the charitable point of view. At the same time, it is not to be
denied that his words, when he answered, were carefully guarded,
and that he rose to take his leave.

Mr. John Zant hospitably protested.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Must you really go? I shall have
the honor of returning your visit to-morrow, when I have made
arrangements to profit by that excellent suggestion of yours.
Good-by. God bless you."

He held out his hand: a hand with a smooth s urface and a tawny
color, that fervently squeezed the fingers of a departing friend.
"Is that man a scoundrel?" was Mr. Rayburn's first thought, after
he had left the hotel. His moral sense set all hesitation at
rest--and answered: "You're a fool if you doubt it."

V.

DISTURBED by presentiments, Mr. Rayburn returned to his house on
foot, by way of trying what exercise would do toward composing
his mind.

The experiment failed. He went upstairs and played with Lucy; he
drank an extra glass of wine at dinner; he took the child and her
governess to a circus in the evening; he ate a little supper,
fortified by another glass of wine, before he went to bed--and
still those vague forebodings of evil persisted in torturing him.
Looking back through his past life, he asked himself if any woman
(his late wife of course excepted!) had ever taken the