With his death the little town lost not only a successful business man--in itself a great loss for that undeveloped place--but they had also lost the one man who had done the most to bring this thriving town to the notice of the outside world. He had been their accepted standard-bearer. With him they not only lost the man, but infinitely worse, they had lost their member of Congress. And in spite of the shadow of scandal hanging over it all, their grief was loud and sincere. Fanny had been taken to her home by her father, and the terrible story of her husband’s infamy broken to her as gently as possible. Whether from some latent affection for her husband, or from some more selfish reason, she would not credit it. “It is false!” she cried. “I know it is false!” “God pardon me!” said her father, with sincere sorrow. “It is all my fault. I should not have brought an entire stranger into my house that way. But I fear it is true, Fanny,” and he added heartily, “God forgive me for my mistake.” Fanny mourned, and would not be comforted. “Think of the scandal!” she moaned. “They might let him rest now that he is dead.” “They will, I think,” replied the old man, understanding her. “They are not bad people, my child, and they could gain nothing by disturbing us now.” But Morain was disturbed, for all the comfort he tried to give his daughter. “What did these people intend to do?” he wondered; and in a very sorrowful mood he left the house to go to the office. He had gone but a short distance, when he met Conway and his lawyer coming in quest of him. “I thought you would like to have him moved to your house,” said Conway kindly, when they met, “and I have given orders to have it done.” “That was very kind of you,” said Pat gratefully. “I knew your friends had the first right to him, and I was just going to see you about it. It would do no good to make trouble now,” he said deprecatingly. Conway hastened to reassure him. “My friends wish to spare you and your daughter all they can. He has been dead to them for a long time, and they have no wish to humiliate you for his wrongdoing. Let him rest now in peace. We will do nothing to affect his memory.” Morain was affected by this consideration, and he returned to the house greatly relieved, to comfort his daughter with the assurance that there would be no scandal. “I think you had better see this lady,” he said in conclusion. “She has been very kind to you.” Fanny hesitated. She could not recognize the kindness that prompted Norine’s sacrifice; could not understand that this woman had given up her right in her dead husband to save the feelings and reputation of an entire stranger. She could not understand this, and far from feeling grateful to Norine, she only felt spiteful and vindictive. “She has ruined my happiness,” cried Fanny, bitterly. “Why should I see her?” “She has not!” retorted her father sternly. “She is as innocent as you are.”