"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Denton, quickly, "and I hope you are feeling entirely recovered."

Mr. Forbes bowed slightly, as he dropped into a chair.

"Mr. Forbes," said Mr. Denton, "I am ashamed of myself! I never knew until to-day that I was such a scoundrel!"

He pointed to the paper that he still held in his hand, and in a very few words repeated his late conversation.

"That is necessary in business," said Mr. Forbes shortly, "and it is, to say the least, peculiar that you shouldn't know it!"

"Well, it's an infamous trick!" was Mr. Denton's rejoinder. "Just think of the poor people whom we have defrauded in that manner!"

"I prefer to think of the dollars it has brought into our pockets," said Mr. Forbes sullenly, "and now that we are on the subject, I may as well say, Mr. Denton, that I am sick and tired of this whole idiotic business!"

"Do you wish to sell out?"

Mr. Denton spoke calmly. "If so, name your price while I have the money to pay you."

"Oh, you do expect to fail, then? You still have sense enough for that!" said Mr. Forbes quickly. "Then, why not give up your fad at once and run the business properly?"

"Do you mean as we have been running it?" asked Mr. Denton, with a sharp glance at him.

"Certainly, with a few modifications, perhaps," was the equally sharp answer.

"Never!"

Mr. Denton's voice rang out like the blast of a trumpet.

"Go back to such infamous practices? Never!"

"Very well, then," said Mr. Forbes, with sudden anger in his voice, "I do wish to sell out! What will you give me for my interest?"

Mr. Denton wheeled around, and looked at him eagerly.

"I had hoped you would see things differently," he said at last. "I thought that perhaps you would appreciate my desire, which is to make myself more worthy of the God that made me."

Mr. Forbes shifted uneasily, and finally rose from his chair. He was plainly disturbed over the situation.

"I do appreciate your efforts, and I honor them, in a way," he said slowly, "but I have not the courage to make such a sacrifice myself, and I very much doubt if such a sacrifice is demanded. A proper observance of religion is enough; a man need not crucify his worldly ambitions in order to be worthy of heaven."

"'Let him take up his cross and follow Me,'" quoted Mr. Denton. "My cross is to do exactly as I am doing. It is not easy to bear, but I am happy in bearing it."

"But where will it lead to?" asked Mr. Forbes eagerly. "What proof have you that your reward will come? This may be a delusion that you are following."

"I am willing to risk it," said Mr. Denton, solemnly. "It is the best a man can do to follow his conscience."

"But there are duties to one's family that must be considered," urged Mr. Forbes. "A man cannot rightfully ignore the fact that he is of the earth, earthy, and that there is something tangible needed before we soar into the mysteries."

"He must ignore nothing," said Mr. Denton, gravely, "but, as I said before, he must follow his conscience."

"Well, I should like to stay with you, but I cannot do it," said Mr. Forbes, "for, while I sympathize with your feelings in many respects, yet I cannot indorse your unbusiness-like actions. If you think my interest here is worth fifty thousand dollars, you can give me that amount, and I will go—then you will be free to spend your fortune according to any freak of your fancy."

"You are more just in your dealings than I expected," said Mr. Denton, flushing a little. "After my experience with Mr. Day, I did not look for any mercy."

"Oh, I have a conscience, too," said Mr. Forbes, grimly, "and while I did not know it until lately, it has made me very uncomfortable, I can assure you."

There was a genuine ring in his voice as he spoke, and as Mr. Denton detected it, he rose and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

"Better stay with me, brother, and let us work together," he said gently. "In the vineyard of the Master there can be no unrewarded labor."

Mr. Forbes shook his head and turned away.

"We can attend to the legal details some other time," he said briefly. "You are busy to-day, so I will not detain you."

Mr. Denton sat down at his desk again, and as the door closed behind his partner he bowed his head upon his bosom.

"Alone and yet not alone," he whispered softly. "God grant me strength to do my duty, and if my lot is failure, let me accept it bravely. It is all a man can do. He must follow his conscience."

The door opened again, and Faith Marvin entered. She had her hat on, and was ready for the visit to Maggie Brady.

"I wonder what she wishes to see me for?" said her employer, musingly. "Is she desirous of upbraiding me, do you think, Miss Marvin?"

"Why should she upbraid you?" asked Faith, very soberly. "You certainly are not to blame for the actions of your son, and as for her arrest, you simply had to do it."

"She may say that I should have protected her from him," he answered. "Some way I blame myself continually in that particular direction."

"A girl should be able to protect herself," said Faith sternly. "I can't quite understand such weakness in women, unless it is, as poor Miss Jennings used to say, 'the iniquities of the fathers visited upon generations of the innocent.'"

"I believe that fully," said Mr. Denton with a sigh. "It is one reason why I am merciful in my own boy's case—my sins have been perpetuated! Can I ever efface them?"

They left the building together, going out of one of the side doors. Just as they reached the sidewalk a handsome carriage drew up before the entrance.

"Why, that is my own carriage!" exclaimed Mr. Denton quickly.

The next instant James Denton sprang from the carriage and came face to face with Faith and his father.



CHAPTER XXXV.

MAGGIE BRADY'S SECRET.

"What is it? Is anything wrong?" asked Mr. Denton quickly.

"Mother is worse," was the short answer. "She's gone out of her head completely."

Mr. Denton paused and rubbed his brow perplexedly.

"Oh, what is it, sir?" asked Faith eagerly. "Is your wife really ill? I have heard it rumored that she was, but I did not know whether to believe it."

"She is, indeed!" exclaimed young Denton, looking angrily at his father; "and she has every reason to be. It is only natural."

"Hush!" exclaimed Mr. Denton sternly. "You shall not criticise my actions. As your father, I expect and demand your silence. I am responsible to God alone—not to my wife or family."

"Well, you will have her to answer for, just the same," said the son, sullenly. "She can't see you throwing away your money and keep her senses much longer."

"For shame!" cried Faith hotly. "Can't you see, Mr. Denton, that your father is sorely distressed? How dare you trample upon his feelings in such a brutal manner?"

James Denton wheeled around and faced the speaker.

"My mother is going crazy," he said, almost gently. "You must pardon me, Miss Marvin, but I love my mother."

