Two years had slipped by since Paula's return to America and matters relating to the inheritance were no nearer actual settlement than before. They were even more complicated, for the law, with all its ponderous, intricate machinery, all its chicanery and false swearing, had been set in motion, not to protect the orphan but to shield those knaves who sought to enjoy what was not their own.

Tod's startling revelation in his stepfather's library, the morning the will was being read, regarding John Marsh's secret marriage, came as a terrible shock to Jimmy. At first he loudly denounced it as a damnable lie, a blackmailing scheme, the invention of some hidden enemy. Then, as he grew calmer and learned more details, he began to realize that the elaborate structure which he had built up so carefully for years was about to topple and in his disappointment he grew almost hysterical. He stormed and raved, working himself into such a frenzy that it was dangerous to go near him. But for Bascom Cooley, who still held out hope, he would have shot himself. But Cooley, the resourceful, cunning Cooley advised patience. All might be well. The money was not yet lost by any means. What were the courts for if not to see that justice was done? And Mr. Cooley was honest in his belief that a very serious injustice would be done if the money went anywhere else than into his own pockets. The new will must be contested. Some way must be devised to have it declared invalid. It must be shown that John Marsh was insane at the time he made the will and that the Frenchwoman he lived with was not his wife. If this were true the girl Paula Marsh was not his legitimate daughter. The truth of these statements would not be in question for a moment, for reliable witnesses would go on the stand and solemnly swear to them. Mr. Cooley knew where such witnesses could be found. It was only a question of money. The longest purse secured the greatest number of witnesses, for, strangely enough, very few people are willing to commit perjury gratis. Cooley attended to everything, and well, he might. He himself had as much at stake as Jimmy. So, going among his influential friends, the "men higher up," he set the wheels of justice moving—in his own direction.

The first gun in the long and bitterly contested legal battle, which was to follow, was fired directly Leon Ricaby offered the new will to the Surrogate for probate. Mr. Cooley replied promptly by offering the first will. An administrator was then appointed by the Surrogate to conserve the estate during the litigation, and thus the Marsh estate was tied up into a complicated legal knot which only the Surrogate or a decree of a competent court could disentangle.

Then began for Paula a long, drawn-out period of mental distress and physical discomfort, which taxed her patience and powers of endurance to the utmost. On first arriving in New York, she had taken a modest suite of rooms in one of Manhattan's luxurious hostelries, but this she soon found too expensive for her slender purse. Until it was proved that she was legally entitled to the fortune her father had left, she could not touch a cent of it. Meantime, her means were limited. Practically all the available cash she had was a few hundred dollars left from her Paris allowance. Mr. Ricaby offered to advance her any amount, but she gratefully declined his assistance, preferring to husband her resources by the practice of strict economy. The first step was to move into cheaper quarters. After a long search she found comfortable rooms at Mrs. Parkes' genteel boarding house on West Fourteenth Street. The neighborhood was far from fashionable, but Paula did not mind that. Indeed, she thought it an advantage, preferring to be quiet and secluded, hidden away, as it were, from the world until the legal fight was over and she could take her proper place in the world. Besides, she was nearer now to the poorer districts to which her daily duties called her, almost next door to the slums where her youthful enthusiasm, tireless energy, fine humanitarianism were devoted daily to the noble work of rescuing the needy and unfortunate. This Settlement work, far from weighing heavily upon her, she regarded as a blessing. It not only enabled her to do some good in the world, but it kept her mind occupied while the lawyers were squabbling in the courts.

Of Mr. Ricaby she saw very little. He was busy, working constantly in her interests, preparing for the trial. The case, he told her, was already on the calendar and would come up very soon. Victory, for their side, was, of course, a foregone conclusion. The other side had virtually not a leg to stand upon. They must be prepared, however, for any emergency. Bascom Cooley was known to be unscrupulous, a man who would stop at nothing to gain his ends. Through trickery and his political pull he had already scored an important point. The judge before whom the case would come was an intimate friend of his. They played poker together and belonged to the same political organization. Was it not possible that he might be tempted to let his sympathies lean in his crony's favor? Yet even judges dare not betray their trust too openly. If right were on Paula's side, the Court would be forced to render a decision in her favor.

