that I have. I do not care to live in the big house on the Hill. I know I could never learn to carry myself like the Stewart lady. But I know the working-men as well as you. I have helped you with them before, and I can help you with them now."

Richard saw clearly the hopelessness of argument. Olga sensed it, and in her expectant face he read a hopefulness of victory. To say what would be necessary to make her fully understand would be brutal, and she had already suffered much. Comprehension would come slowly, and he must let time be his ally.

"If you really want to help," he said at length, "you must let me leave it there for the present... I came today to tell you that I want you to take this flat for your own, and to keep it for your own just as long as you like."

"Won't you be coming as you always have?"

"No, not as before, Olga; for I must look after my father's property, and must live in the big house. But I shall see you often, and we will still be comrades. You must not be unhappy, for that would make it hard for me to do my work. Why not let the future take care of itself? Surely we can plan together so that each may be happy. if not in the way you think now, then in some other way."

"There is no other way," the girl declared despondently, the confidence disappearing from her face.

Richard watched her as she passed through her struggle. She realized that she could gain nothing more by pleading, and she feared lest she lose what she still might keep. If Richard should go out of her life! The

thought terrified her. He still liked her. He admitted it, and she knew that it was true. He had taken her at her word, and the present situation was of her making, not his. He had played the game straight with her, and she had no right to find fault. However deep the wound, she must conceal it now. Gradually the despair in her face gave way to a forced smile. Shyly, she extended her hand, as if in penitence for her earlier outbreak.

"I will try to make you happy," she said firmly. "That will be one way to prove how much I really love you. And I will try to make myself everything you want me to be, if perhaps some time in the future you found that I would not be in your way while you were doing your great work. But Richard . . . no matter what happens, do not forget me. If you cannot love me, keep right on liking me. You are a rich man now, and I a working-girl . . . but the honest love of any girl, whatever her station, will not hurt even a great man, will it, Richard?"

"No," he replied, touched by her devotion; "such love could be only an incentive. But what of the man's responsibility? Suppose he were inspired by such affection, was proud to acknowledge it. Suppose he would cut off his right hand rather than wound such love, yet knew that appreciation and gratitude could never be a just return. What then of him? Would it not be cowardly for him to accept from her more than he had to give?"

"Do not say it! . ." she cried, fearful lest the opportunity had been given for a final severance. "Until

I hear you say it, I shall never believe it, and you must not say it yet!"

"You are right, Olga. Nothing must interrupt our friendship, which has been and is very beautiful. If we try to force things, something may interfere. Why not leave it as it is, and enjoy together what we have had and what we still may have?"

"Yes yes, we must!" she cried impulsively. "When I was a little girl and some one was going to say something I did not wish to hear, I would put my hands over my ears. like this. See. I do it now. We are still friends, but we must no longer sip the wine together. If my lips touched yours only once more . . . if I felt my arms again around your neck, I should never let you go. But if we do not do this, perhaps I shall become strong again, as I used to be, mistress of myself, afraid of no man. You have made me afraid, Richard, for the only time in my life, . . afraid of myself."

"That is my real Olga again!" he cried. "I am proud of you! Be your own sweet, strong self, and our friendship will remain a blessing to us both. Let me feel that I need not blame myself too severely for not protecting you better. Forgive me for not realizing earlier that you were beginning to care.”

"I have nothing to forgive, Richard. You took my words as I spoke them. I thought then that I meant them. I will make myself mean them now. You have given me much. You have protected me, for if you had wished you could have done with me as you chose. Instead . . .”

"That was unthinkable," he interrupted; "for we were friends."

As he spoke she gazed at him with eyes which could not conceal her overpowering love. She dared not trust

herself further.

"Oh, Richard

you must go!" she cried. "I can

not stand it any longer!"

III

She listened to his footsteps retreating down the stairs, and then crossed over to the window where she could watch him until he passed out of sight. Long after he disappeared she stood there, as the twilight deepened. At length she turned away, and threw herself on her knees at the chair where Richard had been sitting. Barry's words came back to her with overwhelming force.

"He did not bruise the petals," she cried. "Thank God, . . because we were friends, he would not bruise the petals!"

CHAPTER XXX

R

I

ICHARD was too eager to put into practical operation the plans perfected in the solitude

of his confinement to accept much time for recuperation, but a certain period for personal readjustment was imperative. Curiously enough, he had never thought of himself as occupying, even in the future, the position held by his father. James Norton's character has been so positive, his personality so dominating, that, as one of the Directors had once pointed out to William Stewart, the question of his successor had never even been considered. After the tragedy, the executive responsibility was divided, as no single person combined the practical knowledge of the works and the personal relations with the customers. When Treadway was accepted as Norton's heir to the business, his position was obvious, and the routine of the plant seemed to be settling down upon this basis.

The outcome of the trial, however, necessitated a complete business readjustment, and for this reason Stewart, who succeeded Norton as Chairman of the Board, was anxious to discuss matters with Richard at the earliest opportunity. James Norton's son was