Mr. Denton opened the carriage door and motioned for Faith to enter. There was a look in his face that permitted no misunderstanding.

"Your mother's doctor and nurse are with her, are they not? Then I shall not be needed for an hour, and I have an important engagement. I am going to call upon Maggie Brady, one of my son's unfortunate victims," he added slowly.

James Denton turned as pale as death as he listened to these words. For a moment it looked as if he were about to spring forward and drag his father from the carriage in order to prevent this visit. In a second they were rattling away from the door. Faith's last glance showed the young man still standing motionless and livid.

"He fears something from the interview," was her first quick thought. She glanced up at Mr. Denton. It was plainly to be seen by his face that he shared her suspicions.

They were admitted at once to the corridor of the jail, and the keeper allowed Miss Brady to join them.

"How are you to-day, Maggie?" asked Faith as sweetly as she could. "You see, I have kept my promise. I have brought Mr. Denton to see you."

"My poor child!" said Mr. Denton, offering Miss Brady his hand. "I am more than sorry to have been the means of bringing you here; but I had no alternative. I had to do my duty."

"Oh, I don't lay it up against you," said the girl, almost coldly. She had drawn away from him quickly and put her hands behind her. "I suppose you thought I was a dangerous person to be at large—well, perhaps you were right; there's no telling what a jealous woman will do. Did they tell you, Mr. Denton, that I was jealous of Miss Marvin?"

There was a steely ring to her tones as she said the words, and the glance of her eyes was both cold and cruel.

"I heard that it was on account of my son," was Mr. Denton's sad answer. "I am very sorry indeed, Miss Brady, if James ever deceived you."

"Oh, he hasn't deceived me a bit," said the girl quickly. "On the contrary, he took pains to parade his attentions before me."

She laughed a harsh, grating laugh as she answered. Mr. Denton looked puzzled. He could not understand her.

"But perhaps you expected too much from his attentions," said Mr. Denton gently. "Young men are often unscrupulous and say more than they mean to young women. Perhaps he led you to believe that he cared more for you than he did, and in this way gained your affections and did not appreciate them."

"He did all that," said the girl, very coldly; "and I was not the woman to endure such treatment calmly. I'm sorry if I was mistaken in Miss Marvin's part in the matter. She says she was innocent, and I'm willing to believe her."

"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Mr. Denton kindly. "I have already tried to get your case dismissed, and as Miss Marvin refuses to appear against you I think we shall be successful. But if there is anything that James has done—any wrong that I can right, you have only to say so, and I will try to do my duty."

Miss Brady stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement. She could hardly believe that it was Mr. Denton who was speaking. As her employer he had always been cold and distant. She had never looked on him as anything more or less than a despot and tyrant.

"Mr. Denton is perfectly sincere, Maggie," said Faith quickly as she noticed the amazement depicted on her countenance.

"But I don't understand," said the girl, still staring.

"Let me explain," said Faith quickly, "and you must try and believe me, Maggie. Both Mr. Denton and myself are thinking only of your good. We want to help you to see this awful sin which you have committed in the right light—that is, as a sin not only against yourself and your fellow beings, but against the God who made you and who wishes you to love Him."

As she spoke she put her arms around the girl in an affectionate manner. Maggie did not draw away, but remained silent and passive.

"You see, Maggie, you are not wronging any one by your bad temper and your stubbornness as much as you are wronging yourself. These sins always react on one's self, you know. They may hurt and grieve others in some degree, but they sear your own heart with the wounds of agony and shut the light of God's tenderness from your soul. Can you not see it, Maggie, how you have marred your own happiness? Do try, dear, to humble your stubborn spirit? Ask God to help you forgive those who wrong you. Believe me, it will make you far happier than this cowardly revenge."

Faith's tones were so beseeching that Mr. Denton was touched beyond expression. He had never seen a more holy sight than this young girl pleading with tears in her eyes with an erring sister.

"It's easy for you to talk," muttered Maggie finally. "Your life has been different from mine. What do you know of trouble?"

"A great deal," said Faith quickly. "If I did not I could not feel as I do. Why, it is through my own experience that I have come to feel this sympathy for others."

"But you don't understand," said the woman more bitterly. "By 'trouble' I do not mean just hard luck and poverty."

"I think I do understand, Maggie," said Faith, more softly. "And I can still say sincerely that I am very sorry for you. I believe that you have been more sinned against than any of us realize."

"I have, indeed!" cried Miss Brady, sharply. Her lips twitched convulsively and tears trembled on her lashes.

"Then God will surely pity you," cried Faith, almost cheerily. "He will understand the length and breadth of your temptation, Maggie, as well as the injustice which you have suffered."

The poor girl gazed at Faith a moment and then burst out crying.

"Oh, I have been wronged most fearfully," she whispered between her sobs. "And I could not help it. I could bear the agony no longer!"

As she spoke she thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress. In another second she had drawn forth a crumpled paper.

"Read it!" she said hoarsely, holding it out toward Mr. Denton. "Read it, and tell me if you blame me for doing as I did, and after you have read it say again that you will help me!"

With a quick wave of horror coursing through his brain, Mr. Denton took the paper and quickly unfolded it.

Only a glance was needed to show him what it was. Mr. Denton staggered to a chair, his face pale and haggard.

"Oh, what is it?" asked Faith, looking from one to the other.

Maggie Brady gave a short, hoarse laugh as she replied:

"Only the certificate of my marriage to young James Denton!"



CHAPTER XXXVI.

JIM DENTON'S CONFESSION.

As Maggie Brady made her startling announcement Faith's heart seemed to stop beating. She felt faint and dizzy, and spread out her hands before her as if to ward off something that was fast overcoming her.

She tried to speak, but the words died upon her lips. In another moment she lost consciousness entirely and slipped heavily to the floor of the corridor.

Mr. Denton sprang to his feet and attempted to raise her, while Maggie Brady stood like a statue, with her hands clasped tightly together.

"Poor girl! your news has shocked her," said Mr. Denton absently. "She was over-anxious and excited about your welfare."

