“I am glad to know it,” I said. “If you care for him he must care for you. He cannot help it. I am sure you will be happy by and by. I can leave you here now with more--with less reluctance. I--” I could not trust myself to go on, although I tried to do so. She answered, without looking at me. “Yes,” she said, “you can leave me now. I am safe and--and happy. Good-by.” I took her hand. “Good-by,” I said. “Forgive me for coming. I shall not trouble you again. This time I promise. You may not wish to write us, but we shall write you. And I--I hope you won't forget us.” It was a lame conclusion and trite enough. She must have thought so. “I shall not forget you,” she said, simply. “And I will try to write occasionally. Yes, I will try. Now please go. Good-by.” I went, without looking back. I strode along the paths, scarcely noticing where I was going. As I neared the corner of the house I heard voices, loud voices. One of them, though it was not as loud as the others, was Hephzy's. “I knew it,” she was saying, as I turned the corner. “I knew it. I knew there was some reason, some mean selfish reason why you were willin' to take that girl under your wing. I knew it wasn't kind-heartedness and relationship. I knew it.” It was Solomon Cripps who answered. Mr. and Mrs. Cripps, arrayed in their Sabbath black and white, were standing by the door of their villa. Hephzy was standing before them. Her face was set and determined and she looked highly indignant. Mr. Cripps' face was red and frowning and he gesticulated with a red hand, which clasped a Testament. His English was by no means as pure and undefiled as when he had endeavored to persuade us into hiring “Ash Clump.” “Look 'ere,” he snarled. “Don't you talk to me like that. Don't you suppose I know what I'm doing. You Yankees may be clever at your tricks, but you can't trick me. Don't I know about the money you stole from 'er father? Don't I, eh? You can tell 'er your lies about it being stolen by someone else, but I can see a 'ole through a millstone. You can't trick me, I tell you. They're giving that girl a good 'ome and care and all that, but we're goin' to see she 'as 'er rights. You've filled 'er silly 'ead with your stories. You've made 'er think you're all that's good and--” I was at hand by this time. “What's all this, Hephzy?” I asked. Before Hephzy could reply Mrs. Cripps spoke. “It's him!” she cried, seizing her husband's arm with one hand and pointing at me with the other. “It's him,” she cried, venomously. “He's here, too.” The sight of me appeared to upset what little self-control Mr. Cripps had left. “You!” he shouted, “I might 'ave known you were 'ere. You're the one that's done it. You're responsible. Filling her silly 'ead with lies about your goodness and all that. Making her fall in love with you and--” I sprang forward. “WHAT?” I cried. “What are you saying?” Hephzy was frightened. “Hosy,” she cried, “don't look so. Don't! You frighten me.”