“And you, Marion, I wish you did not have to work in hospital!” cried Dollie, impulsively. “I am sure I don’t see how you can endure it!” Dr. Brookes gazed steadily at the fair girl whom he loved, but the look in her sweet face did not give him encouragement. “If you knew how much I was needed in a hospital,” she said, softly; “how much everybody is needed who is willing to go and work for the unfortunates! Dr. Brookes can tell you what there is to do—what anguish there is to soothe, and what wrongs are to be righted! Suppose I had not been there yesterday,” she said with a shudder, “just think what a hideous thing would have happened!” It was her first allusion to the awful tragedy, but Marion knew it must come, and she wished to have it over. “Oh, sister, what happened?” asked Dollie, instantly. Even Bert Jackson paled a little as he heard the answer. “I saved Archie Ray’s wife from being buried in Potter’s Field! She was on the way there when I found it out; the result is, the poor creature will now have a Christian burial!” “Great Heaven! How horrible!” cried Ralph Moore, excitedly. “Oh, Marion, how dreadful!” gasped Dollie, almost crying. “Thank God she is dead!” was Miss Allyn’s low murmur. “I will tell you about it,” said Reginald Brookes, bravely. “Poor Miss Marlowe has borne enough without the pain of this recital.” There was not a sound in the room as he described the fearful scenes, but when Lawyer Atherton’s name was mentioned Dollie shuddered visibly. Ralph put his arm around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. Bert looked surprised and then glad, for he felt sure that Dollie had told him everything. And so she had, for Dollie was truthful at heart. Now that she had found shelter for her weakness she was almost blissfully happy. It was Bert who spoke first when the story was ended, for the fine, manly youth was too strong willed to be entirely overcome by a tale of sorrow. “Well, I am mighty glad that tragedy is ended,” he said, very soberly. “I’m glad for the poor woman that she is at rest at last, and I’m glad that Mr. Ray is free from such a creature; but, best of all, I am glad you roasted the old lawyer, Marion, for somehow, ever since I first saw him I’ve hated the old duffer!” “Well, I pity him now,” said Marion, softly, “for his sin has come home to him at last. There will be nothing but remorse for him in the future.” “I heard some news of him this morning that I forgot to tell you,” said the doctor, soberly. “A newspaper reporter who knows him told me that he has left the country. Took a late train last night without even notifying his office, he’ll probably remain away until the thing has blown over, for I see they have got it pretty straight in all the papers, especially where they say that he is largely responsible for his daughter’s doings.”