had forbidden it, that she could not share the blessed
promise with her father.

Richard wrote nothing of the note of warning; nor did he speak of
Inspector Val and his deductions as to Storri's visits to the Harley
house. His only thought had been to cheer the drooping soul of Dorothy
with the glad nearness of happier days. The word of comfort came in good
time, for the shameful weight of the situation was crushing Dorothy.

Mr. Harley these days walked in troubles as deep as those of Dorothy,
but not the same. Mr. Harley was not borne upon by the shame of the
thing; that did not depress him any more than the knowledge that he was
guiltless of wrong upheld him. A man of finer nature would have been
strengthened by his innocence. To such a man his self-respect would have
been important; while he retained that support he could have summoned up
a fortitude to bear the worst that lay in Storri's hands. But Mr. Harley
was no such one of fineness, upon whom he would have looked down as a
visionary and a sentimentalist. There arose the less cause why he should
be, perhaps, since Mr. Harley was sure of being popular with himself in
spite of any conduct that could be his. His ideals were not lofty, his
moral senses not keen, and what original decent point the latter might
have once possessed had long been dulled away. True, Mr. Harley was
shaken of an ague of fear; but his tremblings were born of the
practical. He was agitated by thoughts of what havoc, in his own and in
Senator Hanway's affairs of politics and business, naming him formally
as a forger would work. Such a disaster would be tangible; he could
appreciate, and, appreciating, shrink from it.

One thing to feather the wing of his apprehensions and set them soaring
was his uncertainty concerning Storri. He could not gauge Storri; he
would have felt safer had that nobleman been an American or an
Englishman. Storri was so loaded of alarming contradictions; he could so
snarl and purr, threaten and promise, beam and glower, smile and frown,
and all in the one moment of time! Mr. Harley could not read a spirit so
perverse and in such perpetual head-on collision with itself! Nor could
he, being fear-blind, see that in most, if not all of these, Storri was
acting. If Mr. Harley had realized what a joy it was to Storri to
frighten him, the knowledge might have made for his peace of mind. As it
was, he looked upon Storri as at the best half mad, and capable, in some
beckonin