“You have told me the story of my parentage, Mr. Hilton, and if you have any claim to the title of a gentleman, you will not insult my helplessness by repeating the epithet you were about to apply to me. When you married my father’s divorced wife, and took her to be a mother to your daughter Isabel, why did you allow her to rear me--that man’s offspring--as one entitled to your name, to crush me at this late day with a knowledge of the truth. It has pained me always to notice your coldness toward me, in contrast to your passionate love for Isabel; but I--I never suspected this. Oh, how could my own mother deceive me so?” “I should never have told you the truth, Iris, but for this affair with St. John. I have treated you always as my own child, and denied you no luxury that Isabel herself has enjoyed. If I now demand a sacrifice at your hands, I think I have a right to expect that you will grant what I ask. At a word from me your mother would have given you, an infant of two years, into an asylum, sixteen years ago. I saved you from such a fate, and all I ask in return is that you will cure Chester St. John of his infatuation for your pretty, childish face. It is nothing more than infatuation, for before your return from school he was devoted to Isabel; and, Iris, I will tell you this in strict confidence: unless my daughter makes an advantageous marriage very soon, I shall be a ruined man. Think what this word ruin means, not only to Isabel, but to your invalid mother, whose love of ease and luxury is part of her very life. Make St. John believe that you have no love for him, and all will be well, I know. The secret I have revealed to you to-day shall never again pass my lips, and----” “Let me speak!” interrupted Iris, with quick, panting breaths. “I have no other way of paying you for what you have done for me, and I--I will do what you ask. But when I have sent Chester St. John from me I shall leave your home forever. I will never pass another night beneath your roof.” A low knock on the door at this moment interrupted the girl’s brave words, and Peter entered, to announce that Mr. St. John was waiting in the parlor to see Miss Iris. “So soon! Oh, how shall I meet him?” exclaimed Iris, with such a passionate cry of pain that Mr. Hilton feared her resolution would fail at the last, and, starting toward her, attempted to take one of her hands in his own. “Iris, do not forget,” he began, but she drew herself shudderingly away from him, saying, as she moved slowly toward the door: “I shall not forget the debt I owe you; I am going to pay it now--to pay it in full.” There was no tremor in the low, sweet voice as she spoke these words, but her face, turned for a moment toward him as she crossed the threshold, was so pitifully white and hopeless that a momentary thrill of compassion stirred Oscar Hilton’s heart, and he muttered to himself as he listened to the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs: