ot yet been able to trace him; but, no doubt, they
were on his track, they might discover him and capture him any moment.
She shuddered, and crouched over the fire as if she had been struck by a
sudden chill. The pity of it, oh, the pity of it! He was so young--he
still seemed to her little more than a boy--and he was so good to look
upon, so frank, so honest; and what a noble, generous nature he must
have to sacrifice his future, his career, for the woman he loved; why,
he had been going to face death itself!

Not a word had been said by either Celia or he of the graceful,
richly-dressed woman she had seen leaving his room. Of course, she was
the woman who had wrecked his life. Celia began to piece the story
together; they had loved each other--at any rate, he had loved
her--probably for years; he had loved her with all his heart, and she
with, perhaps, a small half; she had thrown him over to marry a wealthy
man--and yet, that theory seemed scarcely consistent; for a wealthy man
would not need to commit forgery. It was a mystery and a puzzle; but the
grim fact remained that the young man was going to take upon himself the
terrible stigma of a convict for the sake of a woman--perhaps utterly
unworthy of him.

She stared at the fire, and it gave her back a picture of the young man
dressed in the hideous prison garb, with the wavy hair cut close; with
the prison look, that indescribable look of degradation and despair,
stamped on his young, handsome face.

She sprang to her feet and moved about the room restlessly. He was
sitting there, alone, waiting for the touch of the detective's hand on
his shoulder, waiting for his doom. It was her fault; she had held him
back from the release of death, had made him promise to live, to drag
through a life of shame and humiliation, an outcast, a pariah, a
creature from whom such women as herself would shrink as from something
loathsome.

The thought was intolerable. Surely he could escape; they had not got
upon his track yet. Oh, why had he not gone, while there was time?

Then she remembered that he had said that he had not enough money even
to buy another revolver; of course, he could not hope to get away
without money. A blush rose to her face; she sprang to her desk; with a
trembling hand she unlocked it and took out a five-pound note--it was
the only one she possessed, and she had been keeping it for the day,
that might so easily come, when she should lose her work and hav