Theodore King was rallying rapidly in the hospital. All danger of blood poison had passed, and though he was still very weak, his surgeon had ceased to worry, and the public at large sat back with a sigh, satisfied that the wealthiest and most promising young citizen in the county had escaped death at the hand of an assassin.

One morning a telephone message summoned Molly Merriweather to the hospital. In extreme agitation she dressed quickly, telling Mrs. King she would return very soon. Never had she been so hilariously happy. Jinnie Grandoken had disappeared, as if she had been sunk in the sea. Molly now held the whip hand over her husband; she could force him to divorce her quietly. It was true of them both now their principal enemies were out of the way. Theo was getting well, and would come home in a few days.

While she had thought him dying, nothing save Jordan’s tales of the girl’s experiences in the gorge house had been able to rouse her to more than momentary interest.

With glowing cheeks she followed the hospital attendant through a long corridor to Theodore’s room. She entered softly and for a moment stood gazing at him admiringly. How very handsome he was, even with the hospital pallor! When the sick man became cognizant of Molly’s presence, he turned and smiled a greeting. He indicated a chair, and she sank into it. 300

“You sent for me, Theodore?” she reminded him softly, bending forward.

“Yes.”

He was silent so long, evidently making up his mind to something, that Molly got up and smoothed out his pillow. Theodore turned to her after she had reseated herself.

“Molly,” he began, “do you know where Jinnie Grandoken is?”

Molly’s eyelids narrowed. So he was still thinking of the girl!

“No,” she said deliberately.

“It seems strange,” went on King somberly. “I’ve tried every way I know how to discover her whereabouts, and can’t. I sent to the Grandoken’s for her, but she was gone.”

“You still care for her then?” queried Molly dully.

“Yes. I know you dislike the poor child, but I thought if you knew that I—well, I really love her, you might help me, Molly.”

It was a bitter harvest to reap after all these weeks of waiting—his telling her he loved another woman—and as his voice rang with devotion for Jinnie Grandoken, Molly restrained herself with difficulty. She dared not lose her temper, as she had several times before under like conditions. With her hands folded gracefully in her lap, she replied:

“If I could help you, Theo, I would; but if Mrs. Grandoken doesn’t know where her own niece is, how should I know?”

“You’re so clever,” sighed Theodore, “I imagined you might be able to discover something where a woman like Mrs. Grandoken would fail. She’s got a young child, I hear.” 301

“What do you suggest?” inquired Molly presently.

“I want to find out quickly where she’s gone,” the sick man said bluntly.

“You want to see her?” demanded Molly.

Theodore nodded.

“Yes, I’d get well sooner if I could,” and he sighed again. Then his ivory skin grew scarlet even to his temples, but the blood rushed away, leaving him deathly white. Molly went to him quickly and leaned over the bed. She wanted—oh, how she wanted to feel his arms about her! But he only touched her cold hand lightly.

“Help me, Molly,” he breathed.

Molly choked back an explanation. She would glory in doing anything for him—anything within her power; but nothing, nothing for Jinnie Grandoken. Suddenly an idea took possession of her. She would make him doubt Jinnie’s love for him, even if she lied to him.

“Of course I knew you cared for her,” she said slowly.

“Yes, I made that clear, I think,” said Theo, “and she cares for me. I told you I asked her to marry me.”

He laid stress on the latter half of his statement because of a certain emphasis in Molly’s.

“I don’t like to hurt you—while you’re ill,” she ventured.

Theodore thrust forth his hand eagerly.

“Come closer,” he pleaded. “You know something; you can tell me. Please do, Molly.”

“I don’t know much, mind you, Theo––”

“Take hold of my hand, Molly!... Please don’t keep me in such suspense.”

She drew her chair closer to the bed, her heart throbbing first with desire, then with anger, and laid her white fingers in his.

“Tell me,” insisted Mr. King. 302

“There was a boy––”

“You mean the little blind boy?”

“No, no,” denied Molly, paling. The very mention of such an affliction hurt her sadly. “No,” she said again, “I mean a friend of the boy who was shot; you remember him?”

“Oh, I remember Maudlin Bates; certainly I do; but I don’t think I heard of any other.”

Molly hadn’t either; she had shot at random and the shot told.

Theodore sat up in bed with whitening face.

“Molly,” he stammered, “Molly, has any one hurt her? Has––”

Molly shook her head disgustedly.

“Don’t be foolish, Theo,” she chided. “No one would want to hurt a grown girl like her.”

“Then what about the man?”

“I think she went away with him.”

“Where to?”

“I’m not sure––”

Theodore sank back. Molly’s fingers slipped from his, and for a moment he covered his face with his hands, soundless sobs shaking his weak body. The woman knew by his appearance that he believed her absolutely.

“It’ll kill me!” he got out at last.

Molly slipped an arm under his head. She had never seen him in such a state.

“Theo, don’t! Don’t!” she implored. “Please don’t shake so, and I’ll tell you all I know.”

“Very well!... I’m listening.”

The words were scarcely audible, but Molly knew and hugged the thought that his belief in Jinnie Grandoken had been shaken.

“Did you hear that Jinnie was in Binghamton?” 303

“Yes,” murmured Theodore.

The woman released her hold on Theodore, and said:

“The man was over there with her.”

Theodore turned his face quickly away and groaned.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Don’t tell me any more.”

They were quiet for a long time—very quiet.

Then Molly, with still enlarging plans, burst out:

“What if I should bring her back to you, Theo?”

He flashed dark-circled eyes toward her.

“Could you?” he asked drearily.

“I think so, perhaps. Suppose you write her a little note, and then––”

“Ring the bell for writing material quickly.”

He had all his old-time eagerness. He was partly sitting up, and Molly placed another pillow under his head.

Theodore wrote steadily for some moments. Then he addressed an envelope to “Jinnie Grandoken,” placed the letter in it, and fastened down the flap.

“You won’t mind?” he asked wearily, handing it to Molly and sinking back.

Molly took the letter, and with a few more words, went out. Once at home in her bedroom, she sat down, breathing deeply. With a hearty good will she could have torn the letter into shreds, but instead she ripped open the envelope and read it.

After she had finished, she let the paper flutter from her hand and sat thinking for a long time. Then, sighing, she got up and tucked the letter inside her dress.