"But you need it. What is it to me? A few gewgaws, and jewels, and dresses, and I have more of them than I want. Take it to regain your own--to smite down this wretch Tranyon--then repay it to me." "No, that is impossible," he answers, slowly. "This money shall be returned to you before bank hours this afternoon. But the good will that prompted it--I'll keep that, if you please, until I die." And supreme gratitude and undying love also are in his eyes, for he cannot keep them from speaking, though he may, perchance, control his tongue. "But you need it. You must take it. It is necessary for your success," gasps the girl. "I cannot take it, but I will succeed without it," he cries. "I cannot afford to lose. I must win! It is not money I am fighting for, but----" "What?" "What I will never tell you till I have money enough to prevent men calling me an adventurer--a fortune hunter--if I win it." And his eyes speaking to her again, she knows what he means. A moment after, she turns to him, and says considerately: "If I cannot aid you in this way I can in another, which I hope you will accept. My father will be here this evening. He is a very rich man. He will be more than happy to go upon your bond, to raise the injunction, which, I understand, has crippled you." "No," says Harry, curtly. "No favors from your father of such financial magnitude." "Why not?" queries Erma, who has made up her mind that Lawrence must be aided in some way. "Because your father, the first time he sees me, must think me a man who can fight his own battle in this world--a man worthy to be--" He checks himself, and drives the words that are on his tongue back into his throat. "At all events," mutters Erma, "you must see my father. He is a man of great business sagacity. His advice will aid you. Promise that you will come to-morrow and see him." "I go to Tintic to-morrow." "Promise!" and, being desperate, the young lady now forgets herself and whispers, "for my sake." Then she suddenly feels her soft hand crushed in a frontier grip as he answers: "For your sake I'd promise anything!" and, a moment after, he raises the white patrician fingers and kisses them with that reverence and chivalry that good men, who have long lived apart from good women, oft-times feel for their sweethearts, likening them unto their mothers. Then he murmurs, "Good-bye!" But the girl cries, "Don't forget to-morrow. I will tell papa to be in at eleven o'clock. He will advise you how to conquer that Tranyon. See! a rosebud for good luck," and smiles on him. "I will pin it in your button-hole." "No," he stammers, "let me carry it in my hand. Good-bye!" almost snatching the flower from her, for he is desperately afraid of himself, for gratitude and love have made this young lady's beauty irresistible to him.