“The same old story,—business, business,” answered Geraldine. “He is very much embarrassed, he tells me, and unless he can procure money he is afraid he will have to fail. Lily might let him have hers, I suppose, if it were well secured.” Lawrence did not reply, for, truth to say, he was just then thinking more of his expected letter than of his father’s failure, and taking his hat he walked rapidly to the office, already crowded with eager faces. There were several letters in the Thornton box that night, but Lawrence cared for only one, and that the one bearing the Mayfield post-mark. He knew it was from Mildred, for he had seen her plain, decided handwriting before, and he gave it a loving squeeze, just as he would have given the fair writer, if she had been there instead. Too impatient to wait until he reached his home, he tore the letter open in the street, and read it, three times, before he could believe that he read aright, and that he was rejected. Crumpling the cruel lines in his hand, he hurried on through street after street, knowing nothing where he was going, and caring less, so suddenly and crushingly had the blow fallen upon him. “I cannot be your wife,—I cannot be your wife!” he heard it ringing in his ears, turn which way he would, and with it at last came the maddening thought that the reason why she could not be his wife was that she loved another. Oliver had been deceived, the Judge had been deceived, and he had been cruelly deceived. But he exonerated Mildred from all blame. She had never encouraged him by a word or look, except indeed when she sat by him upon the sofa, and he thought he saw in her speaking face that she was not indifferent to him. But he was mistaken. He knew it now, and, with a wildly beating heart and whirling brain, he wandered on and on, until the evening shadows were beginning to fall, and he felt the night dew on his burning forehead. Then he turned homeward, where more than one waited anxiously his coming. Mr. Thornton had returned, and, entering his house just after Lawrence left it, had communicated to Geraldine the result of his late adventure, withholding in a measure the part which the old Judge had taken in the affair, and saying nothing of the will, which had so astonished him. “Do you think she’ll keep her promise?” Geraldine asked. But Mr. Thornton could not tell, and both watched nervously for Lawrence.