There was a flush on the face of Elinor Ilingsworth as she left the office of J. Newton Leech. For the hundred and first time, perhaps, she had crept into the presence of the Assistant District Attorney, trusting that he might have some good news for her. Her father was her only relative; she had no friends in New York; and her money was nearly gone. At first, when she had gone to the Tombs to see her father, the authorities had permitted her to have her talks with him in the counsel room, where Leslie had seen her father, but as the weeks passed into months, things changed, and it ended in Elinor's sitting on the outside of a cell, holding her father's hand between the bars. And as they sat there with bowed heads her father had told her, not once, but a hundred times, that he was guiltless of the murder of Roy Pallister. And Elinor believed and felt that some day the truth would be known. Every hour, therefore, when it was possible she spent in going to and fro, between the offices of Worth Higgins and Assistant District Attorney Leech. Singularly enough, she received more encouragement from the latter than the former; indeed, Higgins gave her but little hope. Nor did he tell her that a wealthy newspaper, for ulterior purposes, was employing him to fight for her father. Enthusiastic always at the crisis of a litigation, Worth Higgins, for some reason or other, had become cool, surly, sharp to Elinor, as time went on. Her visits annoyed him; he rebuffed her as often as he could. Leech, on the other hand, had been by no means chary of his promises to help her through her troubles; on the contrary, he was ever profuse, when the woman in question was pretty, and Elinor Ilingsworth was unquestionably pretty.

"I like to come here after seeing that old bear," Elinor had often said to the Assistant District Attorney. "Mr. Higgins is beginning to hate the sight of me."

"You see that I do not," invariably would be his answer; and, waving her to a seat, he would take one beside her and the two would chat.

Elinor was forced to admit that Leech became nicer as time went on. Always he suggested new hopes, new speculations, for he saw that it took but little to encourage her. He explained to her carefully the quasi-judicial nature of his office, how the District Attorney in theory was neither for nor against the criminal, but was always anxious, ready and willing to learn the truth. Soon he began to note that the girl grew shabbier in appearance day after day; that her face was thinning, and that her eyes were dark and lustrous.

"I'll do what I can," he had told her time and time again, his pulse quickening as he felt the pressure of her hand.

And Elinor would go forth, refreshed and strengthened; while Leech, settling himself comfortably back in his chair, would light a cigar, and fall to wondering when and what the end of it all would be.

"A pretty girl," he often reflected, "a mighty pretty girl. And, oh, such eyes!"

It was upon just such an occasion as this that Elinor went back to the Tombs more than ordinarily encouraged, and sought her father's presence. She sat down beside him and poured out to him her hopes. When she had finished he bent over her slender hand and his mouth quivered while the hot tears dropped from his working face.

"We've lost," he told her, in a voice filled with despair. "I heard it only a few moments ago."

"It can't be true," she replied incredulously, and with just the glimmer of a smile on her face. "Why, I've just left Mr. Leech, and he said nothing of it."

But nevertheless it was true. The old man handed her Higgins' letter, which she read; it verified what her father had told her.

"I've worked so hard," she faltered, leaning her head against the bars and sobbing silently as though her heart would break, "so very, very hard."

Ilingsworth drew a long sigh—a sigh that had behind it the regret of years.

"It's all my fault," he said through the tears that rolled down his cheeks, "for being such a fool as to——"

"As to——" she repeated slowly.

"As to do anything at all," he finished. "Everything, everything I've done," he continued sadly, "has been the act of a fool. And now I'm going to die a fool's death. I wouldn't care if it wasn't for you, child. But you—how are you going to get along? How are you going to get along without money?" he concluded, breaking down completely.

"I have enough," she answered consolingly; "don't mind me."

But in truth Elinor Ilingsworth had only enough money to pay for a sleeping place, and was at her wits' end to obtain sufficient food.

"I'm all right, all right, father," she kept on insisting to her father's upbraiding of himself, now smiling through the tears which with difficulty she kept back, now patting his hand affectionately, always cheering him up.

"You're a brave girl," he told her, when their interview was over, and pressed her hand for a long time to his lips.

As Elinor was about to leave the Tombs, a young woman looking very much embarrassed slowly emerged from a recess in which there was a crowd of waiting visitors, and came towards her, saying:

"You are Miss Ilingsworth?"

Elinor shot a quick, distrustful glance toward the intruder, who, somehow, seemed very queenly to her, although there was nothing expensive about the woman's garments. She was dressed in simple black clothes. Elinor had hear of Tombs' angels, and presently decided that the woman must be one of them.

