t of her
time on the drive back with Gale, for he knew all about her having to
leave the bank premises, and told me he had secured a vacant cottage
there is in the township for her. But don't waste time talking, my lad.
You look worn out. Go and get to bed for a few hours. I'll see she has
the doctor's message."

Harding went to his room with heavy steps. He locked the door and sat
down, took the crumpled letter out of his pocket and read it through
again.

Then, sitting on the side of the bed with the letter in his hand, he
stared at it as he asked himself once more the question which had been
haunting him since the first rush of indignation passed.

What should he do with it?

Had the letter come into his possession the night of the scene in the
boudoir, he would have had no hesitation. But much had happened since
then. He had learned what he believed was the truth about the Eustace
marriage; he had learned that the love he had treasured so dearly was
still his. It was the latter which made it so hard for him to know what
course to follow.

A doubt had come into his mind, a doubt which operated in her favour. To
hand the note over to the police was to admit he had no faith left in
her, and he had faith. He could not bring himself to regard her as being
so absolutely conscienceless as the circumstances suggested. Rather did
he lean towards the idea that, after all, despite the evidence of the
facts as they stood, she was innocent. And on that point he wanted to be
sure rather than sorry.

The opinion of another would be a help to him in coming to the right
conclusion, but to whom could he turn?

He dare not consult Wallace, who was already prejudiced against her;
Brennan was out of the question. There was only one other--Durham--and
he was out of reach, and would be so for some time to come.

So the matter came back to where it started, and Harding, urged one way
by his love and another by his reason, ultimately adopted a middle
course.

He determined to confront her with the letter, and tear the mask of
hypocrisy from her face--if one were there--at the first opportunity.
For the present the letter should be placed where no one but himself
could find it.

Taking off his coat, he cut through the seam of the lining, placed the
letter inside, stitched it to the lining and resewed the seam.

"I will not condemn her unheard," he said. "She shall have the chance of
defending herself to me before I denounce he