“No, no. I can’t go away,” the old lady replied. She was glancing backward over her shoulder every instant or two. “Will you give me your name, then, so I can write to you?” Sydney went on. “Or if I write to Mr. Darley here will you give it to him?” “No, only write to me, Mrs. Hannah Fox,” and with that the door was closed in his face. Sydney lingered in front of it a second. He had a blind impulse to ring the bell and compel her to open it again. But he knew that it would be useless, so he turned his steps slowly toward Chestnut street and went to his office. He found that his absence all day had been productive of not a little harm. “But this is a part of the expiation,” he murmured to himself. He put aside the letters waiting to be answered, and set himself to the task of composing the one to Mrs. Fox. It took him a long while to write it. He tore up several completed ones. The usual hour for closing the office arrived. The boy hovered about his desk, seeming to hope that his presence would remind his employer that it was time to go home. Sydney looked up at last. “You may go, John,” he said. “I will mail this.” But when the boy had gone he read over what he had written, then tore it into very small pieces and dropped them in the waste paper basket. Then he took a fresh sheet and began again. He was half way down the first page when the door opened and Rex came in. “Syd,” he exclaimed, “aren’t you coming home to dinner? We waited till seven o’clock, then mother grew so worried that I came down to see if anything had happened.” “How good you are to me, Reggie,” said the other. “And how little I deserve it.” His head went down on his two arms upon the desk. His frame shook as if with sobbing. “Syd, you dear old fellow, don’t talk that way. What is troubling you?” Rex had put his arm about his brother’s neck; his forehead pressed close against the bowed head. “Don’t, Reggie. If you only knew you would not want to touch me.” Sydney lifted his head suddenly, but his arms were still crossed over the half written letter. “Syd, what do you mean?” Rex looked at his brother in deep perplexity, his handsome brow wrinkled with the anxiety Sydney’s appearance and demeanor were causing him. “You will know soon enough, Reggie, and then promise me that you will try to think of me as friendly as you can; not give away utterly to your contempt. It was partly for y—. No, I will not say that. No, go home, Rex. Tell mother I am all right, and will be back some time to-night, and not to worry.” “But you ought not to stay here and work, Syd,” Rex persisted. “You are not fit to do it.” “I must do what I’ve set out to do.” Sydney’s voice was almost stern as he made this reply. Rex saw that it was useless to linger, and went sadly home. Something dreadful had evidently come over Sydney. What it was he did not pretend to know. But he made up his mind not to tell the family all that Sydney had said.