The man opposite searched that face. "Yes--I might as well tell you--I feel like a brute to do so--if it's false it's a damnable trick, for such a thing is a fiendish calumny for an honest man to bear--you're the man under suspicion." Martin sat up, his eyes wide in horror, then his chest collapsed and his neck felt limber. "Oh, my God," he whispered, as though in appeal to the Infinite Father of Mercy and Justice, "what a thing to say about me! What a lie!" "It's a lie?" asked the older man tersely. "Absolutely! I've never stolen anything since the days I wore short pants and climbed the neighbors' trees for apples. Who says it?" "Well, I can't divulge that now. Perhaps later." Martin groaned. To be branded a thief was more than he could bear. His face went whiter. "See here," said the old man, "I almost shocked you to death, but I had a purpose in it. I couldn't believe that of you and knew I'd be able to read your face. You know, I believe you! It's all some infernal mistake or plot. You're not a clever enough actor to feign such distress and innocence. Go out and get some air and come back to-morrow morning. I'll stand for you in the meantime. I believe in you." "Thank you, sir," Martin managed to blurt out between dry lips that seemed almost paralyzed. "I'll be back in the morning. Hope you'll find I'm telling the truth." He walked as a somnambulist down the street. In his misery he thought of Isabel Souders. He would go to her for comfort. She'd understand and believe in him! He yearned like a hurt child for the love and tenderness of some one who could comfort him and sweep the demons of distress from his soul. He wanted to see Isabel, only Isabel! He felt relieved that no older member of the household was at home at that time, that the colored servant who answered his ring at the bell said Isabel was alone and would see him at once. "What's wrong?" the girl asked as she entered the room where he waited for her. "You look half dead!" "I am, Isabel," he said chokingly. "I've had a death-blow. They are accusing me of stealing the bank's money." "Oh, Martin! Oh, how dreadful! I'll never forgive you!" The girl spoke in tearful voice. "How perfectly dreadful to have such a thing said after Father got you into the bank! Your reputation is ruined for life! You can never live down such a disgrace." "But I didn't do it!" he cried. "You must know I couldn't have done it!" "Oh, I suppose you didn't if you say so, but people always are ready to say that where there's smoke there must be some fire! Oh, dear, people know you're a friend of mine and next thing the papers will link our names in the notoriety and--oh, what a dreadful thing to happen! They'll print horrible things about you and may drag me into it, too! Say you spent the money on me, or something like that! Father will be so mortified and sorry he helped you. Oh, dear, I think it's dreadful, dreadful!" She burst into weeping.