"There are some things I wish to say to ex-Governor Beekman in the presence of you all--some things that you don't know, though I've heard some of you charge my father with them," she went on, her face paling. "I learned the truth myself less than a month ago, Eliot," now turning to him, "that somewhere and somehow there are standing in my name securities amounting to a hundred million dollars. I know it's so--I can testify to it--they don't belong to me." "They belong to Wilkinson," broke in Ilingsworth. "I've known it all along, but I've never been able to prove it." "They don't belong to my father," went on Leslie, her eyes meeting Beekman's in triumph, "but to the depositors in my father's trust companies." Beekman looked at the girl in amazement, Ilingsworth muttered something to himself and was about to speak, but Leslie interrupted him. "One word more, Mr. Ilingsworth, if you please," she said. And again turning to Beekman, she went on: "Eliot, you know that I have money in my own right--money to do with as I wish. Therefore, I retain you now, not on my own behalf, but on behalf of half a million depositors in three States, to start a fight to get that money back. We'll begin right now," she concluded, her voice ringing with determination, "with Giles Ilingsworth. You are retained by him...." The fire leaped into Beekman's eyes; he sniffed with excitement. "Half a million depositors!" he cried, hope growing in his voice. "That means half a million clients. I'm still a counsellor-at-law--the good old Appellate Division withstood all attempts to disbar me. Half a million clients--yes, I accept." "What about the evidence?" queried Ilingsworth. Beekman held up his hand. "The Bank Le Boeuf of Buffalo--they charged these things. They must have evidence...." "I can furnish some," said Ilingsworth. "I have overheard Peter Wilkinson," faltered Madeline Braine. "And so have I," cried Leslie; "and besides, everything is in my name, and I won't sign another paper or pay out another dollar until everybody has had his rights." Leaving Ilingsworth with his two charges joyfully planning their future, Eliot and Leslie returned to the next room. "We've got a long fight ahead, Leslie--a running fight, as Colonel Morehead calls it, but I'm ready. Come, we begin to-night--we cannot start too soon." "You remind me of that night," Leslie whispered, "that night when you brought the ring." He seemed scarcely to hear her, the room was reeling about him. But the girl, knowing that she must do the wooing if she were to win him back at all, went over to him, and, laying an affectionate hand upon his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes, she said very tenderly now: