gave
him Gilbert Allison caught a glimpse of the heaven that orthodox people
say follows the resurrection of the just.

Judge Thorn roused himself from the spell that had been cast over him by
the news in the crumpled paper.

A second time he took it in his hands and slowly, solemnly crushed it.

"The rank and file, the men whose honesty and virtue have made the
party great," he said, "have been defrauded, outraged. My support of the
administration and of the party of my political life is forever ended
unless it reclaim the right to a decent man's support."

While her father talked, Jean, lest in the first moments of her
delightful discovery she should clap her hands or cry or dance or in
some other unconventional way outrage grave decorum, returned to her
seat and her guitar.

The fringed palm threw long jagged shadows over her dress and stretched
away to meet the firelight dancing on the hearth-rug.

The mingled tones of the two voices reached her ear, but she heard them
indistinctly. To the soft strains that answered the strokes of her
fingers, she kept repeating over and over to herself, "He is awake, he
is awake."

Presently she heard her father leave the room.

Then her heart began to whirl and beat in a way unknown to her before.
She caught the faint chime of a distant steeple bell and the notes of
the low music died away to a plaintive breathing as she counted the
strokes, for she knew the fateful hour of her life was at hand.

Just as the last stroke quivered out onto the new hour, he came. He sat
down beside her and putting aside the guitar, drew her close to him.

"You are awake," she said softly, as if half afraid of breaking some
magic spell. "Tell me about it."

He dropped his hand over one of hers and described the tragedy of the
victims of the "great iniquity" that he had seen on that eventful night.

When he spoke of the murdered child he felt her hand clinch in his and
when he told of the prayer consigning the "respectable" dealer to the
place prepared for Satan and his earthly henchmen, involuntarily she
would have drawn away from him, but his arm bound her like a band of
steel.

"A tortured face--a bitter prayer--a bloody tragedy--ugly instruments;
but in the hands of the Divinity that smooths out man's rough hewing
they have cut away the last outline of a 'man-atom.' Are you glad? Has
fate fashioned me to the satisfaction of one peerless, priceless woman?"

For one moment Jean hesi