He appeared startled: “You little woman, you! What on earth could you do but be grieved at a friend’s misfortune?” She little knew that all this was but to abuse that intense, fond, clinging sympathy. “I have fourteen hundred in my own name, will you use part of that?” “Great heavens, no. I would become a beggar first!” “But if I insist, and it will save you and--him?” Willard Frost sat for a time without speaking; apparently he was weighing some profound subject. At last he looked up and gathered Cherokee’s hands in his. “I appreciate the spirit that prompts you to make this heroic offer to me. When will you need this money?” “Not for two months yet, I expect to spend the winter in ‘Frisco’ with Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope.” “Are you absolutely in earnest about our using it?” “Never was more in earnest in my lifetime,” she answered, solemnly. “Then I will take it, though I feel humbled to the very dust to think of these little hands saving me.” He bent and kissed them as reverently as though she had been his patron saint. As she gave him the check for one thousand dollars, Cherokee thought his trembling hands told, but too well, of humbled pride. “That was a stroke of genius--a decided stroke of genius,” he said to himself, as he passed into the club house that day. CHAPTER III. AN HONEST MAN’S HONEST LOVE. It was far into twilight when Robert Milburn rang the bell at the Stanhopes. He had called to escort them to the closing ball of the Manhattan season. “I have not seen you for more than a week, Robert. I fear you have been worrying or working too hard,” said Cherokee, looking at him searchingly and anxiously. “Ah, not working any more than I should, yet there has been a terrible weight on my mind--a crushing weight.” “Then, let us remain at home to-night; I prefer it.” “You must have read my mind, I wanted so much to stay, but the fear of cheating you of pleasure kept me from suggesting it.” So it was agreed upon that they would not go to the ball. “Now tell me what makes you overtax your strength?” said Cherokee, sweetly and solicitously. “I must get on in my profession, so that one day you will be proud of me.” His enthusiasm inspired her. “I am that already, and shall never cease to hope for you and be proud of your many successes. A great future is waiting to claim you, Mr. Milburn.” “Not unless that future’s arm can hold both of us, Cherokee, for you are still all I really want praise from--all I fear in the blaming. But, sweetheart, you have dropped me as a child throws away a toy when it is weary. When Frost told me he had been here it started afresh some thoughts that I find lurking about my mind so often of late.” Did her bowed head mean an effort to hide a face that told too much? “I believe you are sorry he is not with you here now.” She laid her hand in playful reproach upon his lips. “Sorry, you foolish boy! I am glad you are here, isn’t that enough?”