"She is there now—this morning Mr. Price had a cable from her. I have told this to Mr. Whitney as well as the rest because I have thought—shut up in O’Malley’s flat I had much time for thinking things out straight and clear—that after my explanation, no one would want, no one would dare, to bring that unfortunate girl back here to face a criminal charge. She has had her lesson, she will never forget it, the man she wounded is back on the force as good as ever. No human being with a conscience and a heart—" she looked at Whitney—"and you have both—could want to make her pay more bitterly than she has. She is safe, under intelligent supervision. She can work, be useful, where her youth and strength and enthusiasm are needed. I did not trust you before, Mr. Whitney, but I do now and I know that my trust is not misplaced." A murmur, a concerted sound of agreement, came from her listeners. Whitney, pushing his chair back from the desk, said gravely: "You can rest assured, Miss Maitland, that the matter will die here with us to-day. As you say, your sister has had her punishment. She will stay in France of course?" "Yes, make her home there, I think. When Mr. Price is free he is to go over and marry her. He intends to sell his business out and offer his services to the French government." There was a moment of silence, then Mrs. Janney spoke, clearing her throat, her face flushed with feeling: "As you’ve said, Miss Maitland, none of this would have happened if you’d seen fit to come to me. But it’s no use going over that now—we’ve all made mistakes and we’re all sorry. What we—the Janneys—want to do is to be fair, to be just, and now—if it is not too late—to make amends. The only way you can show your willingness to forget and forgive, is to come back at once to Grasslands and take things up where you left them." The girl for a moment did not answer, her face reddening with a sudden embarrassment. Mrs. Janney saw the blush, read it as reluctance and exclaimed: "Oh, Miss Maitland, don’t say you refuse. It’s as if you wouldn’t take my hand held out in apology, in friendship." "No, no"—Esther was obviously distressed—"don’t think that, Mrs. Janney, it’s not that. It’s that I can’t—I’ve—I’ve made another engagement—I’m going to marry Mr. Ferguson." CHAPTER XXX—MOLLY’S STORY It’s my place to finish, tell the end of the story and straighten it all out. Some of it’s been cleared up clean, with the people on the spot to give the evidence, some of it we had to work out from what we knew and what we guessed. Willitts, who was a gamy guy, told his tale from start to finish, and loved doing it, they said, like an actor who’d rather be dead in the spotlight than alive in the wings. Larkin’s part we had to put together from what we could get from Bébita and what Mrs. Price gave up.