"So you see I did not do bravely. I wanted you to know this from the first, but there didn't seem to be any way. I did n't want to stand before you as a liar--as a hypocrite, and yet I did n't want to balk myself in the little good I found myself able to do. That silence was part of the penalty. I left you yesterday without telling, for the same reason. That and one other: because I did n't want you to think me a coward when death might cut off all opportunity for ever proving otherwise." Again he paused, hoping against a dead hope. But she stood there, cringing away from him, her frightened lips dumb. "That is all," he concluded. "Now I will go. But don't you see that I had to intrude long enough to tell you this? I stand absolutely honest before you. There isn't a lie in me. Now I am going to work." He made an odd looking picture as he stood there. Haggard, hot-eyed, with a touch of color above his unshaven cheeks, he was like a victorious general at the end of a hard week's campaign. He turned away from her and went out of the room. At the foot of the stairs he passed in silence Arsdale and the nurse. He turned back. "Sandy! Sandy! Where are you?" The dog came scrambling over the smooth floor with a joyous yelp. He picked him up and passing out the door went down the street. The few remaining dollars he had left burned in his pocket. He tossed them into the first sewer. He was now free--free to begin clean handed. A little farther along he came to a gang of men at work upon the excavation for a new house. He needed money for food and a night's lodging. He went to the foreman. "Want an extra hand?" "Wot th' devil ye 're givin' us?" "I 'm in earnest. I have n't a cent. I need work. Try me." The burly foreman looked him over with a grin. Then as though he saw a good joke in it, he gave him a shovel and sent him into the cellar. Donaldson removed his coat and rolling up his sleeves took his place beside the others. Sandy found a comfortable nest in the discarded garment and settled down contentedly. CHAPTER XXVIII _The Seventh Noon_ When Arsdale with the nurse at his heels rushed up-stairs, he found his sister before the mirror combing her hair. There was nothing hysterical about her, but her white calmness in itself was ominous. "What is it, Elaine?" he panted, "has Donaldson gone mad?" "No," she answered, "I should say that he is quite sane now." "But what the deuce was the trouble with him? He looked as though he had lost his senses." "Perhaps he has just found them." The nurse interrupted him, in an aside, "I would n't agitate her further." To the girl, she said, "Don't you think you had better lie down for a little, Miss Arsdale?" "Please don't worry about me," she replied calmly, "I am going to change my dress and then I shall come down-stairs. I wish you would go to Marie--both of you. It is she who needs attention." "But--" broke in Arsdale.