THE WING-BEAT OF AZRAEL AND Dorothy? Truly, these were terrible days and weeks for one who loved, and had lost and found, only to lose again. But, believing in her lover’s innocence as no one else save Henry Antrim did believe in it, she was yet powerless to break a single thread of the net which enmeshed him. She could do naught but grieve despairingly, and that in secret, since none but her father and Antrim guessed the depth of her hurt. To her in her misery came an angel of light masquerading as one Parker Jarvis. She knew the reporter by sight, and better by repute, since Antrim had spoken much of him and of his friendly movings in Brant’s affair. She also knew that he was of those who would have held Brant excused though guilty; but at this point her knowledge of him paused until, one black Thursday evening in late November, but a single sweep of the clock hands from the fatal Friday morning, when she had stolen out of the house to be alone with her misery, he stood uncovered before her holding the gate for her to pass out. “Do you know who I am, Miss Langford?” he asked; and when she signed assent he turned and walked beside her. “I don’t mean to intrude, and I could have only one excuse for waylaying you,” he went on. “If there is any blame, Harry Antrim must answer for it. He doesn’t mean to tell all the things he knows, but sometimes he tells a good bit more than he sets out to, and he has told me enough to make me understand why to-morrow will hurt you worse than it will any of us.” There was manifestly no answer to be made to this, and she let him go on without hindrance. For to-morrow would end it all, and anything less than death seemed too trivial to be opposed. “I wanted to ask you to help me at a pinch where I am unable to help myself,” he continued. “But before I come to the helping part, I’d like to tell you just where I stand to-night. May I do that?” Her “Yes” was no more than a whisper, but he heard it and took his cue promptly, beginning in the midst. “At first I thought Brant did it, as a matter of course. Everything pointed that way, and the mere fact of his giving himself up seemed as good as a confession. But afterward when I began to dig a little deeper into it I wasn’t so sure; in fact, I came to believe that your brother had done it, and that Brant was trying to screen him--to--well, to stand in the way until your brother had a chance to run for it. You mustn’t mind my saying these things, because they have to be said before I can come around to the present state of affairs.” Again she gave him liberty. “It does not matter; nothing matters any more.” “Thanks. Well, about that time I had a talk with Brant, and I’m ashamed to say he made me fly the track again--made me believe he did do it, after all; and I went on believing it till one day about a week ago, when Harry Antrim told me what you told him Brant had told you. That is pretty badly tangled up, but I guess you know what I am driving at.”