"Was it generally thought that my father was guilty?" asked Bert. "No; while circumstances were strong against him, no one could believe that a man whose reputation for integrity was as high as your father's would be guilty of stealing. But the good will of his associates could not help him." "Did you know Mr. Marlowe?" "Albert Marlowe? Yes." "Was he well liked?" "Not by me. He was far from being as highly respected as your father." "Yet he has prospered. He is the owner of a factory in Lakeville, and is considered worth thirty thousand dollars." "I am surprised to hear it. When I knew him he was always in debt." "If he really took the bonds charged upon my father, that would account for his start in business." "Exactly so. Now that I think of it, two or three days after the theft, I saw him and Ralph Harding walking together, apparently engaged in earnest conversation. They evidently had a good understanding with each other. I believe you are on the right track, and I heartily hope you will succeed in making your father's innocence evident to the world. John Barton was my favorite friend, and I hope some day to see him in Chicago." "Are you in business here, Mr. French?" "Yes; I am in the old line. Like Albert Marlowe, I am the owner of a large shoe factory, and I am worth, I should say, considerably more money." Hiram French occupied a handsome house on Indiana Avenue, furnished with taste, and was, as his style of living showed, in easy circumstances. He introduced Bert to his wife and daughter, who seemed at once drawn to the young actor. When he left the house the next morning after breakfast he was urgently invited to call again during his stay, and partially promised to do so. But he was in haste to reach Peoria, for there it was he hoped to find a witness that would vindicate his father's name and fame. CHAPTER XXXIII. A LATE ARRIVAL AT MRS. BARTON'S COTTAGE. One evening, about eight o'clock, Mrs. Barton was sewing in her little sitting-room when an unusual feeling of loneliness overcame her. Circumstances had separated her from her husband, and her only son was hundreds of miles away. "Why," she asked herself, "can I not fare as well as other wives and mothers? I am a wife, yet I cannot enjoy my husband's society. Fortunately I am not likely long to be separated from Bert. If he only succeeds in his mission, and comes home able to vindicate the fame of his father, and restore him to me, I shall be perfectly happy." She felt unusually restless, and found it difficult to keep on with her work. "I feel as if something were going to happen. I hope no misfortune is impending over me." She had hardly spoken when the door bell rang. "It is some neighbor come to make a call," she thought. "I am glad of it, for I am not in the mood for work."