"Yes," she answered, wondering what she wanted of her.

"You don't know me," went on the woman, "but I have heard of you from—from friends of mine—that is, the Wilkinsons."

"You refer to the Peter V. Wilkinsons, I suppose," returned Elinor, icily; and without waiting for an answer added: "They are no friends of mine, and you must excuse me.... You can't possibly have anything of interest to say to me," she finished, and started to go. But the stranger, advancing in such a way as to bar her passage, pleaded for a hearing.

"I know that," she explained. "But I merely wanted to get your attention, wanted some excuse for my interference. I wanted to help you, if I could. I know more about New York—all about New York. I can assist you in many ways. Won't you let me?" she concluded insistently.

Elinor was all attention.

"You mean that you can help my father?" she inquired.

The woman appeared to hesitate. At length she whispered "Yes."

"But how can you?"

"In many ways. I might be able to find some clue—anyhow, I want to help—him, of course, but particularly you."

Elinor looked dubious; nevertheless she suggested:

"Perhaps you'll come back and talk to him."

Her new acquaintance shook her head.

"Not now. But isn't there something I can do for you? Don't you need——"

"Money?" Elinor said, taking the words out of the other's mouth. "We have money, thank you," and added half hurriedly, half in embarrassment: "Will you excuse me if I leave you. I have an engagement with our lawyer, and I'm late."

The stranger laid her hand on Elinor's sleeve, and persisted:

"But can't I come and see you—won't you tell me where you live?"

There was something in the tone and action of the woman that Elinor resented, though she didn't know just what it was.

"Really, I don't know what to say."

"I'm sorry you're suspicious of me. I wish I could prove to you that I'm sincere. Please tell me where I can see you."

"To-morrow, then, here," was Elinor's answer, and finally tore herself away.

The moment she entered Leech's office, he broke out with:

"You haven't lunched, I know. Come on, Miss Ilingsworth, we'll lunch together."

"I can't do that, Mr. Leech, I've lunched already," she told him. But Leech saw clearly the falsity of this statement in the pallor of the girl's skin, in the hunger in her eyes. And, in the end, as he had planned, she consented to go with him. As they sat at one of Raphael's small tables she confided to him how she had been accosted by a strange woman. At first Leech seemed to regard the incident as not worthy of attention; but on second thoughts he warned Elinor not to see the woman again. And his motive in doing this was by no means a disinterested one, for so clearly and faithfully had Elinor reported the conversation between the stranger and herself, that the Assistant District Attorney could not fail to believe that Elinor had, in reality, found a friend.

"One has got to be so careful here in New York of everybody," he remarked with an admirable assumption of solicitude.

But true to her promise, the woman came to the Tombs the next day. And on seeing Elinor she came quickly toward her with outstretched hand; but the other merely shook her head and passed on inside. She felt independent of any outside aid now; for the attitude of Leech was most encouraging. And there was unusual happiness in her look, an infectious tone in her laugh as she said to her father:

"I know you'll get off somehow."

On the next day and the day after that, Elinor noted the woman still waiting at her post, still hoping, evidently, that Elinor would speak to her; and on each of these days Giles Ilingsworth felt the buoyancy in his daughter's manner.

"You're like a bit of sunshine in this place," he said.

On the third day, at sunset, he sent for the deputy.

"Deputy," said the old man, clutching his coat-sleeve pitifully through the bars, "I—my daughter hasn't been here to-day."

"I know," answered the other. "I've missed her, too."

"She must be ill," the old man said. "Is there any way of finding out? I have some money with me...."

They sent a messenger to Elinor's room; but the messenger returned with the information that she was not in. All that night Ilingsworth paced his narrow cell; but with the morning sun came new hopes.

"She'll be here to-day," he assured himself.

But she didn't come that day either. When his meals were brought to him he refused to eat. And again all that night he paced his cell. He was inconsolable.

Five more days passed without Ilingsworth having received word from his daughter, but then, just when it seemed that he could bear the suspense no longer, the deputy came to him and said:

"There's a lady downstairs who knows your daughter. She's been here every day, came just to see her. She wants to help—wants her address. Shall I give it to her?"

"Yes, yes," exclaimed the old man, eagerly.

In a little while the woman returned and told the deputy that Miss Ilingsworth had moved, had taken all her things, had gone, they didn't know where; and the warden repeated her words to the poor old man before whom lay many nights yet of sleeplessness and agony.