"Oh, yes you will," she returned confidently. "I shall not!--not a cent!" he said, with wild exultation. "You know what'll happen if you don't?" "Yes. You'll tell. All right--tell!" She studied his flushed face and excited eyes. "You're in earnest?" "Don't I look it! I shall not pay you a cent! Understand? Not a cent!" He had risen, and she too now rose. "Oh, you'll pay something," she said with a note of coaxing. "I'm not as high as I once was. Fifty dollars would help me a lot." "Not a cent!" "Twenty-five?" "Not a cent, I said." "Well, you'll wish you had!" she said vindictively, and turned and walked out of the office. He dropped back into his chair. So he was going to be righted before the world!--at last! Vivid, thrilling dreams flashed through his brain--dreams of honour, of success, of love!... Then, slowly, his mind began to clear; he began to see the other results of Lillian Drew's disclosure. His five years would have been uselessly spent--lost. And the people of the Mission--Quick visions pictured the consequence to them. He sprang up, holding fast to just one idea among all that confused his brain. He must stick to his old plan; the people must keep Morton. He must find Lillian Drew and silence her. But where find her? He had not asked her address, he had not even watched which direction she had gone. Perhaps even now she might be telling someone. He seized his hat, and hurried from the room. As he came out upon the sidewalk, a tall woman who had been standing across the street, started over to meet him. At sight of her he stopped, and gave a great sigh of relief. "You're looking for me, aren't you?" she asked, when she had come up. "Yes." "I knew you'd be changing your mind, so I waited," she said with a smile of triumph. "I knew you'd pay!" CHAPTER XI A LOVE THAT PERSEVERED Lillian Drew, as she had said, was not as high as she once was; so David, after making plain to her his poverty, managed to put her off with fifteen dollars--though for this amount she refused to turn over the letters. Before giving her the money he asked if she had kept secret her knowledge of Morton, and her answer was such as to leave him no fear. "This kind of thing is the same as money in the bank; telling it is simply throwing money away." After he had paid her, and she had gone, he fell meditating upon this new phase of his situation. She would soon come again, he knew that--and his slender savings could not outlast many visits. When his money was gone and she still made demands, what then, if the ending of the deal was not fortunate?