It was with a haggard face that he presented himself at his sister's breakfast table on the Monday morning. He tried to greet her with his usual affectionate gaiety, but Helena Atterbury was quick to notice the change in his appearance, though she made no sign. He had lived with her for years, this talented younger brother, and was the chief consideration and passion of her ambitious and worldly heart. Even her husband, Francis Atterbury, while tolerated with friendly courtesy for his wealth and position, had a far less important place in her affections. She watched Donald now with concern as he absently crumbled his roll, though she spoke only of ordinary things. "Madame Justice coming along all right, Don?" she asked, referring to a piece of allegorical statuary on which he was at work. "I'd like to run in to the studio this morning and pay my respects, if she's ready to receive callers." Morris glanced up from the morning paper and was about to reply when an overwhelmingly correct maid entered and silently presented to his notice an unstamped letter lying on a silver tray. "For me?" he questioned, unnecessarily, as he picked up the letter. "Just came by messenger, sir," replied the maid, in a still, small voice. "Is there an answer, sir?" Donald Morris tore open the envelope while the maid waited. He pulled out the letter and glanced at the signature. Then, abruptly, he rose from his seat and strode quickly over to the window where, with back turned, he swiftly perused the letter, not once but twice, crushing it in his hand when he had finished. With a quick gesture he turned to the maid. "Where's the boy who brought this?" he asked, almost fiercely. "In the hall? All right. You needn't wait." And turned sharply to leave the room. "What is it, Don?" cried Helena Atterbury, rising quickly from the table. "Is anything the matter? Tell me----" But her brother, entirely oblivious of the fact that she had spoken, was already in the hall. She heard him questioning the messenger, heard the boy say, "Left at the office in the Pennsylvania Station yesterday, to be delivered this morning," and saw the boy dismissed. The trouble and concern in her brother's face was more than she could bear. "What is it, Don? What has happened?" she cried, coming up to him near the door. He turned from the hall table, his hat already in his hand. "I don't know, Helena," he said, confusedly. "I can't make out----And it was yesterday! Oh, God!" He clenched his hand. "Already too late! But I must see--I must make sure. Forgive me, Helena, but I can't wait. I must----" He tore open the front door and rushed down the broad steps, looking in every direction for a cab.