She cried
the last words in a tremulous little voice, and then caught herself,
and went on before he could put into words the daze in his face. "Let
me tell you; do you remember the day you called me up into your office
and asked me to hold Adrian in town to save the wheat company? Yes,
you do--you know you do! And you remember that you played on my love
for Bob, and my duty to father. Well, I saved you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, Molly," Barclay replied.

She stared a moment at the framed pictures of mill designs on the
wall, and at the wheat samples on the long table near her, and did not
speak; nor did he. She finally broke the silence: "Well, I saved you,
but what about father--" her voice broke into a sob--"and Bob--Jane
has told you what Bob and I have been--and what about me--what have
you taken from me in these twenty years? Oh, John, John, what a
fearful wreck we have made of life--you with your blind selfishness,
and I with my weakness! Did you know, John, that the money that father
borrowed that day, twenty years ago, of Adrian, to lend to you, is the
very money that sent him to jail last night? I guess he--he took what
wasn't his to pay it back." Her face twitched, and she was losing
control of her voice. Barclay stepped to the door and latched it. She
watched him and shook her head sadly. "You needn't be afraid,
John--I'm not going to make a scene."

"It's all right, Molly," said Barclay. "I want to help you--you know
that. I'm sorry, Molly--infinitely sorry."

She looked at him for a moment in silence, and then said: "Yes, John,
I'll give you credit for that; I think you're as sorry as a selfish
man like you can be. But are you sorry enough to go to jail a pauper,
like father, or wander over the earth alone, like Bob, or come and beg
for money, like me?" Then she caught herself quickly and cried: "Only
it's not begging, John--it's my own; it's the price you got when you
sold me into bondag