It was on this same day that Sarah, on one of her numerous tripsthrough the store in behalf of Gilder, was accosted by asalesgirl, whose name, Helen Morris, she chanced to know. It wasin a spot somewhere out of the crowd, so that for the moment thetwo were practically alone. The salesgirl showed signs ofembarrassment as she ventured to lay a detaining hand on Sarah'sarm, but she maintained her position, despite the secretary'smanner of disapproval.

　　"What on earth do you want?" Sarah inquired, snappishly.

　　The salesgirl put her question at once.

　　"What did they do to Mary Turner?""Oh, that!" the secretary exclaimed, with increased impatienceover the delay, for she was very busy, as always. "You will allknow soon enough.""Tell me now." The voice of the girl was singularly compelling;there was something vividly impressive about her just now, thoughher pallid, prematurely mature face and the thin figure in theregulation black dress and white apron showed ordinarily onlyinsignificant. "Tell me now," she repeated, with a monotonousemphasis that somehow moved Sarah to obedience against her will,greatly to her own surprise.

　　"They sent her to prison for three years," she answered, sharply.

　　"Three years?" The salesgirl had repeated the words in a tonethat was indefinable, yet a tone vehement in its incredulousquestioning. "Three years?" she said again, as one refusing tobelieve.

　　"Yes," Sarah said, impressed by the girl's earnestness; "threeyears.""Good God!" There was no irreverence in the exclamation thatbroke from the girl's lips. Instead, only a tense horror thattouched to the roots of emotion.

　　Sarah regarded this display of feeling on the part of the youngwoman before her with an increasing astonishment. It was not inher own nature to be demonstrative, and such strong expression ofemotion as this she deemed rather suspicious. She recalled, inaddition, the fact that his was not the first time that HelenMorris had shown a particular interest in the fate of MaryTurner. Sarah wondered why.

　　"Say," she demanded, with the directness habitual to her, "whyare you so anxious about it? This is the third time you haveasked me about Mary Turner. What's it to you, I'd like to know?"The salesgirl started violently, and a deep flush drove theaccustomed pallor from her cheeks. She was obviously muchdisturbed by the question.

　　"What is it to me?" she repeated in an effort to gain time.

　　"Why, nothing--nothing at all!" Her expression of distresslightened a little as she hit on an excuse that might serve tojustify her interest. "Nothing at all, only--she's a friend ofmine, a great friend of mine. Oh, yes!" Then, in an instant, thelook of relief vanished, as once again the terrible realityhammered on her consciousness, and an overwhelming dejectionshowed in the dull eyes and in the drooping curves of the whitelips. There was a monotone of desolation as she went on speakingin a whisper meant for the ears of no other. "It's awful--threeyears! Oh, I didn't understand! It's awful!--awful!" With thefinal word, she hurried off, her head bowed. She was stillmurmuring brokenly, incoherently. Her whole attitude was ofwondering grief.

　　Sarah stared after the girl in complete mystification. She couldnot at first guess any possible cause for an emotion so poignant.

　　Presently, however, her shrewd, though very prosaic, commonsensesuggested a simple explanation of the girl's extraordinarydistress.

　　"I'll bet that girl has been tempted to steal. But she didn't,because she was afraid." With this satisfactory conclusion ofher wonderment, the secretary hurried on her way, quite content.

　　It never occurred to her that the girl might have been tempted tosteal--and had not resisted the temptation.

　　It was on account of this brief conversation with the salesgirlthat Sarah was thinking intently of Mary Turner, after her returnto the office, from which Gilder himself happened to be absentfor the moment. As the secretary glanced up at the opening ofthe door, she did not at first recognize the figure outlinedthere. She remembered Mary Turner as a tall, slender girl, whoshowed an underlying vitality in every movement, a girl with aface of regular features, in which was a complexion of blendedmilk and roses, with a radiant joy of life shining through allher arduous and vulgar conditions. Instead of this, now, she sawa frail form that stood swaying in the opening of the doorway,that bent in a sinister fashion which told of bodily impotence,while the face was quite bloodless. And, too, there was over allelse a pall of helplessness--helplessness that had endured much,and must still endure infinitely more.

