"Molly," he began without batting his eyes, "here is where you come in. That fellow Brownwell was up here this morning. Oh, you needn't shiver--I know all about it. You had the honour of refusing him last night." To her astonished, hurt face he paid no heed, but went on: "Now he's going to leave town on account of you and pull out four thousand dollars he's got in the bank. If he does that, we can't pay our guarantee. You've got to call him back." She flared up as if to stop him, but he went on: "Oh, I know, Molly Culpepper--but this is no game of London Bridge. It's bad enough, but it's business--cold clammy business, and sometimes we have to do things in this world for the larger good. That roan simply can't leave this town and you must bold him. It's ruin and perhaps prison to Bob and his father if he goes; and as for your own father and mother--it makes them paupers, Molly. There's no other way out of it." He paused a moment. The girl's face blanched, and she looked at the floor and spoke, "And Bob--when can he come back?" "I don't know, Molly--but not now--he never was needed there as he is now. It's a life-and-death matter, Molly Culpepper, with every creature on earth that's nearest and dearest to you--it makes or breaks us. It's a miserable business, I know well--but your duty is to act for the larger good. You can't afford to send Bob to jail and your people to the poorhouse just because--" The girl looked up piteously and then cried out: "Oh, John--don't, don't--I can't. It's awful, John--I can't." "But, Molly," he replied as gently as he could, "you must. You can't afford to be squeamish about this business. This is a woman's job, Molly, not a child's." She rose and looked at him a fleeting moment as if in search of some mercy in his face. Then she looked away. He stood beside her, barring her way to the door. "But you'll try, Molly, won't you--you'll try?" he cried. She looked at him again with begging eyes and stepped around him, and said breathlessly as she reached the door: "Oh, I don't know, John--I don't know. I must think about it." She felt her way down the stairs, and stopped a minute to compose herself before she crossed the street and walked wearily up the hill. That night at supper Colonel Culpepper addressed the assembled family expansively. "The ravens, my dears, the ravens. Behold Elijah fed by the sacred birds. By Adrian P. Brownwell, to be exact. This morning I went down town with the sheriff selling the roof over our heads. This afternoon who should come to me soliciting the pleasure of lending, me money--who, I say, but Adrian P. Brownwell?" "Well, I hope you didn't keep him standing," put in Buchanan.