As he neared the bank he saw his father standing in the door, backed up by all his clerks. The gaunt, grizzled visage of the old man, under its half-sheepish look, was lighted up as it had never been in his son's memory, and the faces around him were wreathed in welcoming smiles, but it was a hand of lead that Fred extended, a smile that was dead lay on his handsome face. Dearing, to his surprise, on reaching his office after leaving the car, found Margaret waiting for him. He stared at her almost fiercely for a moment; then, as she avoided his eyes and was silent, he broke out: “You have come down here to see him?” “Yes, brother,” she answered, simply. “I want to be among the first to welcome him home. He has suffered enough, and has proved his genuine nobility. I can't explain everything just now, for I have no right to; but you will know all that I know very, very soon.” “I know this, Madge,” he said, and he sat down before her, looking like a figure carved in stone, so ghastly pale and rigid was he. “I know _this_: if you pardon that man for what he has done, I'll never speak to you again. I can stand some things, but I can't stand that. No man can marry my sister who has stamped _the very heart out of my life, as this one has!_ Now, perhaps you understand.” “Oh, brother, you mean that you love--” He nodded, and his head sank to his chest. “Then you must listen to _me!_” Margaret began. “But, no, you will have to wait--I can't tell you even now--I can't explain.” At this juncture there was a step on the floor of the front room. Some one was approaching. It was a messenger boy with a telegram. Dearing took it and tore it open. The letters on the yellow sheet swam before his eyes, but he read the words: _Kenneth and I are married; now you will understand everything. We are all going to New York, then to Paris for a while. With love from mamma, Lionel, and myself, good-bye. Dora._ Margaret had read the telegram over her brother's shoulder, and with a woman's tact she signed the boy's book and led him to the outer door. She stood there alone for several minutes, looking out into the street. There was no sound in the office. She waited ten minutes, and then, with a tear of sympathy in her eye, she went back to her brother and put her arms about his bowed form. As soon as was practicable, Fred led his father away from the clerks back to the old man's office. “Wynn Dearing refused to speak to me on the car as we came up,” he said. “Father, I am afraid I misunderstood your letter, and have made an awful fool of myself by coming. He will think, and his sister will think--” But Fred could go no further. He sank into a seat near the desk, and the banker slowly lowered himself into his revolving chair.