"No." The woman would not shield herself in this hour. "No; for you forget Philip's cowardice--and weakness. But he was not--smirched with society's remedy for wrong-doing. No; even if I found John had come out of the--the detail, strong and purified, I know, as God hears me, I should always, when most he needed me, see the _prisoner_ instead of--him. Oh! Oh! Oh!" She closed her eyes, and the great tears were pressed from under the quivering lids. Drew for very pity released the suffering face, but his hand rested on the bent shoulder. Then out of the strain of the black hour, he asked a question that seemed to have no part in the present trouble; no meaning. "Ruth have you ever loved just for yourself--just because _you_ wanted what you loved?" "Just for myself? Who ever does in this world, I wonder?" She sighed deeply, and sank back in the chair. It was over at last. There was nothing now to do but to take up her cross and follow as she could; there was no more to be said. Drew waited for her a moment, still standing behind the chair. Then he spoke clearly and firmly: "Ruth, in Phil's going he left our love to us; for we are permitted to remember the splendid man in spite of the weakness which crippled him. We must carry out every wish of his. I think when this is done--his brave soul will be free from every earthly stain. The good he did; the man he was, must claim recognition as well as the sin that stamped him. Both are actual and real. "We'll find John Dale if he is to be found. We'll give him all that is his own--his own. But I pray God he is still man enough to claim no more. "And now, go to bed. You may sleep safely, for you have made yourself ready even for--sacrifice." "No! no! Ralph." "Yes! yes!" He opened the door of the study, and with bowed head she passed out. Then Drew turned and mechanically banked the fire, and left the room orderly, as was his habit. As he followed a few moments later, the little clock struck the half-hour of one. Much had been lost and gained in an hour's time. CHAPTER XVI Billy arose the morning after his eventful evening, with a feeling of physical discomfort. He attributed it to his neglected duty, when in reality it was merely a disordered stomach. The past day or two, ending in a feast of unwonted dainties, had created havoc with Billy's newly acquired, higher nature. He was sulkily belligerent with Maggie, but Maggie viewed the lapse with considerable relief. Billy of the night before awed her in spite of herself. Billy of the morning after cast no reflections on her own inferiority.