“To see me”--she rose up anxiously on her elbow--“in the morning?” He was smiling at her. His hands reached out and took her face between them, and made her look at him. “Rhoda,” he said gently, “I knew to-night in the iron plant that you cared. I told him so. What he wants to see you for is to tell you that he thinks I am the luckiest man in all the world. You are clear, dear. Even Rough Rorke is singing your praises; he says you are the only woman who ever put one over on him.” She did not answer for a moment; and then with a little sob of glad surrender she buried her face on his shoulder. “It--it is very wonderful,” she said brokenly, “for--for even we, you and I, each thought the other a--a thief.” “And so we were, thank God!” he whispered--and lifted her head until now his lips met hers. “We were both thieves, Rhoda, weren't we? And, please God, we will be all our lives--for we have stolen each other's heart.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The White Moll, by Frank L. Packard