“Forgive me,” he muttered huskily. “I’m a brute at best; but I had no business to speak to you as I did.” “But why did you say—what made you ever think I’d set about reforming—that is what you said—_reforming_—Brookville? I never thought of such a thing! How could I?” He hung his head, abashed by the lightning in her mild eyes. She clasped her small, fair hands and bent toward him. “And you said you wanted to be—friends. I hoped—” “I do,” he said gruffly. “I’ve told you I’m ashamed of myself.” She drew back, sighing deeply. “I don’t want you to feel—ashamed,” she said, in a sweet, tired voice. “But I wish—” “Tell me!” he urged, when she did not finish her sentence. “Do you think everybody is going to misunderstand me, as you have?” she asked, somewhat piteously. “Is it so strange and unheard of a thing for a woman to want a home and—and friends? Isn’t it allowable for a person who has money to want to pay fair wages? Why should I scrimp and haggle and screw, when I want most of all to be generous?” “Because,” he told her seriously, “scrimping, haggling and screwing have been the fashion for so long, the other thing rouses mean suspicions by its very novelty. It’s too good to be true; that’s all.” “You mean people will suspect—they’ll think there’s something—” She stood before him, her hands fallen at her sides, her eyes downcast. “I confess I couldn’t believe that there wasn’t an ulterior motive,” he said honestly. “That’s where I was less noble than you.” She flashed a sudden strange look at him. “There is,” she breathed. “I’m going to be honest—with you. I have—an ulterior motive.” “Will you tell me what it is?” Her lips formed the single word of denial. He gazed at her in silence for a moment. “I’m going to accept the post you just offered me, Miss Orr; at any salary you think I’m worth,” he said gravely. “Thank you,” she murmured. Steps and the sound of voices floated across the picket fence. The gate rasped on its rusted hinges; then slammed shut. “If I was you, Mr. Elliot,” came the penetrating accents of Mrs. Solomon Black’s voice, “I should hire a reg’lar reviv’list along in th’ fall, after preservin’ an’ house-cleanin’ time. We need an outpourin’ of grace, right here in Brookville; and we can’t get it no other way.” And the minister’s cultured voice in reply: “I shall give your suggestion the most careful consideration, Mrs. Black, between now and the autumn season.” “Great Scott!” exclaimed Jim Dodge; “this is no place for me! Good night, Miss Orr!” She laid her hand in his. “You can trust me,” he said briefly, and became on the instant a flitting shadow among the lilac bushes, lightly vaulting over the fence and mingling with the darker shadows beyond. Chapter IX.