“I was wondering whether you were wise; you are without friends or money. Don’t you think his proposition was worth considering?” “What! pay him for teaching me to act!” cried Dollie. “No, I didn’t mean that,” said the sick girl, slowly, “but——” “You needn’t go on. I understand you,” said Dollie, her lips curling a little. “Do you think because I am poor I would stoop to dishonor?” The girl shrugged her shoulders and turned away. “When you have worn yourself out, soul and body, as I have, you will understand better,” she said wearily. “I have lived an honest life, but what thanks have I for it?” “You have your own self-respect,” cried Dollie, taking a step toward her. “Poor food for a starved stomach,” said the girl, half smiling, “but, good-by and good luck, my little rustic.” Dollie stood still for a moment and looked after the girl. The tears had sprung to her eyes, and were trembling on her lashes. “Poor soul,” she whispered, with a heavy sigh. “Poor, weary girl. Oh, how I pity her. Then there is starvation and want in this great city of plenty.” She walked on after this, thinking deeply as she went, but never quite forgetting that she must be alert and watchful. For although Professor Dabroski was safely in jail, there were times when Dollie almost trembled with dread. It seemed as if his fatal spell was still haunting her senses. As she turned into the block that led to their furnished room, she came suddenly in sight of a familiar figure, which made her stand for a moment as if rooted to the spot, while the blood coursed through her veins in a perfect torrent. A young man, with a gaunt, angular figure, dressed in butternut colored garments, a bandana handkerchief around his neck, and a wide brimmed straw hat upon his head, was standing about half way down the block, staring up at the houses in a gawkified manner. Dollie knew him at once. It was Silas Johnson, their next door neighbor at home in the country. This man, was the husband whom her father had chosen for her—the man whom she had solemnly vowed she would never marry. What was he doing in New York? Dollie asked herself the question. It was not possible that Silas should meet her now after her fearful experience with Professor Dabroski. Before she had fairly recovered from her surprise, Silas Johnson saw her and came striding along the pavement, mopping his forehead vigorously with another bandana. “So here’s where ye be!” was his extraordinary greeting. “I told yer folkes I’d find ye an’ tell ’em how ye wuz livin’.” “Are they so anxious about us?” asked Dollie, faintly. “I should have thought if they were anxious they might have answered our letters, for both Marion and I have written to mother.” Silas Johnson eyed her curiously before he answered, much as if she were a stranger instead of the girl he had known from childhood.