“For years I have been heavily in debt, and had to borrow money from my rich neighbor, Mr. Bennett, to meet my living expenses and take care of you, Leola, in proper style for a pretty young girl. You have had your governess, your horse, your clothing, without a care on your young mind, but I, in order to meet your expenses, and keep this roof over your head, have been obliged to place a mortgage of fifteen thousand dollars on Wheatlands, and to-morrow the mortgage falls due. If Bennett forecloses, as he swears he will, we shall all be turned out homeless.” It was on her lips to say that she did not care, that nothing really mattered to her now, but she bit her lips and held back the words, waiting silently to the end. “I have no means of paying my debt; I cannot possibly raise the money, but neighbor Bennett has been very generous; he has offered to forego his pay, to destroy the mortgage, on one condition. Are you listening, Leola?” She nodded, without turning her gaze from the sunset hills, and he continued, eagerly: “I think you know what is coming, Leola. Bennett has fallen madly in love with you, and wants you for his wife. If you consent he will settle a hundred thousand dollars on you, and forego the debt I owe. As for the rest, when you are once his wife, you can wind the foolish old man around your fingers like a ribbon, and have your own way in everything. If you refuse he swears he will turn us all out of doors in twenty-four hours.” He paused and waited, but she did not speak, and realizing how futile would be the attempted exercise of authority, he fell to pleading: “Can you let this terrible calamity befall us, Leola--me in my old age, you in your youth and beauty? Why, we would not have whereon to lay our heads if we anger Giles Bennett.” The somber dark eyes turned to him, questioningly: “I--I--have always supposed that you held money in trust for me, sir. I did not dream that I was an expense to you, as you say,” exclaimed Leola. “Have I then no friends who can help us in our need?” “Not one, Leola, for I know nothing of your relations. To be plain, I took you, a pauper child, from the almshouse, for pity’s sake, and have reared you as well as though you had been my own daughter. The secret of your birth I kept, and it shall never pass my lips. But in the hour of my misfortune I appeal to you to pay the debt of gratitude you owe me--a debt that you can only pay by marrying Giles Bennett to-morrow.” An icy shudder shook her weak frame; she felt that death were sweeter than such a fate. But the man who had befriended her young life was waiting with haggard eyes for her answer--waiting for her to save him from despair. And she, the pauper, nameless, homeless, save for Wizard Hermann’s charity--would it not be monstrous ingratitude to refuse his prayer? She faltered, recklessly: “I will marry the man!” CHAPTER XIV. A LITTLE CONSPIRACY.