was criminal to allow such a building to fall into this ruinous
condition. And a gloomy picture rose in Donnegan's mind of the invalid,
thin-faced, sallow-eyed, white-haired, lying in his bed listening to the
storm and silently gathering bitterness out of the pain of living. Lou
Macon paused again in the hall, close to a door on the right.

"I'm going to send you in to speak to my father," she said gravely.
"First I have to tell you that he's different."

Donnegan replied by looking straight at her, and this time she did not
wince from the glance. Indeed, she seemed to be probing him, searching
with a peculiar hope. What could she expect to find in him? What that
was useful to her? Not once in all his life had such a sense of
impotence descended upon Donnegan. Her father? Bah! Invalid or no
invalid he would handle that fellow, and if the old man had an acrid
temper, Donnegan at will could file his own speech to a point. But the
girl! In the meager hand which held the lamp there was a power which all
the muscles of Donnegan could not compass; and in his weakness he looked
wistfully at her.

"I hope your talk will be pleasant. I hope so." She laid her hand on the
knob of the door and withdrew it hastily; then, summoning great
resolution, she opened the door and showed Donnegan in.

"Father," she said, "this is Mr. Donnegan. He wishes to speak to you."

The door closed behind Donnegan, and hearing that whishing sound which
the door of a heavy safe will make, he looked down at this, and saw that
it was actually inches thick! Once more the sense of being in a trap
descended upon him.