　　As a reinforcement of the dread import of that figure of wo, aman stood beside it, and one of his hands was clasped around thegirl's wrist, a man who wore his derby hat somewhat far back onhis bullet-shaped head, whose feet were conspicuous in shoes withvery heavy soles and very square toes.

　　It was the man who now took charge of the situation. Cassidy,from Headquarters, spoke in a rough, indifferent voice, wellsuited to his appearance of stolid strength.

　　"The District Attorney told me to bring this girl here on my wayto the Grand Central Station with her."Sarah got to her feet mechanically. Somehow, from the raucousnotes of the policeman's voice, she understood in a flash ofillumination that the pitiful figure there in the doorway wasthat of Mary Turner, whom she had remembered so different, sofrightfully different. She spoke with a miserable effort towardher usual liveliness.

　　"Mr. Gilder will be right back. Come in and wait." She wishedto say something more, something of welcome or of mourning, tothe girl there, but she found herself incapable of a single wordfor the moment, and could only stand dumb while the man steppedforward, with his charge following helplessly in his clutch.

　　The two went forward very slowly, the officer, carelesslyconscious of his duty, walking with awkward steps to suit thefeeble movements of the girl, the girl letting herself be draggedonward, aware of the futility of any resistance to the inexorablepower that now had her in its grip, of which the man was thepresent agent. As the pair came thus falteringly into the centerof the room, Sarah at last found her voice for an expression ofsympathy.

　　"I'm sorry, Mary," she said, hesitatingly. "I'm terribly sorry,terribly sorry!"The girl, who had halted when the officer halted, as a matter ofcourse, did not look up. She stood still, swaying a little as iffrom weakness. Her voice was lifeless.

　　"Are you?" she said. "I did not know. Nobody has been near methe whole time I have been in the Tombs." There was infinitepathos in the tones as she repeated the words so fraught withdreadfulness. "Nobody has been near me!"The secretary felt a sudden glow of shame. She realized thejustice of that unconscious accusation, for, till to-day, she hadhad no thought of the suffering girl there in the prison. Toassuage remorse, she sought to give evidence as to a prevalentsympathy.

　　"Why," she exclaimed, "there was Helen Morris to-day! She hasbeen asking about you again and again. She's all broken up overyour trouble."But the effort on the secretary's part was wholly withoutsuccess.

　　"Who is Helen Morris?" the lifeless voice demanded. There was nointerest in the question.

　　Sarah experienced a momentary astonishment, for she was stillremembering the feverish excitement displayed by the salesgirl,who had declared herself to be a most intimate friend of theconvict. But the mystery was to remain unsolved, since Gildernow entered the office. He walked with the quick, bustlingactivity that was ordinarily expressed in his every movement. Hepaused for an instant, as he beheld the two visitors in thecenter of the room, then he spoke curtly to the secretary, whilecrossing to his chair at the desk.

　　"You may go, Sarah. I will ring when I wish you again."There followed an interval of silence, while the secretary wasleaving the office and the girl with her warder stood waiting onhis pleasure. Gilder cleared his throat twice in anembarrassment foreign to him, before finally he spoke to thegirl. At last, the proprietor of the store expressed himself ina voice of genuine sympathy, for the spectacle of wo presentedthere before his very eyes moved him to a real distress, since itwas indeed actual, something that did not depend on anappreciation to be developed out of imagination.

　　"My girl," Gilder said gently--his hard voice was softened by anhonest regret--"my girl, I am sorry about this.""You should be!" came the instant answer. Yet, the words wereuttered with a total lack of emotion. It seemed from theirintonation that the speaker voiced merely a statement concerninga recondite matter of truth, with which sentiment had nothingwhatever to do. But the effect on the employer was unfortunate.

