As he took her hands down from his shoulders and drew his face away from the mouldy-smelling old shawl, he looked toward the door, and Ruth stood in the entrance. Her eyes blazed with wrath, but as she saw the faded and bedraggled dress and moth-eaten shawl and looked into the tear-stained motherly old face she burst into hysterical laughter. Gordon rose and escorted the woman to the door with courtesy. "You will find the bank at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Twenty-third Street--the Garfield National. Write me how your son is when you reach home, and send me the money when you are able." "I will. God bless you, sir," she answered with fervour. When he returned to his study, Ruth was still hysterical, and he sat down without a word and began to write. "Frank, I'm sorry to have been so rude," she said at length. "Is that all?" "No; I'm sorry I humiliated myself by spying on you." She sat twisting her handkerchief, glancing at him timidly. "And you can't understand how deeply you have wounded me by such an act, Ruth. I hope you have heard all that passed here this morning." "It's strange how I always seem to be in the wrong. Frank, I am very sorry. You must forgive me. And I have another confession. I've been receiving anonymous letters about you for the past three weeks. I was too weak and cowardly to show them to you. It was one of these letters which caused me to come here this morning. And now I've wounded you, and alienated your heart from me more than ever. I feel I shall die." She began to sob. "Come, Ruth, you must conquer this insanity. Naturally you are bright, witty, cheerful and altogether charming. Jealousy reduces you to a lump of stupidity." "You do forgive me?" "Yes; and don't, for heaven's sake, do such a thing again. Ask me what you wish to know. I am not a liar; I will tell you the truth." "But I don't want to hear it if it's cruel," she protested. "The truth is best, gentle or cruel." She kissed him impulsively and left.