"Men are easily deceived," was Maggie Brady's sad answer. "I can explain her condition more reasonably than that—the girl is in love with your son—my husband! I thought so before, now I am absolutely certain!"

One of the jailers came in just then and led Maggie to her cell, and as the door closed behind her Faith came slowly to her senses.

When she had revived completely, Mr. Denton led her quickly from the jail. He was too shocked and grieved himself to wish to remain another moment. During the ride back to the store there was hardly a word spoken in the carriage, for both Mr. Denton and Faith were in the most distressed condition of mind.

In Mr. Denton's mind two thoughts were uppermost, his son's wickedness in the past and his duty in the future. At any other time he would have known how to act, but now he was sorely puzzled. Faith, on the other hand, was hiding her face from almost shame, for she had learned a secret in that brief moment at the jail which was overwhelming her soul in a flood of self-censure.

The fair face of James Denton was constantly before her. His pleading eyes and glances of admiration haunted her. She felt, what she would not own even admit to herself, that in spite of his wickedness she was deeply in love with him.

"It does not seem possible," Mr. Denton said at last. "I know my son was thoughtless, but I did not believe him wicked."

Faith could not speak; she was crying softly. The knowledge of her love had completely crushed her.

"Let me go home, please," she murmured, as her employer helped her from the carriage. "I am afraid I am too nervous to remain at the store."

"Certainly," said Mr. Denton, "and I shall soon follow your example, for if my wife is as ill as my son said, it is my duty to neglect everything and remain at her bedside."

"But has she really lost her reason?" asked Faith, a little timidly.

Mr. Denton sighed heavily before he answered.

"She is worrying unnecessarily to a great extent, I think," he said calmly. "She sees in my new methods and actions only the probable financial results; she cannot see that I am honestly trying to do my duty—to share my large fortune with my fellow-beings."

"But is it not possible to follow your conscience and still prosper?" asked Faith, anxiously.

"That is a question that I cannot answer, Miss Marvin, at this stage of the experiment, but, judging from the present outlook, godliness cannot be profitable from a worldly point of view. But from the spiritual, I am satisfied that it is a success; the consciousness of well-doing is enough for the Christian."

Faith pondered over his words as she hurried home. She was glad that he had awakened a new train of thought, as it enabled her to compose herself from her late excitement.

When she reached her mother's home she found both Mr. Watkins and Mrs. Graham, who had called to get acquainted with little Dick and to tell Mrs. Marvin their plans for his future. It was hard to part with him, but it was clearly for the best. Mrs. Graham could give him advantages that would be impossible to Mrs. Marvin.

This transaction permitted Faith to regain her composure entirely, so that when they were gone she was able to tell her mother all that had happened at the jail.

Mrs. Marvin was shocked and pained at the recital.

"Poor child," she said, sorrowfully, "to think she is really his wife. I wonder what could have been their motive for keeping it a secret!"

Faith shook her head. She did not care to even conjecture. It was a subject that cut her heart like a two-edged sword, for, try as she would, she could not condemn James Denton.

An hour later the maid brought her in a card. Faith could hardly control her feelings as she saw that her caller was no other than young Denton.

"He must have been following me," she said to her mother, "else how did he know that I was not at the store?"

Her mother smiled sadly, but did not answer.

Faith entered the parlor as calmly as she could, but her limbs were trembling and the tears were very near to falling. She knew that she should spurn the coward, whom her whole soul despised, but she could not do it; her strength deserted her.

James Denton rose suddenly as she entered the door. He looked like a ghost—he was so pale and haggard. Before she realized it, Faith extended her hand, then she drew it back quickly with a sudden revulsion.

"No, don't offer to shake hands with me," said James Denton, slowly. "I am not fit to touch the hem of your garment, Miss Marvin."

Faith looked at him as he stood there, pale, hollow-eyed and dejected, then with almost a cry she burst out impulsively:

"Oh, how could you do such a thing, Mr. Denton? How did you dare to wrong that poor girl as you have? Don't you know that in so doing you have branded yourself a coward?"

"So she has told you and saved me from doing so?"

Young Denton breathed a sigh of relief. He had come too late with his awful confession.

"Yes, she told us, your father and me," said Faith, faintly. "Oh, it is dreadful—dreadful; I can't understand it!"

"Neither can I," said James Denton, with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I have never understood how I came to do it. I was a fool—an imbecile—a lunatic, Miss Marvin. I married the girl without even dreaming that I loved her."

Faith stared at him in surprise as he spoke the words. She was conscious even of a flutter of happiness as she listened to the confession.

"Then why did you marry her?" she asked at last. She watched eagerly to hear his answer.

"It was all done for a lark," began the young man. "We were out with some friends, Miss Brady and I, and I—I suppose we had all been drinking too much; then some one suggested a wedding, and I was fool enough to play the bridegroom."

"And you did not love her?"

Faith asked the question slowly.

"Not a bit, Miss Marvin; I liked her, of course. But she was in love with me; I discovered that later."

"Why did you not own her as your wife?"

Faith hardly knew her own voice as she asked this. It hardly seemed possible that she could speak so calmly.

Mr. Denton looked at her sharply before he replied.

"You can guess that surely," he said very softly. "Rascal that I was, I was ashamed to own her."

After a minute he went on with almost desperate calmness, as though he was determined to tell the whole of the distressing secret.

"I told her that dad would disown me if he knew that I had married her, but that if she would wait until I was twenty-one, that there would be no more danger of my losing my money. Mag likes money, you know, and she consented readily, but when she saw me flirting with the other girls, as I had to, you see, to make every one think that I was still single, her jealousy got the best of her, and you know what happened."

"Well, you will have to own her now," said Faith in almost a whisper.

She had been praying silently for strength to say it calmly.

"Never!" cried young Denton with a flash of anger in his eyes.

"Own a murderess for my wife—never! never! Miss Marvin!"

"Then I shall despise you," said Faith, with a flush of color in her cheeks. "For it is the only thing you can do to right the wrong that you have done her."

"But I can't. Indeed, I can't!" cried the young man, wildly. "Don't you see, Miss Marvin, that I have nothing to give her, no love, no respect, not even friendship?"

"But you must own her, just the same," said Faith, decidedly. "Maggie was a good girl once; it is love for you that has ruined her."