Notwithstanding this legal unpleasantness, Paula thought she ought to call on her uncle, and in this Mr. Ricaby agreed with her. So one afternoon she dressed herself smartly and rode up Broadway to West Seventy-second Street. The reception she received was not such as to encourage her to repeat the visit. Her uncle was out, but Mrs. Marsh greeted her with frigid politeness and asked her to have tea. While the two women were taking mental inventory of each other Mr. Marsh came in, and the situation became more strained.

Jimmy had expected this visit and had prepared himself for it. He had intended to call the girl an impostor to her face, to drive her from the house, but now she had come, he did neither. He saw a tall, pale, aristocratic-looking girl who vaguely, despite the difference of sex, reminded him of his brother. Yes, now he saw her he knew it was the truth, but no matter, he would fight just the same. She was his brother's child, the girl who had come between him and his rightful inheritance. She was the enemy. But he would fight her and he would win. Cooley had promised him that. These thoughts were passing through his mind as he sat in silence, staring gloomily at her. Then he asked questions about her father and the way they lived in Paris. It seemed to her that he was most interested in her answers regarding her mother, and it suddenly occurred to her that he was cross-examining her for the purpose of the trial. Disconcerted she relapsed into monosyllables and the atmosphere grew more chilly. There was no hint of legal difficulties. He merely inquired if she intended to reside permanently in New York, and expressed the hope that she would always consider their house her home. Paula silently bowed her thanks, and the ceremonious call was at an end.

Of Tod Chase she had seen a good deal since the voyage home. He had asked for permission to call and she assented gladly. The young man belonged in a way to the enemy's camp, but she did not mind that. On the ship they had been thrown a good deal in each other's company, and she had taken a fancy to him. He was always in such good humor, always so full of animal spirits that his mere presence relieved the general gloom and cheered her up. He brought her books and magazines and chatted to her by the hour of a world she did not know and did not care to know. He talked freely of the coming trial; denounced the whole thing as an outrage and hotly berated his stepfather and Bascom Cooley as two scoundrels. He got so worked up over the case that Paula had to laugh. Only one person was not convinced of his sincerity and that was Mr. Ricaby. The lawyer was not blind to the fact that the young man was paying Paula a good deal of attention, and he would have been more than human had he not resented it.

Thus in a way Paula was happy. In the day time she had her work among her poor, and the evening she gave up to reading or music. Sometimes Tod would drop in, and, with Mr. Ricaby, they would have an enjoyable evening. On rare occasions Harry and Mrs. Parkes would be invited to join the little circle.

Then came the trial with all its annoyances, all its brutalities. It was a terrible ordeal for the young girl, and there were times when, utterly worn out and discouraged, she felt it was beyond her strength to go on. The opposite side had no mercy on her. Bascom Cooley was not the kind of man to spare anyone, woman or child. There were no lies and calumnies that a devilish ingenuity and brazen impudence could invent that he did not concoct in order to attack the new will. To discredit the new claimant, he grossly insulted her; to belittle the will, he calumniated the dead man. He produced witnesses who swore on the stand that John Marsh, of late years, was an entirely changed man, irresponsible for his actions. They testified that he not only drank himself to death, but that he acted irrationally and was clean out of his mind. Physicians in Cooley's employ gave corroborative evidence, with some modifications. Mr. Cooley, triumphant, argued that his client, Mr. James Marsh, had amply proved his claim. He alone was entitled to the estate under the original will which was executed at a time when the deceased was in possession of all his faculties. If, thundered the lawyer, the second will was not a damnable forgery—and significantly he added, they had not yet had time to go into that phase of it—it was the work of a crazy man. He would go still further——

Now he did a horrible thing. Not content with vilifying the father, he besmirched the character of Paula's mother. Granted, he shouted, that John Marsh was not crazy—even then the girl had no legal claim to the estate, for she was illegitimate. John Marsh never married her mother!

