“Thank you, Hawkins,” said John Bruce simply; and after a moment: “It doesn't make the love I said I had for her show up very creditably to me, does it--that I should have had any questions?” Hawkins shook his head. “I didn't mean it that way,” he said earnestly. “It would have been a wonder if you hadn't. Anyway, you had a right to know, and it was only fair to Claire.” CHAPTER NINE--THE CONSPIRATORS |JOHN BRUCE fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown and produced a cigarette; but he was a long time in lighting it. “Hawkins,” he demanded abruptly, “is Paul Veniza in the house now?” “He's upstairs, I think,” Hawkins answered. “Do you want him?” “Yes--in a moment,” said John Bruce slowly. “I've been thinking a good deal while you were talking. I can only see things one way; and that is that the time has come when you should take your place as Claire's father.” The old man drew back, startled. “Tell Claire?” he whispered. Then he shook his head miserably. “No, no! I--I haven't earned the right. I--I can't break my word to Paul.” “I do not ask you to break your word to Paul. I want you to earn the right--now.” Hawkins was still shaking his head. “Earn it now--after all these years! How can I?” “By promising that you won't drink any more,” said John Bruce quietly. Hawkins' eyes went to the floor. “Promise!” he said in a shamed way. “I've been promising that for twenty years. Paul wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe myself. I went and got drunker than I've been in all my life the night that dog said he was going to marry Claire, and Claire said it was true, and wouldn't listen to anything Paul could say to her against it.” “I would believe you,” said John Bruce gravely. For an instant Hawkins' face glowed, while tears came into the old blue eyes--and then he turned hurriedly and walked to the window, his back to John Bruce. “It's no use,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “You don't know me. Nobody that knows me would take my word for that--least of all Paul.”