The first thing Jinnie saw the next morning was the rough draft of the letter Molly had ordered her to copy. To send it to Theodore was asking more of her than she could bear. She turned and looked at Bobbie. He was still sleeping his troubled, short-breathed sleep. She had shielded him with her life, with her liberty. Now he demanded, in that helpless, babyish, blind way of his, that she repudiate her love.

In the loneliness of the gorge house she had become used to the idea of never again seeing Theodore, but to allow him to think the false thing in that letter was dreadful. She picked it up and glanced it over once more, then dropped it as if the paper had scorched her fingers. She’d die rather than send it, and she would tell her uncle so when he came that morning.

She was very quiet, more than usually so, when she gave the blind boy his breakfast.

“Bobbie,” she said, “you know I’d do anything for you in this whole world, don’t you? I mean—I mean anything I could?”

Mystified, the boy bobbed his curly head.

“Sure I do, Jinnie, and I’d do anything for you too, honey.”

She kissed him passionately, as her eyes sought the letter once more. It lay on the floor, the words gleaming 310 up at her in sinister mockery. She tore her eyes from it, shaking in dread. Would she have the courage to stand against Jordan Morse in this one thing? She had given in to him at every point, but this time she intended to stand firmly upon the rock of her love. Once more she picked up the letter and put it away.

Two hours later, with loathing and disgust depicted in her white face, she saw Mr. Morse enter, and her blazing blue eyes stabbed the man’s anger to the point of desiring to do her harm. For a moment he contemplated her in silence. He was going to have trouble with her that day. What a fool Molly was! It was she who insisted upon that bally letter. What did he care about Theodore King? Still his wife had him completely within her power, and he was really afraid of her now and then when she flew into rages about his niece and Theodore. He mopped his brow nervously.

A few days more and it would be ended. Inside of one week he would be free from every element which threatened him, free to commence the search for his child. He strode across the room to Jinnie.

“Come on with me,” he ordered under his breath.

Jinnie obediently followed him into the inner room. Morse slammed the door with his foot.

“Where’s the letter?” he growled between his teeth.

Jinnie went to the table, got the original draft and handed it over.

“Here it is,” she said slowly.

He glanced over the paper.

“Why, this is the one we left here yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“Where is the one you wrote? I don’t want this.”

A glint of understanding flashed upon him.

“Where is the other?” he demanded once more. 311

“I haven’t written it and I don’t intend to.”

For one single instant Morse’s mind swept over the sacrifices she had made. She had done every single thing he had told her, not for her sake but for others. He shuddered when he thought of the trouble he would have had with her had not the blind boy been within his power also.

“Get the paper and write it now,” he said ominously.

“I will not!”

She meant the words, a righteous indignation flaming her face, making her eyes shine no longer blue, but opal color. Morse wondered dully if she could and would stand out against what he would be forced to do.

“I see,” he began shiftily. “I have to teach you a lesson every time I come here, eh?”

“This time you won’t,” she flashed at him.

“This time I will,” he taunted.

“I’d rather be dead,” she faltered. “I’d rather be dead than write it.”

“Perhaps! But would you rather have––” he made a backward jerk of his thumb toward the other room—“him dead?”

Jinnie’s eyes misted in agony, but Theodore was still near her in spirit, and she remembered the dear hours they had spent together and how much she loved him. A sudden swift passion shook her as his kisses lived warm again upon her face. That letter she would not write. But as she made this decision for the hundredth time that day, Morse’s words recurred to her. Would she rather have Bobbie dead? Yes, if she were dead too. But life was so hard to part with! She was so strong. How many times she had prayed of late to die! But every morning found her woefully and more miserably alive than the one before.

“I understand you’d rather, then,” drawled Morse.

Jinnie shook her head. 312

“I don’t know what I’d rather have, only I can’t write the letter.” She made one rapid step toward him—“I know,” she went on feverishly, “I won’t ever see Theodore again––”

Morse’s emphatic nod broke off her words, but she went on courageously. “I don’t expect to, but I love him. Can’t you see that?”

“Quite evident,” replied the man.

“Why hurt me more than necessary then?” she demanded.

“This is part of Miss Merri––”

“She loves him too?” cried Jinnie, staggering back.

“Yes, and he—well, you saw his letter yesterday.”

“Yes, I saw it,” breathed Jinnie with swift coming breath.

“Miss Merriweather thinks Theodore might still feel his obligations to you unless you––”

“Does she know he asked me to marry him?” In spite of her agony, she thrilled in memory.

