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"False!" cried Mrs.Fairbanks."Then, Mr.Balfour, you force me to ask, did you not live for some months with a woman on Jarvis Street?

Were you not a constant visitor at houses of ill repute for months in this city?"Poor Don! I can see him yet.His face grew livid, his eyes staring, as he stood there without a word.

"Don," cried Betty, "tell her it is false!" and she lifted her little head proudly."Tell her it is false, and I don't care who says it is true." Still The Don stood speechless.

"Alas! my poor child," said Mrs.Fairbanks, "he could not say so.Ihave the proof in my hand." And she pulled a letter out of her pocket."It is true, and much more--too true.Mr.Lloyd here knows this to be true.Is it not so, Mr.Lloyd? If this is not true, speak." The poor old Don turned his eyes imploringly toward Lloyd, like a man hanging on his last hope, but Lloyd, the beast! mumbled and stuttered something or other.Betty ran to him, caught him by the arm and shook him."Speak out!" she said."Say it is all a lie!"The Lloyd said in a thick kind of voice, "I cannot say so."Betty turned back to The Don, and may God keep me from ever seeing a face like hers again."Say it isn't true!" she said, putting her hand on his arm; and as he stood still, white and speechless, she gave a kind of cry of fear, and horror, and I don't know what else.

"Oh, Don, can this be true--and--you kissed me!"Then The Don pulled himself together, turned to Mrs.Fairbanks, and began to speak, the words pouring out in a perfect torrent."Mrs.

Fairbanks, you must listen to me.What you say was true of me eight years ago.I came here a mere boy.I fell in with a bad lot--I had plenty of money, and I confess I went bad.That was eight years ago.

Then I met your daughters, and came into your home.From that time Ihave never done a dishonourable thing, my life has been clean.Ever since I touched your daughter's hand my hands have never touched anything unclean.The first day I saw her, eight years ago, I loved her, and since then I have been true in heart and in life to her.

For my shameful past God knows I have repented bitterly, bitterly, and have sought forgiveness; and no man lives in this town, or any other, who can point to anything of which I am ashamed to speak here."Poor Betty! She looked from one to the other in a frightened kind of way, and when The Don had finished his confession she gave a cry the like of which I never heard, "Oh, mother, take me away!" I have heard of hearts being broken.I think hers was broken then.

I tell you we were all in a whirl.The Don fell on his knees beside her, taking hold of her skirts."Oh, Betty, won't you forgive me?

God have mercy on me! Won't you forgive me? I have done many things of which I am ashamed, but I have never been untrue to you in thought or in deed.Never, never, so help me God!" He clutched the hem of her dress, kissing it over and over again.It was a ghastly sight, I can tell you.Betty shrank from him, drawing her skirts away."Come away, my daughter," said Mrs.Fairbanks."There is nothing more to be said."As she turned away up spake little Hooper.God bless him, the little five-footer, every inch clear grit."Mrs.Fairbanks, one minute.

Pardon me if I say a word.I am this young man's friend, and I am your minister.I have known this man for six years.I have known him intimately.I believe he carries a clean, pure heart, and he has lived a hard-working, honourable life.If he has sinned, he has repented, and God has forgiven him.Should not you?"Mrs.Fairbanks turned impatiently on him."Mr.Hooper, forgiveness is one thing, and friendship another.""No, thank God!" cried the little chap."No, forgiveness is not one thing and friendship another.Forgiveness means friendship, and welcome, and love, with God and with man." I could have hugged the little man where he stood.

Then Mrs.Fairbanks seemed to lose her head, and she blazed out in a perfect fury."Do you mean deliberately to say that this man,"pointing to The Don, who was still on his knees, with his face in his hands, "that this man should be received into my house?""Mrs.Fairbanks," said Hooper, "is there not a place for the repentant and absolved, even with the saints of God?"Mrs.Fairbanks lost herself completely."Mr.Hooper," she cried, "this is outrageous.I tell you, forgiven or not, repentant or not;never will he, or such as he, enter my doors or touch my daughter's hand.Never while I live."Then Hooper drew himself up.He seemed to me six feet tall.He lifted his hand, and spoke with the kind of solemnity that you expect to come from the altar."Then listen to me, Mrs.Fairbanks.

You say you would not receive him or such as him into your house.

You invite me often to your home, and here I constantly meet men who are known in society as rakes and roues.You know it, and all society women know it, too.If you cared to take half the trouble you have taken in this case, you could find out all the facts.You are a woman of society, and you know well what I say is true.I have seen you in this room place your daughter in the arms of a man you knew to be a drunkard, and must have suspected was a libertine.

These men have the entree to every good family in the city, and though their character is known, they are received everywhere.They have wealth and family connection.Do not attempt to deny it, Mrs.