"There's no name good enough," she replied--"unless--unless we name it for that carrier pigeon that was such a hero in the War. We might name it _Cher Ami_." "Good," declared Ben. "It is surely a homing bird." "And such a _cher ami_ to me," added Geraldine fervently. Ben wondered if this marvelous girl never smiled. "You were going to tell me how the ogre was able to force you to marry him," he said. "Yes; I don't like to tell you. It is very sad, and he crushed me with it." The girl's lips trembled for a silent moment, and Cupid alone knows how Ben longed to kiss them, close to him as they were. "He said that my father forged two checks, and that he only refrained from prosecuting him because of me. He said my father had promised that he should have me." Ben scowled, and the dark eyes fixed upon him brightened with sudden eagerness. "But that was a lie--about father giving me to him. I have Daddy's letter here." She felt again inside her blouse. "You will have to know everything--how my poor father was his own worst enemy and came to rely for money on that impossible man." She took out the letter and gave it to Ben and he read it in silence. "Probably it was a lie also about the checks," he said when he had finished. "No, oh, no," she replied earnestly. "He showed me those. He said that my father was held in affectionate remembrance at his clubs and among his friends, and that he could ruin all that and hold him up to contempt as a criminal, unless--unless I married him." Geraldine's bosom heaved convulsively. "I have been wild with joy ever since you came," she declared. "If I ever go to heaven I can't be happier than I was flying up from that meadow where there seemed a curse even on the poor little wild flowers but you can see how it is going to keep coming over me in waves that perhaps I have done wrong. You see, Daddy tells me not to consider him; but should I not guard his name in spite of that? That is the question that will keep coming up to me. Nevertheless"--she made a gesture of despair--"if I went through with it--if I married Mr. Carder, I'm sure I should lose all control and kill myself. I'm sure of it." Here Ben gave rein to the dastardly instinct which occasionally causes a poor mortal to fling all conscience to the winds when he sees an unexpected opportunity to attain a longed-for prize. "For you to become his wife cannot be right," declared Ben, endeavoring to speak with mature and legal poise; "but as you say, that heartrending doubt of your duty may attack you at times. How would it be to put it beyond your power to yield to his wishes by marrying some one else--me, for instance?" Geraldine regarded the speaker with grief and reproach. "Can you joke about my trouble?" She turned away and he suspected hurt tears.