He had made many efforts to induce Dr. Barnhelm to speak of Lola, and of the events leading up to her sudden desertion of them, but to all his questions, or remarks, the old man refused any answer, other than to look up, almost vacantly, and shake his head. [Illustration: LOLA IN DICK FENWAY'S ROOMS.] "He is stunned," thought Dr. Crossett. "As yet his brain is too numbed to realize; to-morrow, unless John brings her home, he will be desperate." Would she come home? That was the question. That she had been extravagant, and, through a desire for beautiful clothes, had been, little by little, led into a maze of debts, of which she had been afraid to tell them, and that the sudden temptation, when she had unexpectedly come upon that roll of bank notes, had been too much for her to resist. All this was obvious, and, sad as it was, was not unforgivable. That she had deceived John, however, and, day after day, had lied to him, and gone to the man whom, of all others, she had most reason to avoid, was a treachery hard to excuse, even to this man, who was doing his very best to find excuses. What was the outcome to be? He could not decide. There had been so much of real hate, and contempt, in her manner to them, that it was out of the question to put it all down to excitement, or girlish anger. He quite realized that she had "burned her bridges behind her," that her manner of going had left her no possibility of coming back, unless she came humbly, and in repentance. Try as he might he could not picture that. Humble she might be, and repentant, but not until her spirit was broken by suffering. He knew much of the world, much of human nature, and he knew that she would have to make her choice at once between evil and good. That alone she could not hope to live, as she had said that she was going to live. The good in her heart might save her even now. She was like a child. When this man offered her money and all the beautiful things she longed for, did she know the price she would be asked to pay? When she found it out would she shut her eyes, and go blindly on, or would the innate delicacy of her nature, the instinctive purity of girlhood, save her, as it has saved thousands before her? This was the only hope. He tried to have confidence; after all, she was her mother's daughter. He cherished that thought. Her child could not sink so low! Great God! She could not do it! In the stillness of the early morning he heard the clang of the iron doors of the elevator as they were thrown open in the hall outside, and a moment later John came in. One look at his face was enough to tell him that he brought no good news, but whatever it was he must know it. "Well, John?" He came forward to meet him. "What have you to tell us?" John looked quickly at Dr. Barnhelm, and Dr. Crossett understood that what he had to tell would destroy any remaining hope that the old man might have cherished. "Thank you, John, for doing what you have done."