Instantly Mr. Ricaby was on his feet with an indignant protest. Was it not scandal enough, he cried hotly, that members of the bar should prostitute their profession by putting perjured witnesses on the stand without further disgracing themselves by wantonly insulting a defenseless girl? The insinuation of illegitimacy was a cowardly and venomous lie, an outrageous falsehood which could be nailed on the spot, for, luckily, his client, Miss Marsh, had safe in her possession her mother's marriage certificate. As to the other statements made under oath regarding John Marsh's mental condition, they were equally reckless and fabricated solely for the purpose of influencing the court's decision. The witnesses he would call would refute the allegations entirely.

Long before the trial closed, it was apparent that Mr. Ricaby had by far the best of it. But the fight was not yet won. There were delays and more delays. Mr. Cooley, feeling he was losing ground, changed his tactics. Instead of pushing the case, he sought to gain time. Finally when the evidence was all in, and counsel for either party had exhausted their arguments and powers of vituperation, the Court calmly reserved its decision, and the long, tedious wait and suspense began all over again.

Paula was glad it was over, and at heart was not really concerned about the outcome. Of course, the money would be welcome. It was hers, and it was her duty to claim it. When it was in her possession, she saw in her mind's eye a thousand miracles that might be worked with it to bring comfort and joy into many a desolate home. But if she lost—well, then she would go cheerfully to work and support herself. There were times when she wondered if she would ever marry. Perhaps she would, but whom? There was no one she cared particularly about. At one time she thought a good deal of Mr. Chase, but since the beginning of the trial she had seen less of him. His visits to the boarding house were less frequent, and it seemed to her that his attitude was more distant. After all, it was only natural. No matter how much he might sympathize with her, he must realize that a victory for her would mean a terrible blow to his own mother. She could not blame him if he stood aloof. Mr. Ricaby had never liked him. Perhaps she herself was mistaken in him. His profession of friendship might be only a blind in order to pry into her movements.

She smiled to herself as she reflected that she certainly would not care to marry Harry Parkes. Yet her landlady's son was the only male who, thus far had ventured to pay court to her. Always solicitous for the welfare of everybody around her, she was sorry for Harry Parkes. That he had faults, she overlooked. He had some good traits—therefore she concluded that there was still hope for him. She tried to get him interested in her Settlement work and offered to find for him duties which he would find congenial. But Harry, his faith in himself unshaken, received all such suggestions with a grimace. As was to be expected, he put a wrong construction on her sympathetic attitude, mistaking kindly interest for adoration of his manly charms, and last evening when they were alone in the parlor he had attempted liberties which she indignantly resented. She let him plainly understand that if it happened again she would be forced to leave the house. That is why she was not particularly grateful to Mrs. Parkes for leaving them alone now. Her mind was too preoccupied for small talk. At any moment, Mr. Ricaby had telephoned her, the Court might be expected to hand down its decision. Still, not wishing to appear curt, she said:

"Your mother is remarkably amiable this afternoon, Mr. Parkes."

Harry woke up with a start.

"Yes—yes—she is—she is!" he stammered. There was a short silence, and then he said:

"Miss Marsh—I want to apologize for—for—for my—my—conduct the other night——"

"Apologize!" she exclaimed, as if not understanding.

"Yes," he stammered. "I'm very sorry—very sorry——"

"Sorry—why, what did you do?" she demanded.

Harry looked at her in surprise.

"It isn't what I did so much," he said hesitatingly, "as what I said—I—want—you to forgive me——"

Paula smiled.

"There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Parkes. The fact is, you won't think I—I'm rude, will you—but—I hardly remember what happened last night. I was very weak and foolish, and I'm afraid I gave way to—to tears. I don't believe in tears—it seems you're sorry for yourself—and I'm not sorry for myself—I'm angry with my relations—I'm angry because they make me angry. I love peace and happiness and a calm, quiet life—and they make my existence a hell on earth—with their attacks on my father and mother and their lawsuits. My heart is always in my mouth—I'm always afraid that something dreadful is going to happen—any moment I may hear the Court's decision. I'm unhappy, Mr. Parkes—and I've no right to be unhappy. I'm young and I have a happy disposition—every capacity to enjoy my life but——" Shaking her head, she added: "But there, I'm not going to bother you with my troubles. You're home early——"

"You're sure that you're not angry with me?"

