And the shadows deepened around them, as the young schemer told a plaintive story of emotional lying embroidery to the woman whose agitated heart was swept with a storm of revengeful feeling. A passionate desire to punish the younger woman whose husband had used the mean taunt of her sunset years to quiet the jealous little spitfire heiress. “I did not come to New York City under false pretenses,” began Vreeland, “but, Hathorn has taken me wrongly to be a rich man. I am only a poor man to-day, and a weary and a lonely life lies before me.” “I could not muster the hundred thousand dollars needed to go into their firm, for I have made myself poor in the discharge of a sacred duty.” With a fine affectation of manly earnestness, he then told the generous-hearted woman a romantic tale of his gifted father’s career, and of the death of his patient mother. He judiciously unfolded the story of his father’s professional errors, and painted that “sudden taking off” in the wilds of Montana. A knowledge of Judge Endicott’s encyclopedic memory, and some previous hints from the wary Justine, caused Vreeland to put in a hidden plea in bar, to offset any private researches of the only two men whom he feared in Elaine’s glittering entourage. They were the silver-haired Hiram Endicott and the manly Conyers. Once or twice he had observed the latter’s eyes searching him in no unmeaning hostility. There were tears on Elaine Willoughby’s lashes as he concluded with manly earnestness: “Left with a supposedly ample fortune, I found, on an examination of my father’s private papers, that there was before me a sacred task of restitution. A work of self-abnegation, of simple honesty, lay before me. “I had never known of the baleful influence of the woman who led my father (once in her clutches) on to lead a double life. “But, in justice to his own better self and in honor of my beloved mother’s memory, I gave up nearly all, and so arrived here with only a few thousand dollars in my pocket.” The shades had deepened around them when he concluded with his last master stroke of manly simplicity. “Chance threw me across Hathorn in the train as I came here to collect the only honest money left to me after my work of secret restitution was done. I saw that he valued only money—success—and the glitter of your hot-hearted swell circles. “It was hard for me to dishonor a father’s memory. To undeceive my old college friend, I intended to ask him later for aid—for employment. But I soon saw that I would not get it. He fell into the innocent error of supposing me to be very rich. “And,” the young special pleader rose as he said, under his voice, “_I met you there—at the depot!_ My heart and soul craved another sight of you. And that I might meet you again, _I did not undeceive him_. “You know the rest. I have been true to you, and I have given up my last hope of fortune in refusing to be his tool.”