ng and your toilet tools, a pistol, and a typewritten
book manuscript bearing no signature."

Griswold turned his face away and shut his eyes. Once more his stake in
the game of life was gone.

"There was another package of--of papers in one of the grips," he said,
faintly; "quite a large package wrapped in brown paper."

"Valuables?" queried the doctor, sympathetically curious.

"Y-yes; rather valuable."

"We found nothing but the manuscript. Could any one else make use of the
papers you speak of?"

Griswold was too feeble to prevaricate successfully.

"There was money in the package," he said, leaving the physician to
infer what he pleased.

"Ah; then you were robbed. It's a pity we didn't know it at the time. It
is pretty late to begin looking for the thief now, I'm afraid."

"Quite too late," said Griswold monotonously.

The doctor rose to go.

"Don't let the material loss depress you, Mr. Griswold," he said, with
encouraging kindliness. "The one loss that couldn't have been retrieved
is a danger past for you now, I'm glad to say. Be cheerful and patient,
and we'll soon have you a sound man again. You have a magnificent
constitution and fine recuperative powers; otherwise we should have
buried you within a week of your arrival."

It was not until after the doctor had gone that Griswold was able to
face the new misfortune with anything like a sober measure of
equanimity. Imaginative to the degree which facilely transforms the
suppositional into the real, he was still singularly free from
superstition. Nevertheless, all the legends clustering about the
proverbial slipperiness of ill-gotten gains paraded themselves
insistently. It was only by the supremest effort of will that he could
push them aside and address himself to the practical matter of getting
well. That was the first thing to be considered; with or without money,
he must relieve the Griersons of their self-assumed burden at the
earliest possible moment.

This was the thought with which he sank into the first natural sleep of
convalescence. But during the days which followed, Margery was able to
modify it without dulling the keen edge of his obligation. What perfect
hospitality could do was done, without ostentation, with the exact
degree of spontaneity which made it appear as a service rendered to a
kinsman. It was one of the gifts of the daughter of men to be able to
ignore all the middle distances between an introduction and a
friendship;