“One does not mind for one's self, but when family interests are involved--but that's all over now, thank God!” Ranald tried to speak, but his mind refused to suggest words. His silence, however, was enough for Mr. St. Clair, who, with nervous haste once more changed the theme. “In my note to you last night--you got it, I suppose--I referred to some changes in the firm.” Ranald felt that he was being crowded against the ropes. He must get to freer fighting ground. “I think before you go on to that, Mr. St. Clair,” he began, “I ought to--” “Excuse me, I was about to say,” interrupted Mr. St. Clair, hastily, “Mr. Raymond and I have felt that we must strengthen our executive. As you know, he has left this department almost entirely to me, and he now realizes what I have long felt, that the burden has grown too heavy for one to carry. Naturally we think of you, and I may say we are more than glad, though it is a very unusual thing in the business world, that we can, with the fullest confidence, offer you a partnership.” Mr. St. Clair paused to allow the full weight of this announcement to sink into his manager's mind. Then Ranald pulled himself together. He must break free or the fight would be lost before he had struck a blow. “I need not say,” he began once more, “how greatly gratified I am by this offer, and I feel sure you will believe that I am deeply grateful.” Ranald's voice was low and even, but unknown to himself there was in it a tone of stern resolve that struck Mr. St. Clair's ear. He knew his manager. That tone meant war. Hastily he changed his front. “Yes, yes, we are quite sure of that,” he said, with increasing nervousness, “but we are thinking of our own interests as well as yours. Indeed, I feel sure”--here his voice became even more kindly and confidential--“that in advancing your position and prospects we are--I am only doing what will bring myself the greatest satisfaction in the end, for you know, Ranald, I--we do not regard you as a stranger.” Ranald winced and grew pale. “We--my family--have always felt toward you as--well, in fact, as if you were one of us.” Mr. St. Clair had delivered his last and deadliest blow and it found Ranald's heart, but with pain blanching his cheek Ranald stood up determined to end the fight. It was by no means easy for him to strike. Before him he saw not this man with his ingenious and specious pleading--it would not have been a difficult matter to have brushed him aside--but he was looking into the blue eyes of the woman he had for seven years loved more than he loved his life, and he knew that when his blow fell it would fall upon the face that, only a few hours ago, had smiled upon him, and upon the lips that had whispered to him, “I will remember, Ranald.” Yet he was none the less resolved. With face set and bloodless, and eyes of gleaming fire, he faced the man that represented what was at once dearest in life and what was most loathsome in conduct.