One glance through the pane made her almost shout for joy, for there, still riding his mount as close to the carriage as possible, was Bert Jackson, in all the glory of his lately acquired finery. “Oh, Bert, save me!” shrieked Dollie, and that second the horses were stopped. Bert Jackson sprang to the ground and threw the carriage door open. “Come out here, you old sinner, and let me lick you!” he roared as he almost lifted Dollie to the roadway beside him. “Go on, driver!” yelled the lawyer, shrinking back in his seat. “Not by a darn sight!” bawled Bert, making a dive into the carriage. “Quick, Bert! Let him go,” cried Dollie in dismay. “Oh, stop quick! There’s a lot of people staring at us already.” Bert dropped back to the street with a groan of rage. As the carriage rolled away he shook his fist at it vigorously. “I’ll take this car, Bert, and go right home,” said Dollie, penitently, as Bert was looking about wondering what to do with her. “All right, if you will,” said Bert, very coolly, “my horse won’t lead very well in the street. I’ll be up this evening to see you, Dollie.” “Oh, Bert, I am so ashamed,” said Dollie as he signaled a car. “You won’t tell Marion or Ralph or Miss Allyn, will you?” “Not a word,” said Bert with a little grin. “But I’ll punch that old duffer yet—you see if I don’t! The idea of his making love to my future sister!” CHAPTER XII. MARION SAVES A VICTIM FROM POTTER’S FIELD. Dr. Reginald Brookes had given his last order for the night, and as he left the Prison Hospital he bent his steps almost involuntarily toward the warden’s office. Some way or other the vitriol patient’s case had interested him greatly, and he was anxious to know if any word had been received from the New York police about her. A large envelope was handed to him in the office, and almost identical with his breaking the seal he asked the warden a question. “Any further information about Mary Jones, Mr. Warner?” The warden turned to his desk and began looking over his letters, and just then Dr. Brookes gave a stifled cry of astonishment. He had drawn a neatly folded paper from the envelope in his hand, and in an instant he saw that it was his friend Greenaway’s life insurance policy. “What has happened?” He asked the question mentally, and just then the warden turned to him. “Known for a time as May Osgood,” he said briefly. “Was an actress, but had no particular reputation.” Dr. Brookes dropped the envelope and stared a minute. “My God!” he said, sharply. “Can that be possible! Why, one of my dearest chums is in love with that woman!” “Well, she couldn’t have been much,” said the warden, bluntly. “A ‘drunk and disorderly’ and not a friend to bury her!” “I’ll bury her myself if this turns out to be true! I’ll wire Greenaway to-night,” said the doctor, promptly. “Can’t identify her now, her face is a sight,” said the warden again. “That acid ate clear through to the bone; she must have been deluged with it.”