James Denton was even paler than when he entered as he answered her, and there was a tone in his voice that made Faith shudder.

"Two wrongs cannot make one right, Miss Marvin," he said, firmly, "and to live with Maggie would be as great a wrong as the first, for I cannot do so honorably while I love another."

Faith looked up at him quickly and found his gaze riveted on her face. For a moment she seemed drawn to him as if by a magnet, then the revulsion came again and she raised both hands imploringly.

"Go, go, Mr. Denton!" she cried in a sharp whisper. "Please go before you say what is in your heart, for your words can only add cruel mockery to dishonor!"



CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE BLESSING OF REPENTANCE.

A week passed before Faith went to the store again. She was too utterly miserable to think of resuming her duties.

Mr. Watkins called on her every night to bring her news of the store, and by this means she kept track of all Mr. Denton's changes.

One night Mr. Watkins had mentioned a number of things which had benefited the clerks as well as the customers, and in concluding his recital he sighed very heavily, an indication to Faith that there was something more behind it.

"Why do you sigh, Mr. Watkins?" she asked, abruptly. "It seems to me that these changes should bring nothing but smiles, they are such necessary reforms, yet they have been so long in coming."

"I was thinking of Mr. Denton, I suppose," was the answer. "He's such a good man now that I hate to see him go to the wall completely. Why, Miss Marvin, have you any idea what these reforms have cost? I cannot tell you the figures exactly, of course; but the bills for the past month are enough to frighten one. If he continues his present methods he will not be in business a year longer."

"I thought so," said Mrs. Marvin, quickly. "Religion and business cannot be combined. The man who follows his conscience is sure to lose money."

"But he gains that which is better," spoke up Faith, quickly. "Ask Mr. Denton if this is not true. He has found it so already."

"Well, his poor wife doesn't share his sentiments," said Mr. Watkins, "for she has worried so fearfully over his enormous losses already that she is now on the verge of losing her reason."

"Poor soul," said Mrs. Marvin; "she must be a very worldly woman, for, while extreme poverty is cruel, still, she will probably never reach that condition."

"I am not so sure," replied Mr. Watkins, "but even moderate comfort would be cruel to her, for she was born and has always lived in the lap of luxury."

"I suppose the news of her son's wickedness has distressed her also," said Mrs. Marvin, slowly.

Faith's cheeks flushed hotly, and she bent her head over her sewing,

"She has tried to get him to have the marriage annulled," was Mr. Watkins' answer. "It could easily be done, as both parties were intoxicated."

"And will not the young man agree?" asked Mrs. Marvin, mildly. "I should think he would be just the kind to jump at the opportunity."

"His father will not hear of it," said Mr. Watkins, "and of late even the young man himself has shown a willingness to own her."

Faith raised her head with a light shining in her eyes.

"Then he is not altogether bad," she said, very quickly. "If he does right to Maggie now we ought all to forgive him."

She spoke so earnestly that, both her mother and Mr. Watkins looked at her sharply.

If her mother understood her eagerness, she did not betray it, but with Mr. Watkins it was different. He understood and was nettled.

"Is Mr. Day in business again?" asked Mrs. Marvin, who seemed suddenly to find it necessary to change the conversation.

"No, he has gone abroad to spend his money," answered Mr. Watkins. "He says that he made a small fortune out of another man's religion, and that is far more than he has ever made out of his own, for that was never known to bring him in a penny."

"That is a dreadful thing to say," replied Mrs. Marvin, slowly, "for, while I do not get much comfort out of my belief in God, still, I realize that, it is my own stubbornness that keeps me from it. Some day I hope to understand it better."

"You certainly will, dear mother," said Faith, brightly, "but if you would only stop trying to understand! If you would only accept it as a little child, and then trust to the Heavenly Father to lead you!"

"I will some day, Faith—I am sure of it," answered her mother. "I shall be saved, not only through my own faith, but through that of my daughter."

"Her trust is sublime," said Mr. Watkins, gently. "I shall never forget how she comforted my poor Mary."

"She comforts every one," said Mrs. Marvin, smiling, "I named her rightly—don't you think so, Mr. Watkins?"

"You did, indeed," said the young man, tenderly. "It will be a lucky man, indeed, who can say 'My Faith,' and by those words indicate your daughter, Mrs. Marvin."

"Oh, don't!" said Faith, laughing. "You are mocking, Mr. Watkins."

Like her mother, she, too, found it convenient to change the subject.

"And how about Mr. Forbes? Have you heard anything of his plans?" she asked, eagerly. "I have heard it rumored that he, too, was trying to follow his conscience."

Mr. Watkins smiled as he answered her question.

"He is trying to do what many men have done before him. He is trying to buy his conscience with the money he makes dishonestly, or, in other words, he is a sinner on week-days and a saint on Sundays. Why, they tell me he has started in business for himself, and with what he can gouge from the just wages of his employees he pays pew rent and gives to the heathen. It is the same old story—hypocrisy and greed! Drain the blood of the poor in order to build monuments to their ashes!"

Mr. Watkins spoke bitterly and with a tightening of the lips.

He was thinking of Miss Jennings as he finished his utterance.

After he had gone Mrs. Marvin spoke suddenly to Faith.

"Do you know, dear," she said, simply, "I believe Mr. Watkins is learning to love you! He is a fine young man. Do you think you could care for him?"

"Oh, no, no, mother! Don't ever speak of such a thing!" cried Faith, as if the suggestion hurt her.

Mrs. Marvin looked at her keenly. Her suspicions were being verified.

The next morning Faith was well enough to report for duty, and the very atmosphere of the store seemed changed as she entered.

Miss Fairbanks greeted her with honest cordiality. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke to Faith of Maggie Brady.

"Poor girl," she whispered; "she feels dreadful about her lot. She wishes she had kept silent forever about being Jim's wife and allowed him to free himself, which he could have done very easily."

"But I thought she loved him," said Faith, faintly.

"So she does," was the answer; "but she knows it was wrong for her to marry as she did. She says she knew he did not love her, and felt sure that he would never own her."

"But he does now," said Faith, with a questioning look at the buyer.

