"But, Leslie, you can't mean it. Don't you know that I've held you in my arms, that my kisses are on your lips! Those made you mine. You've promised, your eyes have answered mine, you belong to me just as much as though--by heaven! if you don't belong to me for any other reason, you belong to me because I've earned you! Look what I did for your father--what I did for you!" "You've been paid enough," she answered stubbornly. "I've paid you out of the money in my hands. Oh, don't stare! I know--I know...." She paused a moment, her face flushing, her breath coming fast. "Governor Leech," she resumed, "while my father was in danger I could think of nothing but to save him; but now that strain, that terrific strain is over, and I have come to my senses. I can't even think of you, much less marry you with this taint on you. Yes, I broke my promise to you, it is true, but I had to, don't you see?" She lifted her head proudly, and then added: "I had to for the reason that I am just beginning to find out that I'm a woman, and that you, Governor--you are not--a man." The following evening while Leslie waited in a small waiting-room near the entrance to the house a man was ushered in--a man with grey hair and bowed shoulders, a man enveloped in a long cloak--for the mist was heavy and the night was wet without. Leaping to her feet, Leslie grasped him by the hand, and said: "It was good of you to come, Mr. Ilingsworth, and you've found him, I can see by your eyes. Oh, how can I thank you enough! I was to help you, and here you're helping me." "I'm helping him," said Giles Ilingsworth, steadily, but kindly. He straightened up, and went on: "I haven't seen him, but I've located him--I know the floor he lives on. He--he's always in evenings. They say he has a job with some labourers on the new subway." "Come!" she cried, seizing his arm. "Wait," he said, "why don't you send for him?" Leslie shook her head. "He would never come. I've got to go to him to-night. I can't wait another minute--not another minute." In the open doorway while she drew her cloak tight about her, they stood and peered out into the Drive. "We'll get a cab," she said, taking his arm; but Ilingsworth was adamant. "There's one thing that I forgot to tell you," he went on, hesitatingly. "I--it's only what they tell me down there--they say Beekman does not live alone. I thought you ought to know...." Leslie flushed for an instant and drew back, and then pressed on again. "I know," she said, "that is, I suppose--but never mind that. I've wronged this man and I won't let another day pass over my head without trying to right the wrong--if it ever can be righted." She tightened her grasp on the man's arm. "How can a wrong like that ever be righted?" she asked. But Ilingsworth himself knew something about wrongs, and muttered half-aloud as he glanced at the darkened heavens: "Are my wrongs ever to be righted?" XXIII