　　It aroused at once his antagonism against the girl. His instinctof sympathy with which he had greeted her at the outset wasrepelled, and made of no avail. Worse, it was transformed intoan emotion hostile to the one who thus offended him by rejectionof the well-meant kindliness of his address"Come, come!" he exclaimed, testily. "That's no tone to takewith me.""Why? What sort of tone do you expect me to take?" was theretort in the listless voice. Yet, now, in the dullness ran afaint suggestion of something sinister.

　　"I expected a decent amount of humility from one in yourposition," was the tart rejoinder of the magnate.

　　Life quickened swiftly in the drooping form of the girl. Hermuscles tensed. She stood suddenly erect, in the vigor of heryouth again. Her face lost in the same second its bleakness ofpallor. The eyes opened widely, with startling abruptness, andlooked straight into those of the man who had employed her.

　　"Would you be humble," she demanded, and now her voice was becomesoftly musical, yet forbidding, too, with a note of passion,"would you be humble if you were going to prison for threeyears--for something you didn't do?"There was anguish in the cry torn from the girl's throat in thesudden access of despair. The words thrilled Gilder beyondanything that he had supposed possible in such case. He foundhimself in this emergency totally at a loss, and moved in hischair doubtfully, wishing to say something, and quite unable. Hewas still seeking some question, some criticism, some rebuke,when he was unfeignedly relieved to hear the policeman's harshvoice.

　　"Don't mind her, sir," Cassidy said. He meant to make his mannervery reassuring. "They all say that. They are innocent, ofcourse! Yep--they all say it. It don't do 'em any good, but justthe same they all swear they're innocent. They keep it up to thevery last, no matter how right they've been got."The voice of the girl rang clear. There was a note of insistencethat carried a curious dignity of its own. The very simplicityof her statement might have had a power to convince one wholistened without prejudice, although the words themselves were ofthe trite sort that any protesting criminal might utter.

　　"I tell you, I didn't do it!"Gilder himself felt the surge of emotion that swung through thesemoments, but he would not yield to it. With his lack ofimagination, he could not interpret what this time must mean tothe girl before him. Rather, he merely deemed it his duty tocarry through this unfortunate affair with a scrupulous attentionto detail, in the fashion that had always been characteristic ofhim during the years in which he had steadily mounted from thebottom to the top.

　　"What's the use of all this pretense?" he demanded, sharply.

　　"You were given a fair trial, and there's an end of it."The girl, standing there so feebly, seeming indeed to cling forsupport to the man who always held her thus closely by the wrist,spoke again with an astonishing clearness, even with a sort ofvivacity, as if she explained easily something otherwise indoubt.

　　"Oh, no, I wasn't!" she contradicted bluntly, with a singularconfidence of assertion. "Why, if the trial had been fair, Ishouldn't be here."The harsh voice of Cassidy again broke in on the passion of thegirl with a professional sneer.

　　"That's another thing they all say."But the girl went on speaking fiercely, impervious to the man'scoarse sarcasm, her eyes, which had deepened almost to purple,still fixed piercingly on Gilder, who, for some reason whollyinexplicable to him, felt himself strangely disturbed under thatregard.

　　"Do you call it fair when the lawyer I had was only a boy--onewhom the court told me to take, a boy trying his first case--mycase, that meant the ruin of my life? My lawyer! Why, he wasjust getting experience--getting it at my expense!" The girlpaused as if exhausted by the vehemence of her emotion, and atlast the sparkling eyes drooped and the heavy lids closed overthem. She swayed a little, so that the officer tightened hisclasp on her wrist.

　　There followed a few seconds of silence. Then Gilder made aneffort to shake off the feeling that had so possessed him, and toa certain degree he succeeded.

　　"The jury found you guilty," he asserted, with an attempt to makehis voice magisterial in its severity.

　　Instantly, Mary was aroused to a new outburst of protest. Onceagain, her eyes shot their fires at the man seated behind thedesk, and she went forward a step imperiously, dragging theofficer in her wake.

