red. "Things have never been very
happy for her, Clayton."

"I'm afraid not." He went to a window and stood looking out. The
city was not quiet, but its mighty roar of the day was lowered to a
monotonous, drowsy humming. From the east, reflected against low-hanging
clouds, was the dull red of his own steel mills, looking like the
reflection of a vast conflagration.

"Not very happy," he repeated.

"Some times," Mrs. Haverford was saying, "I wonder about things. People
go along missing the best things in life, and--I suppose there is a
reason for it, but some times I wonder if He ever meant us to go on,
crucifying our own souls."

So she did know!

"What would you have us do?"

"I don't know. I suppose there isn't any answer."

Afterward, Clayton found that that bit of conversation with Mrs.
Haverford took on the unreality of the rest of that twenty-four hours.
But one part of it stood out real and hopelessly true. There wasn't any
answer!

CHAPTER XLIII

Anna Klein had gone home, at three o'clock that terrible morning, a
trembling, white-faced girl. She had done her best, and she had failed.
Unlike Graham, she had no feeling of personal responsibility, but she
felt she could never again face her father, with the thing that she knew
between them. There were other reasons, too. Herman would be arrested,
and she would be called to testify. She had known. She had warned Mr.
Spencer. The gang, Rudolph's gang, would get her for that.

She knew where they were now. They would be at Gus's, in the back room,
drinking to the success of their scheme, and Gus, who was a German too,
would be with them, offering a round of drinks on the house now and then
as his share of the night's rejoicing. Gus, who was already arranging to
help draft-dodgers by sending them over the Mexican border.

She would have to go back, to get in and out again if she could, before
Herman came back. She had no clothes, except what she stood up in, and
those in her haste that night were, only her print house-dress with a
long coat. She would have to find a new position, and she would have
to have her clothing to get about in. She dragged along, singularly
unmolested. Once or twice a man eyed her, but her white face and vacant
eyes were unattractive, almost sodden.

She was barely able to climb the hill, and as she neared the house her
trepidation increased. What if Herman had come back? If he suspected her
he would kill her. He must have