"It will not be necessary, Wade, for you to take on O'Toole's work. I am not asking you to perform hard, manual labor. You must not feel that my—" "Pardon me, madam," interrupted he; "I very much prefer to do some sort of regular work, if I may be permitted." She smiled. "You will find Murray a hard task-master, I am afraid." He took a long breath, as of relief—or could it have been pleasure? "I quite understand that, madam. He is a martinet. Still, I shall not mind." The same thought was in the mind of each: he was accustomed to serving a hard task-master. "If you don't mind, I shall take O'Toole's place until you find some one else. To-morrow I shall move my belongings from the room upstairs to O'Toole's room off the furnace-room. Thank—" "No!" she exclaimed. "You are not to do that. Keep your old room, Wade. I—I cannot allow you to go down there. Mr. Thorpe would never forgive me if he knew that—" He lifted his eyes at the sudden pause and saw that she was very white. Was she too afraid of ghosts? "It's very good of you," he said after a moment. "I shall do as you wish in everything, and I shall let you know the instant I find another place." He cleared his throat. "I fear, madam, that in the confusion of the past few days I have failed to express to you my sympathy. I assure you the oversight was not—" She was looking straight into his eyes. "Thank you, Wade," she interrupted coldly. "Your own grief would be sufficient excuse, if any were necessary. If you will send Murray to me I will tell him that you have withdrawn your notice and will stay on in O'Toole's place. It will not be necessary for him to engage another furnace-man at present." "No, ma'am," said Wade, and then added without a trace of irony in his voice: "At any rate not until cold weather sets in." And so it was that this man solved the greatest problem that had ever confronted him. He went down into the cellars to take orders from the man he hated, from the man who would snarl at him and curse him and humiliate him to the bitter end, and all because he knew that he could not begin life over again. He wanted to be ordered about, he wanted to be snarled at by an overbearing task-master. It simplified everything. He would never be called upon to think for himself. Thorpe or Murray, what mattered which of them was in command? It was all the same to him. His dignity passed, away with the passing of his career as a "Man," and he rejoiced in the belief that he had successfully evaded the responsibilities that threatened him up to the moment he entered the presence of the mistress of the house. He was no longer without a purpose in life. He would not have to go out and be independent.