about his father. He believes--he is certain
now--that, whatever his father did, he injured some one; and his idea
in going ahead--he hasn't told it to me that way, but I know--is to
find out the whole matter in order that he may make recompense. It's a
terrible thing, whatever happened. He knows that, and I know; but he
wants--and I want him for his sake, even for Uncle Benny's sake--to see
it through."

"Then it's a queer concern you've got for Ben! Let it alone, I tell
you."

She stood flushed and perplexed, gazing at him. She never had seen him
under stronger emotion.

"You misunderstood me once, Connie!" he appealed. "You'll understand
me now!"

She had been thinking about that injustice she had done him in her
thought--about his chivalry to his partner and former benefactor, when
Uncle Benny was still keeping his place among men. Was Henry now
moved, in a way which she could not understand, by some other
obligation to the man who long ago had aided him? Had Henry hazarded
more than he had told her of the nature of the thing hidden which, if
she could guess it, would justify what he said?

In the confusion of her thought, one thing came clearly which troubled
her and of which she could not speak. The watch of Captain Stafford's
and the ring and the coins, which had made her believe that Uncle Benny
was dead, had not been proof of that to Henry. Yet he had taken
advantage of her belief, without undeceiving her, to urge her to marry
him at once.

She knew of the ruthlessness of Henry's business life; he had forced
down, overcome all who opposed him, and he had made full use for his
own advantage of other men's mistakes and erroneous beliefs and
opinions. If he had used her belief in Uncle Benny's death to hasten
their marriage, it was something which others--particularly she--could
pardon and accept.

If she was drawn to him for his strength and dominance, which sometimes
ran into ruthlessness, she had no right to complain if he turned it
thus upon her.

She had made Alan promise to write her, if he was not to return,
regarding what he learned; and a letter came to her on the fourth day
from him in Manitowoc. The postoffice employees had no recollection,
he said, of the person who had mailed the package; it simply had been
dropped by some one into the receptacle for mailing packages of that
sort. They did not know the handwriting upon the wrapper, which he had
taken with him; nor was it know