"Yes, I believe he has admitted that she is really his wife, but the poor girl has demanded that the marriage be annulled."

Faith looked up eagerly, but she could not frame her question.

"She has been praying, she tells me," said Miss Fairbanks, continuing, "and she says it is her duty to give Jim up, for to live with him would be wicked when he does not love her."

Faith heard only the first words that Miss Fairbanks had spoken. Poor Maggie had been praying; then her heart was softened.

"She is out, you know, and free as air," continued Miss Fairbanks, "but she is not coming back to the store. Mr. Denton has made her an allowance."

"And you, Miss Fairbanks?" asked Faith, very softly. "Are you praying, too, or is it not yet the Lord's time? I am anxious for you to be happy in the 'light of His countenance.'"

Miss Fairbanks laid her hand upon the young girl's shoulder.

"Thank God," she said devoutly; "at last I am praying."

As Faith moved on toward her counter she saw Miss Jones waiting for her. There was something in the girl's manner that struck Faith as unfamiliar.

"Miss Marvin," she said, the moment Faith stepped behind the counter, "I am a rude, treacherous person, and I have wronged you cruelly! Have you the grace in your heart to forgive a traitor?"

Faith grasped her hand, while the tears sprang to her eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive, dear Miss Jones," she said, gently. "We have been sisters from the first, only you did not understand it; but tell me, is it through Miss Fairbanks that you feel so differently?"

"Partly through her and partly through Mag Brady," was the honest answer. "Mag has told me how you talked to her, and she also told me what her husband said, that it was through your influence that he was now willing to own her."

"Did Mr. Denton say that?" asked Faith, speaking slowly.

"He did," said Miss Jones, promptly, "and Mag just blesses you for it."

If Faith had felt one misgiving over that particular action, it vanished now like a bit of vapor.

Mag "blessed" her for the words that had hurt her so to speak. Surely there was balm for all wounds, even those which burned the deepest.

Faith's morning was the happiest she had ever known in the store and at the luncheon hour, as she went to the cloak-room, she had but one wish in her heart, and that was for the conversion of wicked Lou Willis.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

LOU IS CAUGHT AT LAST.

As Faith passed Mr. Denton's office on the way to the cloak-room she heard a woman's voice raised to a very high pitch, and immediately recognized it as belonging to Miss Willis.

She had hardly had time to wonder what had occurred, when the door flew open and she had a good look right straight into the office.

Ben Tyler, the detective, was standing with his hand on the door and a very ugly expression on his face, while a few feet further back stood Mr. Denton, apparently trying to reason with the infuriated woman.

One glance was enough to tell Faith what had happened. Lou had been stealing again, and the detective had caught her.

For a moment the young girl hardly knew what to do, and in that momentary hesitation she heard what Lou was saying.

"He's a sneak and a liar!" she screamed, pointing at the detective. "He can't prove that I stole anything! I defy him to do it!"

"But the goods were found in your pocket," said Mr. Denton, firmly.

"Oh, that doesn't prove anything," was the girl's quick answer. "It's very easy for any one to put stolen goods in my pocket; it's been done before, and both of you know it!"

"But I saw you take the watch," said the detective, angrily. "So what's the use of denying it any longer!"

Faith was hurrying away now as fast as she could go. She knew it was not her place to interfere in such matters.

"A month ago I might have done so," she whispered to herself, "but now that Mr. Denton is a Christian, he will deal mercifully with her."

When she reached the cloak-room the utmost excitement prevailed, and the first words that Faith heard distinctly were spoken by the "head of stock" in the jewelry department.

"I've suspected her for a long time," she said, a little viciously. "She's a good-for-nothing, anyway, who isn't above stealing!"

"They say her father was a thief; so it runs in the family, I guess," said another voice; "and then, her mother was a bad character; so Lou comes by it honestly!"

"Oh, girls! don't!" cried Faith, who could endure it no longer. "Please don't say such cruel things! It is dreadful to bear them!"

"Well, they are true, so why shouldn't we say them?" asked one.

"She's been caught 'dead to rights,' so what's the use of mincing matters?" said another.

"But does it do any good to bring up all these things?" asked Faith. "If the poor girl 'comes honestly by them,' should we not be charitable even in speaking of her?"

"There is something in that," spoke up a woman that Faith did not know, "It's another case of the 'sins of the fathers being visited upon the children.' If there was nothing else in the world to keep me from believing in a God, that verse in the Bible would surely do it!"

"Well, I don't need that verse," said another voice, "for the misery and injustice on earth are enough to prove that no God of love or mercy could possibly have ordained it."

"But don't we make a great deal of the injustice and misery for ourselves?" asked Faith, very soberly; "for instance, hasn't Lou just made a lot of misery for herself? She knew she could not go on stealing forever without being punished."

"She probably couldn't help it," was the hesitating answer. "Perhaps she is a kleptomaniac—you know there are such people."

"Oh, but they are always rich people, who can afford to pay the judge for letting them off easy!" said one of the girls, laughing. "When a poor woman steals she's an out-and-out thief; but when a rich woman steals she's a kleptomaniac."

A laugh followed this explanation, but Faith could not join in it. Her thoughts were too full of the fate which had overtaken Lou, and which she knew was only a natural consequence.

Suddenly there was a scream from the direction of Mr. Denton's office, then another, and another, each more shrill and vibrating.

Without a moment's hesitation every girl in the cloak-room started for the stairs. When they got there they saw a sight that made them pale with horror.

Lou Willis was struggling like a maniac between two officers, who were trying to snap a pair of handcuffs on her wrists.

They were both powerful men, but the girl was resisting them fiercely. She slapped and scratched their faces, all the time shrieking her vituperations.

They finally succeeded in locking the "bracelets" and forcing her into a chair—she was too thoroughly exhausted to hold out much longer.

"Do you mean to say that she isn't crazy?" whispered one of the girls on the stairs.

The tears flowed down Faith's cheeks, but she answered the whisper.

"Poor Lou! Poor Lou! She must be crazy! No woman could act or even feel like that and be in her right senses!"

The door of the office was suddenly closed, and, as Lou was silent now, the girls trooped slowly back to the cloak-room.

