“It’s nice of you to say so,” Barney went on, mournfully; “but I am so used to disappointment that a little extra, more or less, doesn’t matter. I see now I was wrong to send that letter in the way I did--I always see those things after; but I was forced into it. I expect to end up in prison some day, and never realize my crime until the judge sentences me. I suppose I ought to be above the need of an encouraging word now and then, but I don’t seem to be.” “What do you wish me to do?” asked the girl, a shade of perplexity coming over her face. “All I wish is a little straightforward clear-headed advice. Art beckons me in one direction, and advises me to leave business alone. You said just now that my place was at the works, and that I shouldn’t be idling here when there was so much to be done. Mr. Sartwell quite evidently hopes I shall keep out of the way, or he would have told me of the fire. I seem to be a superfluous person, not wanted anywhere--not even by the police. What do I wish you to do? I wish you to let me take you for a little drive into the country, and tell me how I can help your father at this crisis.” “One is so conspicuous up there,” she said, glancing with distrust at’ the waiting tandem. “No; let us walk to the end of the parade. There we can sit down, and I will tell you all I know about the fire, and, if my advice is worth anything, you shall have it. After that you must let me walk to the school alone.” Barney was forced to content himself with this, and he reluctantly ordered the groom to take the horses to the stables. The two walked along the parade to the most sheltered seat, where they sat down together. The young man’s mind was in a whirl; the coldness of his reception excited him, and made him fearful of losing what he had thought, up to that time, was his for the asking. He proposed to the girl, and was rejected. CHAPTER XXVII.