"Why, no—what for—whatever did you say or do?"

He hesitated and looked at her, trying to read her mind. Her self-possession disconcerted him.

"Never mind," he said finally, "I was very foolish——"

"Were you?" she replied calmly. "I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

He advanced a step nearer and his voice was agitated, as he burst out:

"You see, Miss Marsh, I——"

"Do you mind calling me Paula," she said in the most matter-of-fact tone. "I hate the name of Marsh—it's my Uncle James' name—and it's always on those horrid law papers—'Marsh versus Marsh.' It's always connected with defendants and plaintiffs and—affidavits—and other horrible instruments of torture. My heart beats every time I see the dreadful words. Marsh versus Marsh! I dream of Marsh versus Marsh—and when I wake up in the morning—the first thing that greets me in the morning paper is Marsh versus Marsh. I hate the name—I hate it!"

Was this the opportunity? Harry did not know but he seized it.

"Why—why not change it?" he murmured.

Paula smiled.

"That idea has occurred to me dozens of times," she said gaily. "I will when this horrible lawsuit is settled."

His companion grew a shade paler.

"Is that a—a bargain——" he asked seriously.

"Yes," she laughed.

"And may I—pick—pick out a suitable name for you——?"

"If you like," she said lightly; "any old name will do—Smith—Jones—Billikins——"

"Even Par—Parkes?" he suggested.

"Yes—even Parkes," she laughed. "Anything but Marsh——"

The door opened and Mrs. Parkes entered, carrying a tray with tea.

"Here we are—here we are," she said cheerily, "a fresh cup of tea—I opened a new packet of Lipton on purpose. Say, that Lipton makes elegant tea! Oh, I've forgotten the toast. Harry, run down and get it, there's a dear boy." Turning to Paula, she added: "He is a dear boy, isn't he?"

"Just like his father, I think you once told me," rejoined Paula, with a covert smile.

"Did I? Well, he is in some ways—and in some ways he isn't."

"Mother, please!" exclaimed Harry. "I'm afraid I'm like you, Miss Paula—I don't like to be reminded of my relations— I'll get the toast, mother."

He left the room to go foraging for toast, while Mrs. Parkes began pouring out tea.

"Did the dear boy tell you?" she asked. "He said he was going to apologize but——"

"Will you kindly tell me what the dear boy did that needs so much apology?" said Paula.

"He's so impulsive," said Mrs. Parkes, with a sigh. "To that extent he is like his father—but—he feels as I do that until your lawsuit is settled one way or the other, he should not have asked you to be his wife. One lump or two?"

Paula opened wide her eyes.

"Be his wife?" she exclaimed. "One lump? No, two. Did he ask me to marry him?"

"Yes. Didn't he? He said he did——"

"So that's what it was—great Heavens! I've been proposed to—and I didn't know it——"

"Of course, he has my consent," went on Mrs Parkes, in a patronizing tone.

"Of course, I mean—thank you—that's rather nice," rejoined Paula, trying to conceal a laugh. "You're awfully good—but—this is nice tea, isn't it?"

"Why, you haven't tasted it yet," protested the landlady.

"No—I'm just going to. The aroma—is——" Gulping the tea down she scalded herself. "It's hot, isn't it?"

The door reopened and Harry reappeared with the toast.

"Mr. Ricaby has just come in," he blurted out. "He wants to see you at once—says it is most important. I told him to come right up. Why, Miss Marsh, what's the matter——?"

Paula had turned pale. The teacup almost fell from her trembling hand. Perhaps her attorney had brought the message which she had been so anxiously expecting. Had he brought good news?

"You look frightened to death, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Parkes.

Paula rose.

"May I ask you to excuse me?" she said. "Mr. Ricaby wants to see me on most important business connected with my lawsuit. I would like to see him alone."

"Certainly, my dear," said Mrs. Parkes, rising. "We'll take the tea in my room. Come, Harry, help me with the tray."

The young man frowned disapproval at this most untimely interruption, but there was no help for it. With a glance at Paula that received no response, he rebelliously picked up the tray and followed his mother out.