"They'll take her away as soon as she's quiet," said one, "and that will mean at least six months on Blackwell's Island."

"She's been there before, I think," spoke up a cash girl. "You know, she was caught stealing in another store, but Denton, Day & Co. didn't know it."

"Did you know it when she came here?"

It was Miss Jones who asked the question. She had come in just in time to hear the last of the conversation.

"Of course I knew it, but what of that? Suppose I was going to prevent the girl from earning her living?"

"But didn't you think she'd be apt to steal again?"

The girl laughed coarsely before she answered.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I hoped she would!" she said, glibly. "I would like to have seen her get away with the whole establishment! What were Denton, Day & Co. doing about that time, I'd like to know? Weren't they robbing the poor devils who made their goods, cheating their customers with inferior garments and exorbitant prices, and last, but not least, weren't they wearing the souls out of our bodies with the system of slavery that they employed in the building? What did I care who cheated them or even who robbed them? Wouldn't they grind me to death just as they did poor Miss Jennings? Of course, if it should happen now I should feel very different; still, I'm a good deal sorrier for Lou than I am for Mr. Denton!"

"We would all feel different now," spoke up Faith very quickly. "We would all scorn to be disloyal to such a good employer as Mr. Denton!"

"He's the best friend we girls ever had," spoke up another clerk. "Why, we are in heaven now, compared with what we were a month ago! Shorter hours, bigger pay, no slave-drivers over us, and, best of all, we are treated like human beings. There is no more of that feeling that we are a lot of cattle!"

"The Lord be praised for all His goodness," said Faith, devoutly, "for what but His mercy has enacted this change? It is a demonstration of His love through His servant, Mr. Denton."

"You are right, Miss Marvin," said Miss Jones, firmly. "There is no power on earth that could have altered these conditions, and I for one am ready and glad to admit it!"

Faith looked at the speaker with beaming eyes. It delighted her to witness her companion's fearless demeanor.

"There they go! Lou and the officers!" cried cash girl Number 83. "They are almost carrying her down the stairs! I wouldn't be in her shoes for a thousand dollars."

"Perhaps she'll repent, like poor Mag Brady," said Miss Jones, thoughtfully. "After Mag's wonderful conversion, I feel that there is hope for all of us."

Faith wiped the tears from her eyes as she saw the last of Lou.

"Though your sins be as scarlet—" She could not finish the verse. The next instant she burst out crying—she was weeping for Lou Willis.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE PENANCE FOR SIN.

Maggie Brady had been free for exactly a week, but the prison pallor had not yet left her features.

Thanks to Mr. Denton, she had a comfortable home and her husband was awaiting for permission to join her.

She had not seen Faith since that day in the jail when she read the girl's carefully guarded secret, but in the few short interviews which she had with her husband she learned that which caused her to bless the young girl fervently.

James Denton told her honestly that he did not love her, but his manner as he said it was gentle, even tender.

He regretted his foolish marriage, both for her sake and his own, still he was ready now to do his whole duty by her, and it was Faith Marvin's words that had taught him that duty.

But Maggie Brady was a greatly changed woman. There were thoughts in her heart which she revealed to no one, but which influenced her every deed and decision. She had gone over and over her wasted life and could find no blame for any one individual, for, looked at from all points, it was conditions that were her enemies, conditions made by the rich in their greed of plunder.

If she had been stronger she might have combatted these conditions, but the uselessness of such a struggle had been demonstrated by so many—she did not have courage or faith in her own ability to conquer.

Like hundreds of poor girls, she had drifted from bad to worse, until that mad marriage to Jim Denton capped the climax of her wickedness.

Now, with her newly awakened understanding she desired to do penance for her sin. It was a part of that old religion which she had long ago discarded.

At the confessional she told her wrongdoing and received absolution so far as it is in the power of God's mediators to absolve one, but to promise to live, uprightly forevermore did not satisfy her soul. She felt the need of further self-abnegation; she must crucify body and spirit to complete the penance.

With the calmness, even exultation, of a martyr she made her preparations. There were wishes to be expressed and letters to be written.

One of these letters reached Faith as she sat with her mother early one evening; the writing so faint and uneven that she could hardly decipher it.

"Oh, mother! mother!" she cried as she perused it. "Quick! get on your hat and come with me! The letter is from Maggie—she is sick—or dying!"

As they hurried from the house Mr. Watkins joined them. In five minutes they were in a carriage driving swiftly toward Maggie's address.

As Faith opened the door leading to Maggie's rooms she came upon a scene that nearly paralyzed her senses.

Poor Maggie was half lying and half sitting upon a couch, her husband supporting her tenderly while Miss Fairbanks stood by administering a cordial. There was another person in the room whom Faith knew at once to be a physician, but she had eyes nor ears for no one but Maggie.

"Oh, you poor, dear child! What has happened?" she asked quickly as she went over and knelt by the side of the poor creature.

"I thought you would come," whispered Maggie faintly. "I wanted to see you, oh, so much! I wanted—to—thank—you!"

She lay back on her pillow with a stifled groan while James Denton wiped her brow—his own the color of ashes.

"You were so good," murmured poor Maggie again as Faith leaned over her. "You taught me, to pray. May the good God bless you."

She closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her lips. In an instant the physician took her wrist between his fingers.

"Gone," he said, softly, "the poor child is at rest. Cheer up, Mr. Denton, your wife is in heaven."

"Thanks to her," whispered James Denton, with a look toward Faith. She was kneeling, convulsed with sorrow, with her mother's arms about her.

No one really knew how the secret leaked out first, for the physician, acting as he thought wise, refrained from telling it openly, but Faith soon learned that Maggie's death was not natural—she had died by her own hand—it was her full and complete penance.

"It is not for us to judge," whispered Mrs. Marvin when she heard it.

"God alone knew her thoughts," was Faith's tearful answer.

When the news reached the store, even Mr. Denton wept. It was the end of a familiar but heart-rending tragedy.

And now it came time for Faith to change her plans—for reasons of her own she felt that she must stay behind the counter no longer.

James Denton had gone abroad, so she put him out of her thoughts as completely as possible; only a vagrant memory now and then showed her the lurking shadow of her girlish passion.

