face to face. She spoke
softly, but with an intensity of supreme feeling in her voice.

"Do you remember what I said to you the day you had me sent away?"

The merchant regarded her with stark lack of understanding.

"I don't remember you at all," he said.

The woman looked at him intently for a moment, then spoke in a colorless
voice.

"Perhaps you remember Mary Turner, who was arrested four years ago for
robbing your store. And perhaps you remember that she asked to speak to
you before they took her to prison."

The heavy-jowled man gave a start.

"Oh, you begin to remember. Yes! There was a girl who swore she was
innocent--yes, she swore that she was innocent. And she would have got
off--only, you asked the judge to make an example of her."

The man to whom she spoke had gone gray a little. He began to
understand, for he was not lacking in intelligence. Somehow, it was
borne in on him that this woman had a grievance beyond the usual run of
injuries.

"You are that girl?" he said. It was not a question, rather an
affirmation.

Mary spoke with the dignity of long suffering--more than that, with the
confident dignity of a vengeance long delayed, now at last achieved.
Her words were simple enough, but they touched to the heart of the man
accused by them.

"I am that girl."

There was a little interval of silence. Then, Mary spoke again,
remorselessly.

"You took away my good name. You smashed my life. You put me behind the
bars. You owe for all that.... Well' I've begun to collect."

The man opposite her, the man of vigorous form, of strong face and
keen eyes, stood gazing intently for long moments. In that time, he was
learning many things. Finally, he spoke.

"And that is why you married my boy."

"It is." Mary gave the answer coldly, convincingly.

Convincingly, save to one--her husband. Dick suddenly aroused, and spoke
with the violence of one sure.

"It is not!"

Burke shouted a warning. Demarest, more diplomatic, made a restraining
gesture toward the police official, then started to address the young
man soothingly.

But Dick would have none of their interference.

"This is my affair," he said, and the others fell silent. He stood up
and went to Mary, and took her two hands in his, very gently, yet very
firmly.

"Mary," he said softly, yet with a strength of conviction, "you married
me because you love me."

The wife shuddered, but she strove to deny.

"No," she said gravely, "no,