IF you had three thousand!" She repeated it in surprise and yet with an indescribable air, which to one versed¹ in human nature would have caught the attention and aroused strange inner inquiries². "Does the Stickney Company want money so badly as that?"
 
"That's not it. They have plainly told me that for three thousand dollars and my services they would give me ten thousand dollars' stock interest, but insist that the man who assumes the responsibility of the position must be financially interested as well. But I haven't the money, and without the money my experience appears to them valueless. I despair of getting another situation in these hard times and—Grace, you don't look sorry."
 
"Because—" she paused, and her fine eyes roamed about her jealous of a listener to her secret, but did not pierce the bush which rose up, cloudy with blossoms, a few feet behind their bench—"because it is not impossible for you to hope for those thousands. I think—I am sure that I can get them for you."
 
Her voice had sunk to a whisper, but it was a very clear whisper.
 
Young Andrews looked at her in surprise; there was something besides pleasure in that surprise.
 
"Where?" he asked.
 
She hesitated, and just at that moment the moon slipped behind a cloud.
 
"Where, Grace, can you get three thousand dollars? From Mr. Stoughton? He is generous to you, he pays[55] you well for what you do for him, but I do not think he would give you that amount, nor do I think he would risk it on any venture involving my judgment³. I should not like to have you ask him. I should like to rise feeling absolutely independent of Mr. Stoughton."
 
"I never thought of asking him. There is another way. I'd—I'd like to think it over. If your scheme is good—very good, I might be brought to aid you in the way my mind suggests. But I should want to be sure."
 
She was not looking at him now. If she had been, she might have been startled at his expression. Nor could he see her face; she had turned it aside.
 
"Grace," he prayed, "don't do anything rash. You handle so much money that three thousand dollars may seem very little to you. But it's a goodly sum to get or to replace if one[56] loses it. You must not borrow——"
 
"I will not borrow."
 
"Nor raise it in any way without telling me the sacrifice you must make to obtain it. But it's all a dream; tell me that it's all a dream; you were talking from your wishes, not from any certainty you have. Say so, and I will not be disappointed. I do not want your money; I'd rather go poor and wait till the times change. Don't you see? I'd be more of a man."
 
"But you'd have to take it if I gave it to you, and—perhaps I shall. I want to see you happy, Philip; I must see you happy. I'd be willing to risk a good deal for that. I'm not so happy myself, father suffers so, and the care of it weighs on me. You are all I have to make me glad, and when you are troubled my heart goes down, down. But it's getting late, dear. It's time we went home. Don't ask me what's in my mind, but dream of riches. I'm sure they will come. You shall earn them with the three thousand dollars you want and which I will give you."
 
"I shall earn them honestly," were the last words he said, as they rose from the seat and began to move toward the gate. And the moon, coming out from its temporary eclipse, shone on his clear-cut face as he said this, but not on her bowed head and sidelong look. They were in the shadow.
 
There was something else in the shadow. As they moved away and disappeared in the darkness the long, slim figure of a man rose from behind the bush I have mentioned. He had a sparkling eye and a thin-lipped mouth, and he smiled very curiously⁴ as he looked after the pair before turning himself about and going the other way.
 
It was not Fellows; it was his chosen confederate in the nefarious⁵ scheme they had planned between them.