As soon as she could she had a talk with Mr. Denton, whom she found, as usual, busily working in his office.

"See, Miss Marvin," he said almost gayly as Faith entered the door, "here are a dozen letters from Christian people this morning, all congratulating me on the changes in my store! I have been getting a few every day, but this is a splendid showing! Here is one," he added, selecting an envelope, "who even offers to put a large sum of money at my disposal just as soon as I have proven that Christianity is practicable and profitable."

"And can you do this, sir?" asked Faith very eagerly.

A hopeful expression flitted across Mr. Denton's face.

"Mr. Gibson tells me that our business is increasing every day," he answered slowly, "and that the poor people are flocking in to look at our honest bargains, and you see here I have proof that the rich people are watching us."

"Oh, I shall be so glad!—so thankful!" said Faith, with a bright smile. "I was sure you would be rewarded for setting such a noble example! But I have come to ask a favor, Mr. Denton," she added, softly. "I want you to give me another position in your store instead of the one I occupy at present."

Mr. Denton looked at her, and understood at once.

"In other words, you wish to enlarge your field of usefulness, do you not, Miss Marvin? You think you can shed the light more successfully if you have a wider scope of action."

"That is it exactly," was Faith's glad answer; "but please, Mr. Denton, I don't wish any salary."

Mr. Denton glanced up in a little surprise. He had not yet even heard of her change of fortune.

"Yes, I have money enough now to live comfortably," she explained, "and I can even help others, I think, a little. It came to my mother some time ago, a few thousands that were due her from her father's estate, so we are in a position to be helpful without remuneration."

"And you will stay with me still?" asked Mr, Denton, smiling. "You will sacrifice your liberty and your home life to stay here and labor, Miss Marvin?"

"It will be no sacrifice, I can assure you!" cried Faith, brightly, "for I am far happier here than I would be anywhere else, I fancy!"

"Then I appoint you as general inspector of my store," said Mr. Denton, promptly, "and your duties are to consist of daily talks with the clerks and daily hints to me how I can improve their conditions."

"Oh, that will be delightful!" cried Faith, excitedly, "only I will not promise to be a very wise inspector, for I am so young that I am sadly in need of experience."

"'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.' I do not tremble for the results," said Mr. Denton, smiling.

Faith went back to the department and told Miss Fairbanks of the new arrangement, and in less than an hour every clerk in the store knew it.

"Just think, she has money and yet she will stay here," said one, "and she is to look after our interests, which is the strangest thing about it!"

"Everything is strange here nowadays," was the thoughtful reply. "Why, I'm sure this is the only store in the world that is run on a Christian basis!"

The next remark was made in a lower tone, as if the speaker was doubtful of her own statements in the matter.

"And do you know," she said, slowly, "the business of the store is actually increasing! I got it straight from the head bookkeeper that Mr. Denton is holding his own splendidly in spite of the fact that every one predicted a sure failure."

"Well, I hope I shall never have to work anywhere else," was the answer. "It would kill me to go back to those old days of slavery and poor salaries!"

As the weeks passed by, even the greatest doubter became convinced that the business of the store was improving. Great crowds came every day to look about, if not to buy, for their curiosity as well as interest was genuine and unbounded.

Many flocked to the store to compare the prices of goods with those of the other emporiums and to draw their own conclusions as to the sincerity of the enterprise.

A high price on an article was often misleading until the manufacturer's side of the question was explained and understood, and so, too, a low price often produced various criticism from those who could not differentiate between just and usurious profit.

But in the main the efforts of the merchant were pretty fairly understood and a perfect flood of congratulations followed the enlightenment.

"My motto is consideration for the manufacturer, justice to myself and honest value to my patrons," said Mr. Denton to all. "If I vary from this, it will be through error, not malice."

One by one the buyers learned their lesson of right dealing, and the counters of the big establishment showed the result of their labors.

They were filled with goods whose first values had not been depreciated and whose sale profits were in proportion to the labor expended in handling them.

As Mr. Gibson had said, poor people had flocked to the store. They were satisfied that, at last, they would get the worth of every penny.

"It's funny to see how suspicious they were of us at first," he said to Faith one day. "Why, they were more doubtful of us than ever, I do believe, and all because we had enrolled under a Christian banner."

"I don't blame them," said Faith slowly, "for have they not good cause to doubt? Has not hypocrisy and deceit always assumed the garb of Christianity? It is the church people who are to blame for it—the insincere ones, I mean—so many of them are content with words alone. When it comes to deeds they are tried and found wanting."

"That is why I have never believed," said Mr. Gibson slowly. "I saw through their shams and thought they were all alike! Why, most people use religion as a regular coat of mail, behind which they commit every sin in the calendar! And others, particularly business people, use it merely as a trade-mark or sign of respectability, and then laugh in their sleeves at the number of dupes they make with it!"

"Well, there's no sham or hypocrisy in Mr. Denton's dealings," cried Faith, brightly, "for no man could enter upon a Christian course with greater sacrifice, both of friends and money."



CHAPTER XL.

A GOLDEN OUTLOOK.

One year had passed since Maggie Brady's death, and Faith Marvin was nearing her nineteenth birthday.

She was still living with her mother in their pretty little flat and working faithfully at the store with Mr. Denton. The year had brought many changes in that establishment, and there were many new faces in place of the old ones.

Faith talked over these changes as she sat with her mother and Mr. Watkins in one of their social chats after the day's work was over.

"It hardly seems like the same place," she said, happily. "Why, we are just one big family, with Mr. Denton for our father!"

"And Mr. Denton is certainly holding his own financially," said Mr. Watkins, a trifle reluctantly, "while the papers are full of reported failures all around us."

"I am so glad that Mrs. Denton is recovering," said Mrs. Marvin. "I did sympathize with her so during the first few months of her anxiety!"

"We are all glad she is better," said Faith, quickly, "for she comes down to the store often, and she is really very charming. But the greatest changes are in the clerks themselves," she went on, thoughtfully. "They are so courteous, so loyal and so kind to each other. Why, a new girl is welcomed and made one of us at once, and, no matter what her faults may be, we are almost sure to win her over. Of course, we miss the little cash girls, but the tube system is much better, and it did seem so terrible to think of those children being forced to earn their living!"

