She
called herself Jones up your way. Her right name is Lida Kennard."

Latisan blinked like one who had emerged from darkness into blazing
light. He swayed slowly, breasting that deluge of the truth which
suddenly swept through him.

He walked to the window, turning his back on them, and gazed squarely
into the quivering sun that was westering between lofty buildings. His
eyes were enduring the unveiled sun with more fortitude than his soul
endured the truth which had just been unveiled.

This--this was the heart of the mystery!

He was not meditating while he stood there; he was beholding!

He saw in the white light the spirit of her sacrifice--a sacrifice which
embraced even her submission to him; in his desolate denial of any
worthy attributes in himself he was not admitting that she loved him. He
realized what she had sought to achieve in the north country, why she
could not declare herself. And he had allowed a trick to make a fool of
him, make him a traitor to her, send him off, sneaking in byways, idling
in dark corners, in the time of her most desperate need!

Right then there was in him the awful conviction that he could not go
and face her, wherever she was, so utterly a renegade had he shown
himself.

He was taking all the blame on himself. He had run away from a laugh--a
fool obsessed by a silly notion of the north country--in this new light
it seemed silly. He had not waited like a man to hear the truth from
her! He had betrayed all the cause; he could not go back to the drive.

He had listened to a lying sneak from a detective agency and had
rebuffed, insulted, abused horribly Lida Kennard! Lida Kennard! The name
seemed to be hammering at his eardrums. The granddaughter of Echford
Flagg! A lone girl trying to save a cause! In her anguished desperation
she had been willing to give herself in the way of sacrifice even to
such a recreant as Ward Latisan must have appeared in his boyish and
selfish resentment! Oh, the sun was cool in comparison with the fires
which raged in him.

The fatuous Crowley moved toward the window. "Well, what say, old boy?"

When the young man turned slowly the operative stuck out his hand. "I'm
agreeing with you--no grudges! Let's shake!"

"Yes, you did it," said Latisan. He did not raise his voice. He was
talking as much to himself as to Crowley. "A tip to me, you called it."

"We have to do those things to get quick results," Crowley agreed,
patronizingly. "Give us