He told her about other children who lived amid happy surroundings; what they did, how they were cared for, schooled, brought up; what was expected of them by the world—what was required by the world from those who had had advantages of a home, of training, of friends, and of an education. He was committing himself with every word, and refused to believe it. At times he paused to question her, and she always nodded seriously that she understood. "But this," he added smilingly, "you may not entirely comprehend, Steve; that such children, brought up as I have explained to you, owe the human race a debt which is never cancelled." He was talking to himself now, more than to her; voicing his thoughts; feeling his way toward the expression of a philosophy which he had heretofore only vaguely entertained. "The hope of the world lies in such children, Steve," he said. "The world has a right to expect service from them. You don’t understand, do you?" Her wonderfully clear eyes were almost beautiful with intelligence as they looked straight into his. Perhaps the child understood more than she herself realized, more than he believed she understood. "Shall I come to see you again, Steve?" "Yes, sir, please." There was a pause. Very gently the slight pressure of his arm, which had crept around her, conveyed to her its wistful meaning; and when she understood she leaned slowly toward him in winning response, and offered her lips with a gravity that captivated him. "Good-bye, Steve, dear," he said unsteadily. "I’ll come to see you again very soon. I surely, surely will come back again to see you, Steve." Then he put on his hat and went out abruptly—not down town to Christensen’s, but back to the United Charities, and, after an hour, from there he went down town to his attorney’s, where he spent the entire day under suppressed excitement. For there were many steps to take and much detail to be attended to before this new and momentous deal could be put through—a transaction concerning a human soul and the measures to be taken to insure its salvage. *CHAPTER III* During the next few weeks John William Cleland’s instinct fought a continuous series of combats with his reason. Instinct, with her powerful allies, loneliness and love, urged the solitary man to rash experiment; reason ridiculed impulse and made it very clear to Cleland that he was a fool. But instinct had this advantage; she was always awake, whispering to his mind and heart; and reason often fell asleep on guard over his brain. But when awake, reason laughed at the conspirators, always in ambush to slay him; and carried matters with a high hand, rebuking instinct and frowning upon her allies. And John Cleland hesitated. He wrote to his only son every day. He strove to find occupation for every minute between the morning awakening in his silent chamber and the melancholy lying down at night.