Fenella laid her hand almost caressingly upon the girl's shoulder. "You need fear nothing of the sort," she assured her. "Why should I be sorry? You are something that will remind me of him, something I shall always be glad to have near me. You can guess why I have come?" Ruth made no answer for a moment. Fenella laughed, a little imperiously. "You poor child!" she exclaimed. "You cannot think that since I know the truth I could leave you here for a single second? We can fetch your clothes any time. To-night you are coming home with me." Ruth gazed at her with straining face. "Home?" she murmured. "But naturally," Fenella replied. "You are my brother's child and I am a lonely woman. Do you think that I could leave you here for a single second? Arnold has some claims, I know," she continued. "He can come and see you sometimes. Do not be afraid," she went on, her voice suddenly softening. "I shall try to be kind to you. I have been a very selfish person all my life. I think it will be good for me to have some one to care for. Arnold, please to go and ring for the lift. Now that I have two invalids to think about, I must not be away for long." He looked at Ruth for a moment. Then he obeyed her. When he returned, Ruth was standing up, leaning upon Fenella's arm. She held out her other hand to Arnold. "You will help me down, please?" she begged. It was a day of new emotions for Arnold. He was conscious suddenly of a fierce wave of jealousy, of despair. She was going, and notwithstanding the half pathetic, half appealing smile with which she held out her hands, she was happy to go! Fenella saw his expression and laughed in his face. "Arnold looks at me as though I were a thief," she declared, lightly, "and I have only come to claim my own. If you behave very nicely, Arnold, you can come and see us just as often as you please." It was all over in a few minutes. The automobile which had been standing in the street below was gone. Arnold was alone upon the sofa. The book which she had been reading, her handkerchief, a bowl of flowers which she had arranged, an odd glove, were lying on the table by his side. But Ruth had gone. The little room seemed cold and empty. He gripped the window-sill, and, sitting where they had sat together only a few minutes ago, he looked down at the curving lights. The old dreams surged up into his brain. The treasure ship had come indeed, the treasure ship for Ruth. Almost immediately the egotism of the man rebuked itself. If, indeed, she were passing into a new and happier life, should he not first, of every one, be thankful?--first of every one because within that hour he had learned the secret toward which he had been dimly struggling? CHAPTER XXXVII THE SHIPS COME IN The accountant was preparing to take his leave. There had been an informal little meeting held in the dingy private office of Messrs. Samuel Weatherley & Company, at which he had presided.