ters, my son, elder sisters always."

"And why not? Sister, indeed, and united to me by a great and spiritual
love."

"We are none of us invincible, my son; let us not despise danger."

"Danger, Father! What is the worth of my religion if it does not enable
me to defy that?"

"Well, well--do not decide too soon. I'll come to you at Soho this
evening."

"Do. It's our last night there. I must tell my poor people what my plans
are to be. Good-bye for the present, Father, good-bye."

"Good-bye, my son," and as John Storm went off with a light heart and
bounding step the Father passed indoors with downcast face, saying to
himself with a sigh, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he
fall."

It was Lord Mayor's Day again, the streets were thronged, and John Storm
was long in forging his way home. Glory's letter was waiting for him, and
he tore it open with nervous fingers, but when he had read it he laughed
aloud. "God bless her! But she doesn't know everything yet." Mrs.
Callender was out in the carriage; she would be back for lunch, and the
maid was laying the cloth; but he would not wait. After scribbling a few
lines in pencil to tell of his great resolve, he set off to Clement's
Inn. The Strand was less crowded when he returned to it, and the newsboys
were calling the evening papers with "Full Memoir of Father Damien."

* * * * *

On coming home from rehearsal Glory had found the costume for her third
act, her great act, awaiting her. All day long she had been thinking of
her letter to John, half ashamed of it, half regretting it, almost
wishing it could be withdrawn. But the dress made a great tug at her
heart, and she could not resist the impulse to try it on. The moment she
had done so the visionary woman whose part she was to play seemed to take
possession of her, and shame and regret were gone.

It was a magnificent stage costume, green as the grass in spring with the
morning sun on it. The gown was a splendid brocade with gold-embroidered
lace around the square-cut neck and about the shoulders of the tight-made
sleeves. Round her hips was a sash of golden tissue, and its hanging ends
were fringed with emeralds. A band of azure stones encircled her head,
and her fingers were covered with turquoise rings.

She went to the drawing-room, shut the door, and began to rehearse the
scene. It was where the imaginary Gloria, being vain and selfish,
trampled everything un