“. . . And so, my dear Auntie Sue,” Banker Ward wrote, in conclusion, “you may rest in peace, secure in the certainty that my thieving bank clerk is not lurking anywhere in your beautiful Ozarks to pounce down upon you unawares in your little house beside the river. The man is safely dead. There is no doubt about it. I regret, more than I can express, that you have been in any way disturbed by the affair. Please think no more about it. “By the way, you made a great impression upon detective Ross. He was more than enthusiastic over your graciousness and your beauty. I never heard him talk so much before in all the years I have known him. Needless to say, I indorsed everything he said about the dearest old lady in the world, and then we celebrated by dining together and drinking a toast to Auntie Sue. . . .” Auntie Sue went with the letter to Brian, and acquainted him with that part of the banker's communication which related to the absconding clerk; but, about her relation to the president of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank, she said nothing. “Isn't it splendid!” she finished, her face glowing with delight. “Splendid?” he echoed, looking at her with grave, questioning eyes. “Why, yes, of course!” she returned. “Aren't you glad to be so dead, under the circumstances? Think what it means! You are free, now. No horrid old detectives dogging your steps, or waiting behind every bush and tree to pounce upon you. There is nothing, now, to prevent your being the kind of man that you always meant to be,--and really ARE, too,--except for your--your accidental tumble in the river,” she finished with her low chuckling laugh. “And, some day,” she went on, with conviction, “when you have established yourself,--when you have asserted your REAL self, I mean,--and have paid back every penny of the money, Homer T. Ward and Mr. Ross and everybody will be glad that they didn't catch you before you had a chance to save yourself.” “And you, Auntie Sue?” Brian's voice was deep with feeling: “And you?” “Me? Oh, I am as glad, now, as I can ever be, because, you see, to me it is already done.” For a long minute he looked at her without speaking, then turned his face away to gaze out over the river and the hills; but his eyes were the eyes of one who looks without seeing. Slowly, he said: “I wish I could be sure. There was a time when I was--when I believed in myself. It seems to me, now, that it was years and years ago. I thought, then, that nothing could shake me in my purpose; that nothing could check me in my ambition. I saw myself going straight on to the goal I had set for myself as certainly as--well, as your river ever there goes on to the sea. But now--” He shook his head sadly.