Miss McCunn, much disturbed, had retired to the smoking-room, where Mr. Bertram Pease did all he could to comfort her. Doctor Van Cott on the stairs had put an impartial arm about each of the Misses Mapes. Cousin Laura Fanshaw, behind a screen, wept copiously on Mr. Sellars's left lapel. "In my young days," said Mrs. Pease, "we kept a closer watch on both our children and our silverware." "Mother," cried Mrs. Livermore, "don't make things worse by being aggravating. Poor Selma is suffering enough." "I am not suffering at all," protested Selma stoutly. "My faith in George remains unshaken." "George!" ejaculated her mother. "Lemuel, do you hear?" "I do," replied Mr. Livermore, "and I'll attend to George's case just as soon as I can get Mulberry Street on the telephone." "Stop!" cried his wife; "we must avoid a scandal." The doorbell, which had taken such an active part in this eventful evening, now rang again. A silence followed, while the form of Bates was seen to pass through the hall. Then, almost with his accustomed dignity, though somewhat pale and wet about the head, he reappeared. "Mr. Mickleworth!" he announced. "I knew it!" Selma cried, with jubilation. And Mr. Mickleworth it was, in truth, though much disheveled as to dress. A streak of mud lay on his rumpled shirtfront, and his evening coat suggested active combat. From each shoulder hung a nosebag, such as teamsters use for feeding horses in the street, and each bag bulged with priceless silver heirlooms. Behind him came a stalwart minion of the law, bearing the family ice-pitcher on a massive salver. "Ah, ha!" cried Mr. Livermore complacently. "So, ho! 'Caught with the goods on,' as you say officially. You have done well, officer, and this night's work shall not go unrewarded." "It wasn't me," the policeman protested ungrammatically; "this here young feller did it all himself." "That we already know," said Mrs. Livermore. "Be quiet, my child, until we hear the story," put in Mrs. Pease, who usually objected to her daughter's methods. And the policeman told his tale. "This here young chap," he said, with generous fervor, "must be a regular Herculaneum. He burst the lock and stopped the van and knocked two of the robbers out of time. When I came up he had the Frenchman by the throat, a-rolling of him in the mud. All I had to do was to ring for the patrol, and help him bring the stuff right back to you for recognition." "Ahem!" said Mr. Livermore. "Ahem! Ahem!" "Papa," cried Selma, while tears of triumph made her eyes more bright, "aren't you going to shake hands with George?" And thereupon Mr. Livermore cordially enough did shake hands with George. "Papa," said Selma, "won't you tell George that his part in this night's work shall not go unrewarded?" "Oh, tell him that yourself," cried old Mrs. Pease impatiently. In the drawing-room Mr. Bertram Pease was playing the Wedding March. THE PRIESTESS OF AMEN RA