"Those are pretty serious charges you are making, May," I replied after a time. "And what do you know? What the newspapers say. There are thousands of newspaper men all over this country who get a dollar or two a column for that sort of mud. Then these same fellows come around to us and hold out their hands for tips or bribes. You take their lies for proved facts. I have never taken the trouble to answer their charges, and never shall. I will answer for what I have done." "To whom?" May asked ironically. "To God? I should like to see Van Harrington's God! He must be different from the One I have prayed to all these years." "Maybe he has more charity, May!" "Are you asking for charity--my charity as well as God's?" she blazed. "Well, let that go! I shall answer to the people now." "Yes! And God help this country, now that men like you have taken to buying seats there at Washington!" We said nothing for a while after this, and then I rose to go. "We don't get anywhere this way, May. I came here wanting to be friends with you and Will--wanting to help my brother. You needn't take my money if you think it's tainted. But can't you feel friendly? You are throwing me off a second time when I come to you asking for your love." She flushed at the meaning under my words, and replied in a lower voice:-- "It would do no good, Van. You are feeling humble just now, and remorseful, and full of old memories. But you don't want my love now, in real truth, more than you did before." Her face crimsoned slowly. "If you had wanted it then, you would have stayed and earned it." "And I could have had it?" Instead of answering she came up to me and took my arms in her two hands and pulled my head to her. "Good-by, Van!" she said, kissing me. As I stepped out of the door I turned for the last time:-- "Can't you let me do something for my brother, who is a sick man?" Tears came to her eyes, but she shook her head. "I know he's sick, and likely to fail in what he's doing. But it can't be helped!" Outside little Van was sitting on the ground playing with a broken toy engine. I put my hand on his little tumbled head, and turned to his mother:-- "I suppose you wouldn't let him touch my money, either?" She smiled back her defiance through her tears. "You had rather he'd grow up in the alley here than let me give him an education and start him in life!" I waited several moments for her answer. "Yes!" she murmured at last, very faintly. The little fellow looked from his mother to me curiously, trying to make out what we were saying. * * * * *