Outside there was comparative quiet, for Mr. Blake had left the bank by the front door, and was explaining as well as he could, and advising the people to go home. Everything would be settled in time, and matters might not be as bad as they seemed. Mr. Grey would do everything he could for them, and they could do no good hanging round the bank. “But we want to see Grey, and give him a piece of our mind,” several said. These were mostly the small depositors who, like the milkman, had lost their all. One woman had laid by thirty dollars for some teeth to be made that week and she wrung her hands in despair over her loss. Nancy Sharp was worst of all, and tore round like a wild beast, shaking her fists and threatening all sorts of harm if once “she got that Grey in her clutches.” At last she grew so violent and noisy that Mr. Blake whispered to her, “Be quiet, Nancy! you are the preferred creditor!” Just what a preferred creditor meant, Nancy did not know, until Mr. Blake explained what it was, and that she would be paid in full. She understood that, and from a tigress, ready to tear Mr. Grey in pieces, she became at once a lamb so far as he was concerned, and ready to do battle with all who were censuring him. It was at this point that the pistol shots were heard, sending consternation through the crowd, which could not be kept back any longer. The cashier, who had been standing guard at the door outside, opened it, and a few of those nearest to him rushed in, expecting at least to find Mr. Grey dead and possibly his daughter. What they found was Louie with the smoking revolver in her hand, and her father lying upon the couch, white and still as a corpse. “Go back,” she said, advancing towards them. “No one is hurt. I have made that impossible. See!” and she pointed to the three bullet holes in the floor. “Yes, go back, you spalpeens, and mind your business,” Nancy Sharp cried, plunging into the crowd, which she shoved right and left until the room was cleared of all but Mr. Blake and the cashier, who had re-entered it. “You must get your father home. I have telephoned to have the carriage sent. It will soon be here,” the latter said. Louie scarcely heard him. Her ears were strained to catch a voice she did not hear, and her eyes were looking through the open door for a face she did not see. Where was Herbert in this her hour of trouble, and would he not come to her? This was a question she had asked herself many times during the terrible ordeal through which she had passed. He must have heard the news. Everybody had, it seemed, and why did he not come to her. Of course all was over between them now that this disgrace had come upon her. Her father _was_ a gambler, and remembering what Herbert had once said to her on that subject, she could not expect him to be loyal to her. “But he might come and speak to me for the sake of what has been,” she thought, and her lip quivered and she had hard work to keep back her tears.