After all, how little John had gained by marrying her! She could do nothing for him; she was powerless even to help her own son, who was compelled to adopt miserable subterfuges and swallow his pride on every occasion. She opened her purse and took out the check, intending to destroy it in her rage, but she was stopped by the miserable thought that, after all, every penny was of vital importance just now. She could not afford the luxury of its destruction. "My own father!" she cried bitterly, as she spread out the check before her. "Two dollars!" Then, she noticed that the word "two" had nothing after it on the long line, and that the "2" below in the square for the numerals was straggling toward the left. It only needed a couple of noughts in her father's hand to put everything right. Two ciphers! They would indeed be ciphers to him, for how could he feel the difference of a few thousands more or less in his immense banking-account? A bedridden old man had no use for money. Indeed, it was impossible that he could know how much he was worth. She had often seen him signing checks by the dozen, groaning over every one. When they were gone, they were out of his mind; and all he troubled about was to ask for the total at the bank, and mumble with satisfaction over the fine, fat figures of the balance. Her face lighted up with a sudden reckless thought. If she added those two ciphers herself with an old, spluttering pen, and added the word "thousand" after the "two," who would be the wiser? Certainly not her father. And the bank would pay without a murmur. She seized a pen, prepared to act upon the impulse, then paused. She knew vaguely that it was a wrong thing to do. But--her own father! Indeed, her own money--for some of his wealth would be hers one day, and that day not very far distant. It was ridiculous to have scruples at such a time. She cleverly filled in the words in a shaky hand, and added the two ciphers. She let the ink dry, and then surveyed her handiwork. How her husband's face would light up when she told him of their good fortune. Two thousand dollars! No, she could not imagine herself facing the rector's gray eyes, and telling him an awful lie. It was bad enough to alter the check. She had heard of people who had been put in prison for altering checks! Dick would take the check to the bank for her, so that she need not face any inquisitive, staring clerks; and, when it was exchanged for notes, she would be able to get rid of the loathly creature sitting in the hall. * * * * * "Who presented this check?" Vivian Ormsby, son of the banker, sat in his private room at Ormsby's Bank, examining a check for two thousand dollars, and a cashier stood at his side. Vivian Ormsby had just looked in at the bank for a few minutes, and he was in a hurry. "Young Mr. Swinton presented it, sir," the cashier explained. Vivian Ormsby's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the check more closely.