　　"Yes, the jury found me guilty," she agreed, with fine scorn inthe musical cadences of her voice. "Do you know why? I can tellyou, Mr. Gilder. It was because they had been out for threehours without reaching a decision. The evidence didn't seem tobe quite enough for some of them, after all. Well, the judgethreatened to lock them up all night. The men wanted to gethome. The easy thing to do was to find me guilty, and let it goat that. Was that fair, do you think? And that's not all,either. Was it fair of you, Mr. Gilder? Was it fair of you tocome to the court this morning, and tell the judge that I shouldbe sent to prison as a warning to others?"A quick flush burned on the massive face of the man whom she thusaccused, and his eyes refused to meet her steady gaze ofreproach.

　　"You know!" he exclaimed, in momentary consternation. Again, hermood had affected his own, so that through a few hurrying secondshe felt himself somehow guilty of wrong against this girl, sofrank and so rebuking.

　　"I heard you in the courtroom," she said. "The dock isn't veryfar from the bench where you spoke to the judge about my case.

　　Yes, I heard you. It wasn't: Did I do it? Or, didn't I do it?

　　No; it was only that I must be made a warning to others."Again, silence fell for a tense interval. Then, finally, thegirl spoke in a different tone. Where before her voice had beenvibrant with the instinct of complaint against the mockery ofjustice under which she suffered, now there was a deeper note,that of most solemn truth.

　　"Mr. Gilder," she said simply, "as God is my judge, I am going toprison for three years for something I didn't do."But the sincerity of her broken cry fell on unheeding ears. Thecoarse nature of the officer had long ago lost whatever elementsof softness there might have been to develop in a gentleroccupation. As for the owner of the store, he was notsufficiently sensitive to feel the verity in the accents of thespeaker. Moreover, he was a man who followed the conventional,with never a distraction due to imagination and sympathy. Justnow, too, he was experiencing a keen irritation against himselfbecause of the manner in which he had been sensible to theinfluence of her protestation, despite his will to the contrary.

　　That irritation against himself only reacted against the girl,and caused him to steel his heart to resist any tendency towardcommiseration. So, this declaration of innocence was made quitein vain--indeed, served rather to strengthen his disfavor towardthe complainant, and to make his manner harsher when she voicedthe pitiful question over which she had wondered and grieved.

　　"Why did you ask the judge to send me to prison?""The thieving that has been going on in this store for over ayear has got to stop," Gilder answered emphatically, with all hisusual energy of manner restored. As he spoke, he raised his eyesand met the girl's glance fairly. Thought of the robberies wasquite enough to make him pitiless toward the offender.

　　"Sending me to prison won't stop it," Mary Turner said, drearily.

　　"Perhaps not," Gilder sternly retorted. "But the discovery andpunishment of the other guilty ones will." His manner changed toa business-like alertness. "You sent word to me that you couldtell me how to stop the thefts in the store. Well, my girl, dothis, and, while I can make no definite promise, I'll see whatcan be done about getting you out of your present difficulty."He picked up a pencil, pulled a pad of blank paper convenient tohis hand, and looked at the girl expectantly, with aggressiveinquiry in his gaze. "Tell me now," he concluded, "who were yourpals?"The matter-of-fact manner of this man who had unwittingly wrongedher so frightfully was the last straw on the girl's burden ofsuffering. Under it, her patient endurance broke, and she criedout in a voice of utter despair that caused Gilder to startnervously, and even impelled the stolid officer to a frown ofremonstrance.

　　"I have no pals!" she ejaculated, furiously. "I never stoleanything in my life. Must I go on telling you over and overagain?" Her voice rose in a wail of misery. "Oh, why won't anyone believe me?"Gilder was much offended by this display of an hysterical grief,which seemed to his phlegmatic temperament altogether unwarrantedby the circumstances. He spoke decisively.

　　"Unless you can control yourself, you must go." He pushed awaythe pad of paper, and tossed the pencil aside in physicalexpression of his displeasure. "Why did you send that message,if you have nothing to say?" he demanded, with increasingcholer.

　　But now the girl had regained her former poise. She stood alittle drooping and shaken, where for a moment she had been erectand tensed. There was a vast weariness in her words as sheanswered.

　　"I have something to tell you, Mr. Gilder," she said, quietly.

