"Yes; if she knew the truth! And you never understood, you are incapable of understanding, that it meant something to me to lose my sister out of my life. When Helen died"--and his voice fell and he paused for a moment, as a priest falters sometimes, gripped by some phrase in the office that touches hidden depths in his own experience, "then when Helen died there was still Patricia, the noblest sister men ever had; but you robbed me of her--you robbed me of her!" He was deeply moved and, as he controlled himself, he walked to the little table and fingered the ribbons of the work-basket. "I haven't those notes, if that's what you're after--I never had them," he said. "Gillespie kept tight hold of them." "Yes; the vindictive old devil!" "Men who have been swindled are usually vindictive," replied Arthur grimly. "Gillespie is dead. I suppose the executor of his estate has those papers; and the executor is his son." "The fool. I've never been able to get anything out of him." "If he's a fool it ought to be all the easier to get your pretty playthings away from him. Old Gillespie really acted pretty decently about the whole business. Your daughter may be able to get them away from the boy; he's infatuated with her; he wants to marry her, it seems." "My daughter is not in this matter," said Henry coldly, and then anger mastered him again. "I don't believe he has them; you have them, and that's why I have followed you here. I'm going to Patricia to throw myself on her mercy, and that ghost must not rise up against me. I want them; I have come to get those notes." I was aroused by a shadow-like touch on my arm, and I knew without seeing who it was that stood beside me. A faint hint as of violets stole upon the air; her breath touched my cheek as she bent close to the little window, and she sighed deeply as in relief at beholding a scene of peace. Arthur Holbrook still stood with bowed head by the table, his back to his brother, and I felt suddenly the girl's hand clutch my wrist. She with her fresher eyes upon the scene saw, before I grasped it, what now occurred. Henry Holbrook had drawn a revolver from his pocket and pointed it full at his brother's back. We two at the window saw the weapon flash menacingly; but suddenly Arthur Holbrook flung round as his brother cried: "I think you are lying to me, and I want those notes--I want those notes, I want them now! You must have them, and I can't go to Patricia until I know they're safe." He advanced several steps and his manner grew confident as he saw that he held the situation in his own grasp. I would have rushed in upon them but the girl held me back. "Wait! Wait!" she whispered. Arthur thrust his hands into the side pockets of his flannel jacket and nodded his head once or twice. "Why don't you shoot, Henry?" "I want those notes," said Henry Holbrook. "You lied to me about them. They were to have been destroyed. I want them now, to-night."