eone else is guilty. Under
this criminal act in all its phases there lies some cause, of
course--there is some criminal, of course. There has been crime
committed, a very beastly, brutal sort of crime, almost inhuman--and
that was done by some man. If I could put my hand on that man, why
then----"

"It would mean life and happiness to me. It would mean satisfaction to
you?"

"More than that," he smiled. "It would mean the life of your boy--many
years yet for you and him together--once I'd have said maybe it might
mean six years in the United States Senate for me. I don't know--I can't
tell. The chances now are rather that even if I clear the boy, it means
I'll have to close up this office and go somewhere else to hunt a law
practice. But we'll take our chances."

"You are a great man, Horace Brooks," said Aurora Lane; and there was a
sort of reverence in her tone. "Even after what has been between us, I
can say that. Oh, I so much like--I so much admire a man who is not
afraid, and who doesn't parley and weigh and dicker with himself when it
comes to any hard decision. I like a brave man, a good man. You'll
understand."

He raised a hand, a large hand, nervous, full-veined, gnarled, awkward,
a hand never in all his life to be freed from toil's indelible imprint.

"Please don't," said he.

"But how can I say what I want?" said she. "I've always wanted to pay
all my debts--that's to make up for all my faults, don't you see? I must
be scrupulous--because----"

"Yes," said he, "I see. I've seen that for more than twenty years, ever
since I've known you. Because that's true of you, and is true of so few
women, so very few, is why I wished last night--that you were a widow!

"Now, that's about all. When you _wish_ that you could pay this
debt--which isn't any debt so far--you've paid it, so far as I'm
concerned. It is the _wish_ to pay your debts that amounts to moral
principle--and to business success too--in this world.

"And so," he laughed again his great resounding laugh, and thrust out
his hand toward her, "I reckon you can call yourself something of a
business success tonight after all. Now go home, and see that you
sleep."

CHAPTER XVII

AT CHURCH

That Sunday evening Aurora Lane sat alone in her dingy little home. The
walls seemed to her close as those of any prison. She found about her
nothing of comfort. For once the little white bedside, all her life her
shrine, failed in its ministration.