　　"Only, I--I sort of lost my grip on the way here, with this manby my side.""Most of 'em do, the first time," the officer commented, with acertain grim appreciation.

　　"Well?" Gilder insisted querulously, as the girl hesitated.

　　At once, Mary went on speaking, and now a little increase ofvigor trembled in her tones.

　　"When you sit in a cell for three months waiting for your trial,as I did, you think a lot. And, so, I got the idea that if Icould talk to you, I might be able to make you understand what'sreally wrong. And if I could do that, and so help out the othergirls, what has happened to me would not, after all, be quite soawful--so useless, somehow." Her voice lowered to a quickpleading, and she bent toward the man at the desk. "Mr. Gilder,"she questioned, "do you really want to stop the girls fromstealing?""Most certainly I do," came the forcible reply.

　　The girl spoke with a great earnestness, deliberately.

　　"Then, give them a fair chance."The magnate stared in sincere astonishment over this absurd, thisfutile suggestion for his guidance.

　　"What do you mean?" he vociferated, with rising indignation.

　　There was an added hostility in his demeanor, for it seemed tohim that this thief of his goods whom he had brought to justicewas daring to trifle with him. He grew wrathful over thesuspicion, but a secret curiosity still held his temper withinbounds "What do you mean?" he repeated; and now the full forceof his strong voice set the room trembling.

　　The tones of the girl came softly musical, made more delicatelyresonant to the ear by contrast with the man's roaring.

　　"Why," she said, very gently, "I mean just this: Give them aliving chance to be honest.""A living chance!" The two words were exploded with dynamicviolence. The preposterousness of the advice fired Gilder withresentment so pervasive that through many seconds he foundhimself unable to express the rage that flamed within him.

　　The girl showed herself undismayed by his anger.

　　"Yes," she went on, quietly; "that's all there is to it. Givethem a living chance to get enough food to eat, and a decent roomto sleep in, and shoes that will keep their feet off the pavementwinter mornings. Do you think that any girl wants to steal? Doyou think that any girl wants to risk----?"By this time, however, Gilder had regained his powers of speech,and he interrupted stormily.

　　"And is this what you have taken up my time for? You want tomake a maudlin plea for guilty, dishonest girls, when I thoughtyou really meant to bring me facts."Nevertheless, Mary went on with her arraignment uncompromisingly.

　　There was a strange, compelling energy in her inflections thatpenetrated even the pachydermatous officer, so that, though hethought her raving, he let her rave on, which was not at all hishabit of conduct, and did indeed surprise him mightily. As forGilder, he felt helpless in some puzzling fashion that wastotally foreign to his ordinary self. He was still glowing withwrath over the method by which he had been victimized into givingthe girl a hearing. Yet, despite his chagrin, he realized thathe could not send her from him forthwith. By some inexplicablespell she bound him impotent.

　　"We work nine hours a day," the quiet voice went on, a curiouspathos in the rich timbre of it; "nine hours a day, for six daysin the week. That's a fact, isn't it? And the trouble is, anhonest girl can't live on six dollars a week. She can't do it,and buy food and clothes, and pay room-rent and carfare. That'sanother fact, isn't it?"Mary regarded the owner of the store with grave questioning inher violet eyes. Under the urgency of emotion, color crept intothe pallid cheeks, and now her face was very beautiful--sobeautiful, indeed, that for a little the charm of its lovelinesscaught the man's gaze, and he watched her with a new respect,born of appreciation for her feminine delightfulness. Theimpression was far too brief. Gilder was not given to estheticraptures over women. Always, the business instinct was thedominant. So, after the short period of amazed admiration oversuch unexpected winsomeness, his thoughts flew back angrily tothe matters whereof she spoke so ridiculously.

　　"I don't care to discuss these things," he declared peremptorily,as the girl remained silent for a moment.

　　"And I have no wish to discuss anything," Mary returned evenly.

　　"I only want to give you what you asked for--facts." A faintsmile of reminiscence curved the girl's lips. "When they firstlocked me up," she explained, without any particular evidence ofemotion, "I used to sit and hate you.""Oh, of course!" came the caustic exclamation from Gilder.

