Church work had always interested him. As a speculation in moral obligation, he adopted Peter Castle's orphan, who turned to him in a passion of gratitude and blind devotion. And as she bade fair to rival her dead mother in beauty, and as rich men marry beauty when it is in the market, the Hon. John Garcide decided to control the child's future. A promise at ten years is quickly made, but he had never forgotten it, and she could not forget. And now Garcide needed her as he needed mercy from Ophir Steel, which was slowly crushing his own steel syndicate to powder. The struggle between Steel Plank and James J. Crawford's Ophir Steel is historical. The pure love of fighting was in Crawford; he fought Garcide to a standstill and then kicked him, filling Garcide with a mixture of terror and painful admiration. But sheer luck caught at Garcide's coat-tails and hung there. Crawford, prowling in the purlieus of society, had seen Miss Castle. The next day Crawford came into Garcide's office and accepted a chair with such a humble and uneasy smile that Garcide mistook his conciliatory demeanor and attempted to bully him. But when he found out what Crawford wanted, he nearly fainted in an attempt to conceal his astonishment and delight. "Do you think I'd buy you off with an innocent child?" he said, lashing himself into a good imitation of an insulted gentleman. Crawford looked out of the window, then rose and walked towards the door. "Do you think you can bribe me?" shouted Garcide after him. Crawford hesitated. "Come back here," said Garcide, firmly; "I want you to explain yourself." "I can't," muttered Crawford. "Well--try, anyway," said Garcide, more amiably. And now this was the result of that explanation, at least one of the results; and Miss Castle had promised to wed a gentleman in Ophir Steel named Crawford, at the convenience of the Hon. John Garcide. The early morning sunshine fell across the rugs in the music-room, filling the gloom with golden lights. It touched a strand of hair on Miss Castle's bent head. "You'll like him," said Garcide, guiltily. Her hand hung heavily on the piano keys. "You have no other man in mind?" he asked. "No, ... no man." Garcide chewed the end of his cigar. "Crawford's a bashful man. Don't make it hard for him," he said. She swung around on the gilded music-stool, one white hand lying among the ivory keys. "I shall spare us both," she said; "I shall tell him that it is settled." Garcide rose; she received his caress with composure. He made another grateful peck at her chin. "Why don't you take a quiet week or two in the country?" he suggested, cheerfully, "Go up to the Sagamore Club; Jane will go with you. You can have the whole place to yourselves. You always liked nature and--er--all that, eh?" "Oh yes," she said, indifferently. That afternoon the Hon. John Garcide sent a messenger to James J. Crawford with the following letter: