“I am something of a judge of faces,” Coleman went on modestly, “and unless I am greatly mistaken, she will never forgive your desertion. So you had better not try to excuse it. Be gentle with her, or she might fight. Perhaps,” he continued more hopefully, “if you are clever in handling her, and I make a square settlement with him for the land, we may get rid of them all right.” “How much will it take to pay for the land?” inquired Elwell, who had been following the lawyer’s words closely. “Honestly?” inquired the other. “Honestly, of course.” “Then it will take all you have got, and perhaps a little of the old man’s money besides.” There was silence now for some moments. Elwell paced up and down the room in deep thought. Suddenly he stopped and faced the other suspiciously. “And,” he demanded roughly, “if I make a fight, will you help me?” Peter colored a little at this--perhaps he had been thinking of this himself--but he answered boldly: “I will help you as long as there is a fighting chance.” Elwell seemed satisfied, and continued his restless pacing up and down the room. “There is no other way,” he said at last, with the courage of despair. “You had better go to the house and fix things there. But what can you tell them?” “Weren’t you and Fanny going to Grand Rapids to-morrow?” inquired Peter cunningly. “Yes; but he was not going.” “Never mind. You sit down and write Mrs. Elwell a nice little note. Say you were obliged to go to-night, and have her bring the old man with her. They’ll go, of course. You write the note, and I’ll attend to the rest.” Elwell pondered for a few moments, and then did as the other requested. “When shall I see you again?” he asked as Coleman buttoned up his coat to leave. “As soon as possible,” Coleman replied. “But I am to see Darling the first thing in the morning, so when I come again I shall know something of their intentions. And mind now,” he said earnestly, as he opened the door, “don’t you see any one, unless it is her, until after you see me. You had better keep pretty close, I think.” Elwell nodded to this advice, and Peter left him. After he had gone, Elwell replenished the fire, and brought his chair close to the stove; then he took out a cigar and put it between his lips. But the match he lighted burned itself out and the cigar remained without fire, and for the first time that night Norine’s face came up before him. What had he gained, after all? If what Coleman said was true, she was rich--far richer than he was, even if this stolen timber had not to be paid for. So he had gained nothing, after all. Gained? Why, he had lost--lost more than he could ever hope to regain. It was not in worldly wealth alone. He compared the loving, trustful Norine as he had known her in her innocent girlhood with the querulous, selfish, and suspicious Fanny. What had he lost, after all? And but a few short hours before he had been priding himself upon his success--dolt, fool, that he was!