Mrs. Marvin nodded her head sympathetically and her daughter continued.

"Mr. Gunning is so different that you would hardly know him," she said, "and do you know, Fred, he and Miss Jones are to be married next Tuesday? The dear girl, through God's grace, has had the happiness to redeem him. Then Miss Fairbanks has developed just the kindest and sweetest sort of character! Why, I believe every girl in the department loves her!"

"What do you hear of Lou Willis?" asked her mother after a moment. "That poor girl who was arrested for stealing jewelry."

"She has just come back from serving her sentence," was Faith's answer, "and Mr. Denton is considering whether he had better reinstate her."

"It will be a great risk," said Mr. Watkins, soberly, "for 'what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh,' unless, of course, the spirit of Christ takes possession of the body."

"We hope it will," said Faith, almost cheerily, "and then Lou has had a fearful experience—she may be different altogether."

"And Miss Dean," suggested Mrs. Marvin, in a reminiscent manner.

Faith laughed a little before she answered. "She finds nothing to do in the store now," she said, "but we still differ a little in our notions and theories."

Mrs. Marvin left the room a few minutes later. Whether it was done for a purpose or not, Faith did not have time to conjecture.

"Faith, dear Faith," whispered Mr. Watkins, quickly, "am I never, never to hear your answer?"

He bent toward her so pleadingly that Faith closed her eyes instinctively. It cut her to the heart to have to witness his sorrow.

"I have loved you so long, so patiently, dear! Can you not give me some hope, even though it is for the far-distant future?"

"I cannot! Oh, I cannot!" murmured Faith in agony. "Oh, I wish I could, Mr. Watkins, but it is impossible! I cannot love you!"

The young man rose without a word and took his hat from the table.

"Good-night, Faith," he said, gently. "Good-night, little sister! Don't worry about me! Some day I will get over it!"

He went silently away without waiting for Mrs. Marvin. Faith breathed a sigh of relief that her sad duty was over.

"You have refused him, Faith!"

Her mother spoke softly. "Poor fellow! I am sorry, but you know your own mind, darling."

They sat down again and Faith took up a book. A peal at the bell made her drop it suddenly.

A few moments later young James Denton entered. He was taller, broader and deeply bronzed by travel.

"At last, I see you again," he whispered softly as soon as Mrs. Marvin had left them together.

"Tell me of your travels," said Faith very quickly. The color had risen to her face and her heart was beating wildly.

"Well, I went all over Europe and the Continent," he said wearily; "but a year is not long enough for a fellow to down a bad reputation! I have come back to find myself in contempt, the same as before, but I have decided that I shall not run away again. I am going to try and live down what I could not run away from."

Faith looked at him questioningly, but did not speak. The young man understood the glance and hurried with his explanation.

"I am going to work in the store with my father now," he said, quietly, "and I am going to put in a small sum of money that has come to me in the past year from a distant relative."

"But are you not afraid you will lose it?" asked Faith, a little shyly. "You know you always had grave doubts as to the financial results of your father's undertaking."

"Well, what if I do?" asked the young man, smiling back at her. "Others have done as much, and I can but follow in their footsteps, and then reformation to be acceptable should not be half-hearted."

There was a light in his eyes that was not to be mistaken. As Faith beheld it she uttered a cry of joy and held out both hands toward him impulsively.

Young Denton gathered both her hands into one of his own, while his other rested lightly upon her shoulder.

"And after I have proven myself worthy may I claim my reward?" he whispered. "May I ask my good angel to share her labors with me and so crown her noble life with the seal of forgiveness?"

"I have nothing to forgive," whispered Faith, blushing deeply. "If Christ has forgiven there is nothing further."

"And you will marry me, Faith, if I prove worthy?" he murmured. "For, oh, I love you, sweetheart, and I cannot live without you!"

"I will marry you—yes," was the girl's low answer, "if at the end of a year you are still in the faith—still carrying the light to the darkest places."

There was just one kiss to seal the compact, but that kiss was a benediction, a holy consummation.

* * * * *

Meanwhile Mr. Denton was still sitting in his chair, although the big building was empty of all but its watchman.

His head was bowed down upon his bosom, as the year just passed spread panorama-like before his vision.

What had he accomplished of his Master's work? He breathed a sigh that it had been so little.

He had tried to put justice in the place of its opposite, to install sweet liberty in the place of oppression. In his dealings with his fellow men he had been fair and equitable, even leaning toward mercy when opportunity offered.

In fact, he had incorporated the Spirit of Righteousness into the Temple of Mammon and molded worldly affairs after the principles of divine teaching.

And what to him had been the results? He smiled with grateful satisfaction as he briefly reviewed them.

There was a trifling shortage as compared with the accounts of previous years, so trifling that it astonished him when he reflected upon the amounts which he had paid his two partners. Beyond this the business of the store had been good and his books showed new accounts recently opened with wealthy persons, which assured him beyond doubt that they indorsed his methods.

Further than this, there were offers of capital from a dozen different sources. The sincere Christians of the city could not have expressed more tangibly their ardent desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with the merchant who had resolved to deal according to his conscience.

The outlook for the future was more than hopeful. He could see no obstacle in the path of his ultimate victory.

There should be no more grinding down in the work-rooms where his goods were made, no undercutting of prices to ruin a brother merchant.

He should be just with others and they must be just with him or he would refuse absolutely to have dealings with them.

Every employee of his establishment should be suitably remunerated, and by this treatment he felt assured that he would receive their ablest service.

Co-operation in his humane work was all that he needed, and here, on his desk and in his books, was ample proof of this assistance. He bowed his head in thanksgiving as he finished his reflections.

"Surely, with God all things are possible," he murmured audibly, and then a thought of his son's conversion and his wife's gradual but sure return to reason with health brought a flow of happiness that irradiated his countenance.

A glimpse of starlit sky was visible through his window and Mr. Denton raised his eyes to it in solemn contemplation.

"Thy ways are not our ways," he whispered humbly, "but though the cross is heavy and hard to bear, Thou wilt give Thy servant a just reward, and the end is peace—peace that passeth understanding."

THE END.