A million, sometimes called cool; why, nobody knows. There it lay, without feeling, without emotion; yellow notes payable to bearer on demand. Presently Florence gasped, Norton sighed, and Hargreave smiled. The face of Jones (or Jedson) alone remained impassive. [Illustration: AFTER THE STORM, THE SUNSHINE] A million dollars is a marvelous sight. Very few people have ever seen it, not even millionaires themselves. I dare say you never saw it; and I'm tolerably certain I never have, or will! A million, ready for eager, careless fingers to spend, or thrifty fingers to multiply! What Correggio, what Rubens, what Titian, could stand beside it? None that I wot of. "Florence, that is all yours, to do with as you please, to spend when and how you will. Share it with your husband-to-be. He is a brave and gallant young man, and is fortunate in finding a young woman equally brave and gallant. For the rest of my days I expect peace. Perhaps sometimes Jones here and I will talk over the strange things that have happened; but we'll do that only when we haven't you young folks to talk to. After your wedding journey you will return here. While I live this shall be your home. I demand that much. Free! No more looking over my shoulder when I walk the streets; no more testing windows and doors. I am myself again. I take up the thread I laid down eighteen years ago. Have no fear. Neither Braine nor Olga will ever return. Russia has a grip of steel." Three weeks later Servan, the Russian agent, left for Russia with his three charges, Olga, Braine and Vroon. It was a long journey they went upon, something like ten weeks, always watched, always under the strictest guard, compelled to eat with wooden forks and knives and spoons. Waking or sleeping they knew no rest from espionage. From Paris to Berlin, from Berlin to St. Petersburg, as Petrograd was then called; and then began the cruel journey over the mighty steppes of that barbaric wilderness to the Siberian mines. The way of the transgressor is hard. On the same day that Olga and Braine made their first descent into the deadly mines, Florence and Norton were married. After the storm, the sunshine: and who shall deny them happiness? [Illustration: IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE CEREMONY] Immediately after the ceremony the two sailed for Europe, on their honeymoon; and it is needless to say that some of the million went with them, but there was no mystery about it! THE END Harold MacGrath A Sketch of the Author at Work and at Play Harold MacGrath, author of more than a dozen best sellers, the book of an operetta, and short stories without number, is a native of Syracuse, N. Y., having been born in that city on September 4, 1871, and lived there ever since, except when he is out circling the globe or in Gotham looking things over.