The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me. “What do you think I am?” he demanded. “Investment be hanged! It's my name as an honest man that I care about. Once let me get that back again and I'll face the poorhouse. Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the truth, all except that I was a thief; I can't tell her that. But I will tell her that I haven't got a cent except my salary. Then if she wants to give me up, all right. I'll bear it as best I can. Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here, I'll get another one somewhere else; I'll work at anything. She and I can wait and . . . But what is the use of talking like this? I've been over every inch of the ground a thousand times. There ain't a ray of light anywhere. The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing, and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other.” “No, you won't,” I said, firmly. “I won't! Why not?” “Because there IS a ray of light. More than a ray. George, you go home and go to bed. To-morrow morning I may have news for you, good news.” The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair. “Good news!” he gasped. “Good news for ME! Ros--Ros, for the Lord's sake, what do you mean? You don't mean you see a way to--” “Never mind what I mean. But I should like to know what you mean by not coming to me before? What are friends for, if not to help each other? Who told you that I was dead broke?” “You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't got thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself--” “Shut up! Get up from that chair and come with me. Yes, you; and now, this minute. Give me that thing you've got in the drawer there. No, I'll take it myself. You ought to be ashamed of its being there, George. I am ashamed of you, and, if I thought you really meant to use it, I should be still more ashamed. Come! don't keep me waiting.” “But--but Ros--” “Will you do as I tell you?” I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair. Then, after extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and locked it, putting the key in my pocket. “Now,” said I, “I want you to make me a promise. I want you to quit behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise me that you will go straight home and to bed. I'll see you again the first thing in the morning. Then, I think--yes, I think your troubles, the worst part of them, will be over.” “But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it! Won't you tell me--” “Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? Or must I go with you?” “No. I'll--I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I can't understand--” “Good night.” I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man awakening from a nightmare, and hurried away.