s stared at him some time before he spoke again.

"And the girl," he asked finally. "Has Hardy been following her?"

"He has indeed," said Mr. Watkins quickly, "but I dare not report his
actions; I have no proofs to offer. Hardy would doubtless deny all that
she could say of him, for a girl is helpless in the hands of a villain
like Hardy."

"I have found him a good detective," said Mr. Forbes, slowly, "but if
you knew who took the money why didn't you tell him?"

"How could I, sir?"

Mr. Watkins had begun to tremble again.

"The knowledge of his sin is already killing my mother; if it becomes
public she will die. I was waiting for you to come back to business."

"Well, the boy must be punished!" said Mr, Forbes decidedly. "I cannot
be accountable for what may follow."

"Do you mean that you will arrest my brother?" cried Mr. Watkins, "when
you know that by doing so you will blast his character forever and drive
a poor woman to her grave who has never wronged you?"

"The boy should have thought of that," answered Mr. Forbes, grimly. "I
deal with my employees, not with their futures or their mothers."

"But if I return the money! See, I have a part of it here!"

Mr. Watkins almost cried with agony as he held out two hundred dollars.

Mr. Forbes took the money and counted it carefully.

"Let's see, Watkins, your salary is twelve dollars a week," he said
slowly. "If I deduct five dollars a week to cover the balance of this,
it will be just sixty weeks before I could get my money."

"If I could only find the rest," said Mr. Watkins, groaning; "but Sam
says he lost it, and I think he tells the truth. If he hadn't lost it he
would have given it all to mother."

Mr. Forbes was drumming lightly on a table by his side. It was evident
that two emotions were struggling within him.

"Here is the evening paper, sir," said a maid at the door.

Mr. Watkins moved automatically and handed it to his employer.

"Hey! What is this! A death at our store yesterday, Watkins?"

Mr. Forbes had caught sight of a headline half across the paper.

Mr. Watkins bowed; he could not speak. His employer opened the paper and
scanned it hastily.

"Ah! That's right! That's right! Gibson is a clever man! He makes the
thing sound right before the public! Denton, Day & Co. will pay for Miss
Jennings' funeral, yet they say there is no heart, soul nor conscience
in a big corporation!"

He almost laughed as he ran his eye down the column