s memory, revered here as no other man who ever lived in
Springvale--for all these reasons, I'm asked to urge you to take this
man for your husband."

He was standing before her now, strong, dignified, handsome, courteous.
Nature's moulds hold not many such as he. Before him rose up Marjie. Her
cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and lay over the arm of her chair.
Looking steadily into his face with eyes that never wavered in their
gaze, she replied:

"I may be poor, but I can work for mother and myself. I'm not afraid to
work. You and your son may have done wrong. If you have, I cannot cover
it by any act of mine, not even if I died for you. I don't believe you
have done wrong. I do not believe one word of the stories about Phil. He
may want to marry a rich girl," her voice wavered here, "but that is his
choice; it is no sin. And as to protecting my father's name, Judge
Baronet, it needs no protection. Before Heaven, he never did a dishonest
thing in all his life. There has been a tangling of his affairs by
somebody, but that does not change the truth. The surest way to bring
dishonor to his name is for me to marry a man I do not and could not
love; a man I believe to be dishonest in money matters, and false to
everybody. It is no disgrace to work for a living here in Kansas. Better
girls than I am do it. But it is a disgrace here and through all
eternity to sell my soul. As I hope to see my father again, I believe he
would not welcome me to him if I did. Good and just as you are, you are
using your influence all in vain on me."

Judge Baronet felt his soul expand with every word she uttered. Passing
round the table, he took both her cold hands in his strong, warm palms.

"My daughter," neither he nor the girl misunderstood the use of the word
here, "my dear, dear girl, you are worthy of the man who gave up his
life on Missionary Ridge to save his country. God bless you for the
true-hearted, noble woman that you are." He gently stroked the curly
brown locks away from her forehead, and stooping kissed it, softly, as
he would kiss the brow of a saint.

Marjie sank down in her seat, and as she did so my letter fell from the
pocket of the cloak she had thrown aside. As Judge Baronet stooped to
pick it up, he caught sight of my well-known handwriting on the
envelope. He looked up quickly and their eyes met. The wild roses were
in her cheeks now, and the dew of teardrops on her downcast lashes. He
said not a word, but