He turned in amazement, stared, suddenly sprang to his feet, his face flushed with excitement. Surely he was asleep--dreaming! Or had the picture in his soul suddenly stepped from the infinite into the flesh and blood of the finite in answer to the yearning call of his heart! A hundred wild thoughts swept his imagination in the brief moment before he could speak. “I fear I’ve startled you!” she said, drawing back with a timid gesture. “Why, why--it’s you--Miss Butler! I hadn’t dreamed of seeing you in this dingy office!” He stammered and hesitated, and continued to gaze at her in confusion. “May I sit down?” she asked softly. “I beg a thousand pardons,” he answered, springing across the room for a chair. He dumped a pile of law books from it--brushed the dust from the bottom and placed it before her. “Believe me,” he went on, “I was so astonished at seeing you, I thought I must have fallen asleep--you see it was too beautiful to be true--I thought it must be a dream.” “Well, there was nothing left but to humble myself and call on you--you refused to call on me.” “I can never tell you how sorry I was to have to write that note,” he said gravely. “I’m glad, for I refuse to take your letter as final. You said there were many and serious reasons why you could not act as my counsel. I’ve come to hear them.” “I assure you they are serious enough, Miss Butler. I fear it will not be possible for me to state them.” “Then I refuse to accept them,” she answered with a smile. John gazed at her, wondering if she could know what havoc her sweet appealing smile was playing with his resolutions. He tried to speak and couldn’t. Stella continued, her voice low and musical with childlike tenderness: “I know that my father was your political foe, but he had the profoundest respect for your ability and your high sense of honour. His death will doubtless remain one of the unexplained tragedies of the troubles through which the country is now passing.” She rose and slowly approached John’s chair, her great brown eyes blinding him with their light as she gently laid a white hand on his shoulder. He started at her touch. “Mr. Graham,” she said, with exquisite tenderness, “life is too short to cherish its bitter feuds.” “Yes,” he answered in a whisper barely audible. “I am utterly alone and distressed over business affairs I do not understand. I have implicit faith in you. I need your help and advice. Will you refuse me what you would grant without question to a stranger who would call at this office and ask?” John flushed and fumbled his hands nervously. “Come, you will accept, will you not?” She extended her hand. “Shall we be friends?” He trembled for a moment and his own hand resistlessly sought hers. “Yes!” he cried with deep emotion, unconsciously crushing her hand in his. “You will come to-morrow morning to the house and go over the papers with me?”