“Yes, and he told me, too. But Miss Merriweather intends to marry him herself, and all she wants is to wipe thoughts of you from his mind.”

A powerful argument swept from her lips.

“It wouldn’t make any difference to him about me if he loved her.”

“You’re an analytical young miss,” said Morse with one of his disagreeable smiles.

“You’ve taught me to be,” she retorted, blazing. “Now listen! You asked me if I’d rather have Bobbie die than write the letter, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Then I say ‘yes’.” She caught her breath. “We’ll both die.”

“Well, by God, you’re a cool one! Theodore’s more 313 lucky than I thought. So that’s the way you love him?”

She grew more inexplicable with each passing day.

“Poor Theodore!” murmured Morse, to break the tense silence.

“I thought it all out this morning,” explained Jinnie. “Bobbie’s awfully ill, terribly. He can’t live long anyway, and I––” A terrific sob shook her as a raging gale rends a slender flower.

Jinnie controlled her weeping that the blind child in the other room might not hear. Never had Jordan been so sorely tempted to do a good deed. Good deeds were not habitual to him, but at that moment a desire possessed him to take her in his arms, to soothe her, to restore her to Peggy and give her back to Theodore. But the murder scene in the cobbler’s shop came back with strong renewed vigor. He had gone too far, and he must have money. Molly held him in her power, and as he thought of her tightly set lips, the danger signal she had tossed at him more times than once, he crushed dead his better feeling.

“Your plan won’t work,” he said slowly. “Write the letter—I am in a hurry.”

“I will not,” she refused him once more.

Morse walked to the door, and she allowed him to open it. Then with clenched hands she tottered after him. He was going to kill Bobbie and herself. Somehow within her tortured being she was glad. Morse waited and looked back, asking her a question silently.

She made no response, however, but cast her eyes upon the blind boy sitting dejectedly upon the floor, one arm around Happy Pete.

“Jinnie,” said Bobbie, rolling his eyes, “I was afraid you were goin’ to stay in there all day.” 314

“Come here, boy,” ordered Morse. “Get up and come here.”

Bobbie turned his delicate, serious face in the direction of the voice.

“I don’t want to,” he gulped, shaking his head. “I don’t like you, Mister Black Man. I can’t get up anyway, my heart hurts too much!”

Still the girl stood with the vision of Theodore King before her.

“I won’t write it, I won’t,” she droned to herself insistently.

Morse sprang forward and grasped the child.

“Get up,” he hissed.

Bobbie scrambled up because he was made to. He uttered a frightened, terrified cry.

Then, “Jinnie!” he gasped.

Jinnie saw Morse shake the slender little body and drop into a chair, dragging the child forward. Bobbie could no longer speak. The dazed girl knew the little heart was beating in its very worst terror. She couldn’t bear the sight and closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, Morse’s hand was raised above the boy’s golden head, but she caught it in hers before it descended.

“I’ll do it,” she managed to whisper. “Look! Look! You’ve killed him.”

In another moment she had Bobbie in her arms, his face pressed against her breast.

“Get out of here!” she said, deathly white, to Morse. “I’ll do it, come back to-morrow.”

And Morse was glad to escape.

After Jinnie brought Bobbie to his senses and he lay like a crumpled leaf on the divan, she took up the hated letter. She sat down to read it once more.

It was short, concise, and to the point. 315

“Mr. King:

“I made a mistake in ever thinking I cared for you. I have some one else now I love better, and expect to be very happy with him.

“Jinnie Grandoken.”

The next morning when Morse came jauntily in, she handed him the copy of it without a word. He only said to her:

“You’d have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you’d done this in the first place. You won’t bother me long now. Mr. King is home and almost well.” Then he smiled, showing his white, even teeth. “He’ll be glad to receive this letter.”

“Get out,” Jinnie gritted. “Get out before I—I kill you!”

Two days later Molly Merriweather was in the seventh heaven of bliss. As Morse had said, Theodore was home, looking more like himself. With her heart in her mouth, the woman entered his sitting room with Jinnie’s letter. Jordan had had it mailed to King from Binghamton.

“I’ve brought you a letter, Theodore,” smiled Molly nervously.

He extended his hand, and upon recognizing the handwriting, turned deadly white.

“I’d like to be alone,” said he without looking up.

When he sent for her a little while later, and she sat opposite him, he said:

“I’d rather not speak of—of—Miss Grandoken again. Will you give me a drink, Molly?” And the woman noted the hurt look in his eyes.