　　"And then, I thought that perhaps you did not understand," Marycontinued; "that, if I were to tell you how things really are, itmight be you would change them somehow."At this ingenuous statement, the owner of the store gave forth agasp of sheer stupefaction.

　　"I!" he cried, incredulously. "I change my business policybecause you ask me to!"There was something imperturbable in the quality of the voice asthe girl went resolutely forward with her explanation. It was asif she were discharging a duty not to be gainsaid, not to bethwarted by any difficulty, not even the realization that all theeffort must be ultimately in vain.

　　"Do you know how we girls live?--but, of course, you don't.

　　Three of us in one room, doing our own cooking over thetwo-burner gas-stove, and our own washing and ironing evenings,after being on our feet for nine hours."The enumeration of the sordid details left the employerabsolutely unmoved, since he lacked the imagination necessary tosympathize actually with the straining evil of a life such as thegirl had known. Indeed, he spoke with an air of justremonstrance, as if the girl's charges were mischievously faulty.

　　"I have provided chairs behind the counters," he stated.

　　There was no especial change in the girl's voice as she answeredhis defense. It continued musically low, but there was in it theinsistent note of sincerity.

　　"But have you ever seen a girl sitting in one of them?" shequestioned, coldly. "Please answer me. Have you? Of coursenot," she said, after a little pause during which the owner hadremained silent. She shook her head in emphatic negation. "Anddo you understand why? It's simply because every girl knows thatthe manager of her department would think he could get alongwithout her, if he were to see her sitting down ----loafing, youknow! So, she would be discharged. All it amounts to is that,after being on her feet for nine hours, the girl usually walkshome, in order to save carfare. Yes, she walks, whether sick orwell. Anyhow, you are generally so tired, it don't make muchdifference which you are."Gilder was fuming under these strictures, which seemed to himaltogether baseless attacks on himself. His exasperation steadilywaxed against the girl, a convicted felon, who thus had theaudacity to beard him.

　　"What has all this to do with the question of theft in thestore?" he rumbled, huffily. "That was the excuse for yourcoming here. And, instead of telling me something, you rantabout gas-stoves and carfare."The inexorable voice went on in its monotone, as if he had notspoken.

　　"And, when you are really sick, and have to stop work, what areyou going to do then? Do you know, Mr. Gilder, that the firsttime a straight girl steals, it's often because she had to have adoctor--or some luxury like that? And some of them do worse thansteal. Yes, they do--girls that started straight, and wanted tostay that way. But, of course, some of them get so tired of thewhole grind that--that----"The man who was the employer of hundreds concerning whom thesegrim truths were uttered, stirred uneasily in his chair, andthere came a touch of color into the healthy brown of his cheeksas he spoke his protest.

　　"I'm not their guardian. I can't watch over them after theyleave the store. They are paid the current rate of wages--asmuch as any other store pays." As he spoke, the anger provokedby this unexpected assault on him out of the mouth of a convictflamed high in virtuous repudiation. "Why," he went onvehemently, "no man living does more for his employees than I do.

　　Who gave the girls their fine rest-rooms upstairs? I did! Whogave them the cheap lunch-rooms? I did!""But you won't pay them enough to live on!" The very fact thatthe words were spoken without any trace of rancor merely madethis statement of indisputable truth obnoxious to the man, whowas stung to more savage resentment in asserting his impugnedself-righteousness.

　　"I pay them the same as the other stores do," he repeated,sullenly.

　　Yet once again, the gently cadenced voice gave answer, an answerinformed with that repulsive insistence to the man who sought toresist her indictment of him.

　　"But you won't pay them enough to live on." The simple lucidityof the charge forbade direct reply.

　　Gilder betook himself to evasion by harking back to theestablished ground of complaint.

