Haworth, enormously relieved, went to the Trescott & Chamberlain offices and the business was transacted. Fifty dollars was at once mailed to Edith, and he sent her that amount weekly thereafter. Mrs. Temple was given what was necessary to pay current bills and, at her suggestion, the expenses of the establishment were reduced still further. All thought of attention to the needs of the house, in the way of repairs, painting, and the like, was abandoned, as was also the keeping up of the grounds and gardens surrounding it. Even the shattered window in front on the second floor was still as Augustus’s hurtling revolver had left it. These various economies and others wouldn’t have occurred to Haworth, but his overwhelming desire to save enough out of the additional mortgage money to enable him to take Edith away, caused him to entreat Mrs. Temple to think of all possible ways to cut down expenditures. This she did. In the course of the next few weeks Edith’s condition was much improved, though it couldn’t be said that she looked entirely well. The two met in town when they could—which wasn’t often, for Augustus, being out of a job, was hanging about. They’d thought of Franklin Park and other places nearer than the Public Garden, but Edith couldn’t lose herself before going to them as she could in the crowds in the city district. Besides this, she had managed to find a place where they’d give her needlework to take home—one of the “sweating” industries you read about—and this not only furnished her with an excuse for going to town occasionally, but had so far blocked Findlay’s suspicions as to where her housekeeping money came from. Several times they went out Cambridge way and beyond to some woodsy place, and wandered among the trees. There were still warm Indian summer days for them, though November was close at hand. It was on one of these trips, as they were sitting on soft green moss with their backs to the trunk of a great oak, that Haworth told her about going away—that he couldn’t live without her. They would take a steamer to South America or anywhere she wished. There would be money enough to pay the fares and keep them until he could find work. He would dig in the streets or do anything, it made no difference what, if he could only be with her. She looked at him in a half-frightened way and shook her head a little. “You—you don’t mean——I thought you’d come!” he said. “There’s a—there’s something——” She couldn’t go on and her face went white. He looked at her silently, desolated by the thought that she didn’t care enough for him to come. Finally he half whispered: “I suppose you——You don’t love me—_really_.” “There’s only you in the world, Michael—only you—_now_—but before long....” He looked at her for the rest. “Before long there’ll be some one else.” It was a moment before he understood. * * * * *