mustn't grab hold of me.
Stand where you are. You shall hear from me. Mr. Witherspoon, this
time you must get up a statement without my help--I mean for the
newspapers. I know that I have caused you a great deal of worry, but
it is a pretty hard matter to live a lie even when it is imposed as a
duty. By the way, a poor sea captain, Atkins is his name, brought
Henry from Dura. I wish you would send him a check, care Wharfmaster,
New Orleans."

"I will."

"Good-by, Mr. Witherspoon."

"Henry DeGolyer," said Witherspoon, grasping his hand, "you are the
most honorable man I ever met."

"There, now!" DeGolyer cried, holding up his hand--they all were
coming toward him--"do as I tell you and remain where you are."

He caught up his bag and hastened out. "To the _Star_ office," he said
to the cabman.

CHAPTER XXXV.

CONCLUSION.

"I'd began to think that you'd forgotten to come," said Miss Drury, as
DeGolyer entered the room. She was sitting at her desk, and hits of
torn paper were scattered about her.

"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting so long," he replied. He did not
sit down, but stood near her.

"Oh, it hasn't been so _very_ long," she rejoined. "Why, how you have
changed since yesterday," she added, looking at him.

"For the worse?" he asked.

"For the better; you look more like the heir to a great fortune."

He smiled. "I am an heir to freedom, and that is the greatest of
fortune."

"Oh, now you are trying to mystify me again; and you said that to-day
you would make everything clear."

"And I shall. Laura"--she looked up quickly--he repeated, "this is my
last day in this office. I have sold the paper, and the new owner will
take charge to-morrow."

"I'm sorry," she said, and then added: "But on my part that is
selfishness. Of course you know what is best for yourself."

"I told you yesterday that my story would be completed to-day. It is,
and I will tell it."

The latest edition had left the press, and there was scarcely a sound
in the building. The sharp cry of the newsboy came from the street.

In telling her his story be did not begin with his early life, but
with the time when first he met young Witherspoon. It was a swift
recital; and he sought not to surprise her; he strove to tone down her
amazement.

"And to-day I took his son to him. I saw the quick transfer of a
mother's love and of a father's interest--I saw a girl half-frightened
at the thought that upon a stranger she had