　　"And, so, you claim that you were forced to steal. That's theplea you make for yourself and your friends.""I wasn't forced to steal," came the answer, spoken in themonotone that had marked her utterance throughout most of theinterview. "I wasn't forced to steal, and I didn't steal. But,all the same, that's the plea, as you call it, that I'm makingfor the other girls. There are hundreds of them who stealbecause they don't get enough to eat. I said I would tell youhow to stop the stealing. Well, I have done it. Give the girlsa fair chance to be honest. You asked me for the names, Mr.

　　Gilder. There's only one name on which to put the blame for thewhole business--and that name is Edward Gilder!... Now, won't youdo something about it?"At that naked question, the owner of the store jumped up from hischair, and stood glowering at the girl who risked a request sofull of vituperation against himself.

　　"How dare you speak to me like this?" he thundered.

　　There was no disconcertion exhibited by the one thus challenged.

　　On the contrary, she repeated her question with a simple dignitythat still further outraged the man.

　　"Won't you, please, do something about it?""How dare you?" he shouted again. Now, there was stark wonderin his eyes as he put the question.

　　"Why, I dared," Mary Turner explained, "because you have done allthe harm you can to me. And, now, I'm trying to give you thechance to do better by the others. You ask me why I dare. Ihave a right to dare! I have been straight all my life. I havewanted decent food and warm clothes, and--a little happiness, allthe time I have worked for you, and I have gone without thosethings, just to stay straight.... The end of it all is: You aresending me to prison for something I didn't do. That's why Idare!"Cassidy, the officer in charge of Mary Turner, had stoodpatiently beside her all this while, always holding her by thewrist. He had been mildly interested in the verbal duel betweenthe big man of the department store and this convict in his ownkeeping. Vaguely, he had marveled at the success of the frailgirl in declaiming of her injuries before the magnate. He hadfelt no particular interest beyond that, merely looking on as onemight at any entertaining spectacle. The question at issue wasno concern of his. His sole business was to take the girl awaywhen the interview should be ended. It occurred to him now thatthis might, in fact, be the time to depart. It seemed, indeed,that the insistent reiteration of the girl had at last left heowner of the store quite powerless to answer. It was possible,then, that it were wiser the girl should be removed. With theidea in mind, he stared inquiringly at Gilder until he caughtthat flustered gentleman's eye. A nod from the magnate sufficedhim. Gilder, in truth, could not trust himself just then to anaudible command. He was seriously disturbed by the gently spokentruths that had issued from the girl's lips. He was not preparedwith any answer, though he hotly resented every word of heraccusation. So, when he caught the question in the glance of theofficer, he felt a guilty sensation of relief as he signified anaffirmative by his gesture.

　　Cassidy faced about, and in his movement there was a tug at thewrist of the girl that set her moving toward the door. Herrealization of what this meant was shown in her final speech.

　　"Oh, he can take me now," she said, bitterly. Then her voicerose above the monotone that had contented her hitherto. Intothe music of her tones beat something sinister, evillyvindictive, as she faced about at the doorway to which Cassidyhad led her. Her face, as she scrutinized once again the man atthe desk, was coldly malignant.

　　"Three years isn't forever," she said, in a level voice. "When Icome out, you are going to pay for every minute of them, Mr.

　　Gilder. There won't be a day or an hour that I won't rememberthat at the last it was your word sent me to prison. And you aregoing to pay me for that. You are going to pay me for the fiveyears I have starved making money for you--that, too! You aregoing to pay me for all the things I am losing today, and----"The girl thrust forth her left hand, on that side where stood theofficer. So vigorous was her movement that Cassidy's clasp wasthrown off the wrist. But the bond between the two was notbroken, for from wrist to wrist showed taut the steel chain ofthe manacles. The girl shook the links of the handcuffs in agesture stronger than words. In her final utterance to theagitated man at the desk, there was a cold threat, a prophecy ofdisaster. From the symbol of her degradation, she looked to theman whose action had placed it there. In the clashing of theirglances, hers won the victory, so that his eyes fell before themenace in hers.

　　"You are going to pay me for this!" she said. Her voice waslittle more than a whisper, but it was loud in the listener'sheart. "Yes, you are going to pay--for this!"