ates you for
standing between her and your father. She knows that I love you,
and----'

Longstreet was calling from the door,

'Helen, I want you and Howard to come back. We must talk everything
over. Mrs. Murray has much to explain; she hates Jim Courtot and his
crowd, she is working against them instead of with them. Be fair,
young people; remember these words,' he paused, lifted his hand
oratorically and then made his statement with an unusually deep
gravity,--'Every one, though appearing guilty, must be given an
opportunity to prove himself innocent. That's it and that's fair: _the
opportunity to prove his innocence_.' He emphasized the words in
repeating them. 'That's all that I ask now. Please let's talk things
over.'

Helen returned slowly to the cabin.

'I must go back,' she said to Howard. 'After all, I must keep my head
and watch over papa every minute while she is with him.'

'May I come in, too?' he asked gently.

'Won't you believe me, Helen? And won't you let me help you?'

She hesitated. Then she turned her head so that he could see her eyes.

'I am apt to have my hands full,' she admitted. She even smiled a
little. 'Maybe there _will_ be work for both of us.'

But when he sought to come to her side, she ran on ahead of him. The
face which she presented at the door for Sanchia's vision was radiant.
Even Sanchia was at a loss for the amazing alteration. How these two
could have come to an understanding in two minutes baffled her. But as
Howard presented his own face at the door there was no misdoubting that
he and Helen had travelled far along the road which she had thought to
close to them.

'What in the world has happened?' Guarded as was the tongue of Sanchia
Murray it was human after all.

Helen laughed merrily and gave her eyes for an instant to Howard's.
Then, lightly, to Sanchia:

'We were just laughing over a story Alan was telling me. Yellow Barbee
has a new girl.'

Sanchia understood, and her face went red. Howard merely knew that for
the first time Helen had called him Alan. Of trifles is the world made.

Chapter XXIII

The Will-o'-the-Wisp

For the hour, if for no longer, the tables plainly were turned upon
Sanchia. The high content which so abruptly had enveloped Helen and
Howard was comparable to the old magic armour of the fairy tales which
the fortunate prince found always at his time of need. Through it
venomed glance and bitter tongue migh