“You have greatly befriended me in this, Lettie,” he said at parting, “and I would like to be able to do something for you in return. Is there anything I can do to express my gratitude?” “No,” she said quietly, “there is nothing you can do. I would like to have you write to me and tell me about it. That is all.” She put out her hand, and he took it; and in his gratitude for her services, put it to his lips. “I hope you will always be happy,” he said; “and I am sure you will, for you deserve it.” She looked at her hand after he had gone, as if it were something strange, and then she kissed it passionately. And going to the table, she laid her face down where his hand had rested, and wept long but softly; and she was purified by her tears. She caressed her hand again and again, and even kissed the poor, insensible table because _he_ had touched it. For such is the love of womenkind--when they love. After leaving Lettie, Conway hurried to the office of a prominent lawyer, whose name he had obtained at the hotel, and asked his advice. The lawyer listened patiently. “You can do nothing without your friend’s authority,” he said at last. “You had better telegraph for him at once. There is no doubt but the divorce is fraudulent; but there is no proof that this Coleman procured it fraudulently. That is, that he was a party to the fraud. Yet I think the young lady is right, and would counsel you to follow her advice. You can do no harm by it, and will at least find out how matters stand.” Leaving him, Conway hurried to telegraph Jim, and then went on board the boat that was to bear him across the great lake. He had neither eaten nor slept, and the strain was beginning to tell upon him. “This will not do,” he thought, as he felt himself beginning to get weak. “I must take care of myself;” and he forced himself to eat a hearty supper, and then retired to his stateroom, where he was soon in that deep, dreamless sleep that only comes from mental and physical exhaustion. The day was just beginning to dawn when he left the boat at the city of sand and sawdust. There was a porter there from the hotel, and to him Conway resigned his satchel, and followed him to the hotel. It was too early to do anything yet, even to breakfast. “I must at least wait until they get up,” thought Conway; so, after registering before a very sleepy-looking clerk, he started out to see as much of the place as the dim morning light would let him. He was standing in front of the door, not yet decided which way to go, when he was run into with the force of a battering-ram. “Why don’t you look where you are going?” he cried angrily, as he regained his balance. The stranger, who had started off after mumbling a word of apology, came quickly back. “Conway, is that you?” he cried. “Yes, it’s Conway; but who are you?” replied the doctor, not having recovered his temper. “Conway, thank God!” said Jim; for it was he. “But how did you know that we were here?”