"I don't want it at the price, Guardie," she replied, slipping her arm around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. "I couldn't be happy with such a fortune. What you've done hurts me more than it hurts Norman." "Yes, yes. I know that you love him, child, but your happiness could not be found among a crowd of criminals and revolutionists." "I'm not thinking of myself," was the low response as she withdrew from his arms, "I was thinking of you." "Of me?" "Yes. You've broken my idol. To me you were the one perfect man in the world. I didn't know you. I didn't know that you were hard and cold and cruel and selfish and proud." "I'm not, Elena." "You allowed Norman to drift into any crazy theory that might strike his fancy. And the moment he fails to agree with your views you turn like a madman and drive him into the streets." "He went of his own accord. I gave him his choice." "And I admire his pluck. It was a manly thing to do." "It was the act of a fool." "Yet, you know, Guardie, in your heart of hearts you admire him for it. He showed you that he was made of the same stuff as his father." The Colonel scowled, and the girl took courage. "I'm going to meet him this evening----" "I forbid it!" "You can't help it," she cried, as the tears slowly gathered. "I'm going to tell him you wish to see and talk with him again." "On one condition only--his absolute obedience to my wishes." "I love him all the more for defying you--love him better than I ever did in my life. And--and, Guardie--I don't love you any more. You are cruel and unjust." With a sob she turned and left the room. CHAPTER IX A FADED PICTURE Elena's tears had shaken the Colonel's confidence in his position as nothing else could possibly have done. Since she had finished her course in college two years before, and he had come in daily contact with her strong personality, a most intimate and perfect sympathy had grown between them. He had never before known her intuitive judgment to be wrong. Her impressions of character especially he had found singularly accurate, her sense of right and her good taste nearly perfect. He retired to his room at night with a deep sense of uneasiness. His anger had cooled, and in its stead a feeling of depression slowly settled. From every nook and corner came memories of the boy he had driven from his door. His pictures hung on the walls and stared at him from every piece of furniture on which a frame could be placed. He had learned photography as a pastime years before the kodak was invented, and most of the pictures he had taken himself.