9 ACORN thoughts and feelings over again. In my conversation with Claire Dwice I remembered a peculiar statement a statement that perhaps had some bearing on the present situation. She had told me that it would be better if I never knew the secret of her unpopularity of her Grecian blood. Why had she told me that? On the next forenoon I went to see Miss Dwice. I found her in an elaborately furnished room it was her own decorated so as to give a luxuriant Oriental effect. She seemed quite broken up, and I was surprised that she allowed me to see her. "There is one thing that I came to ask you." "What is it? Ask me," was her generous reply. "I I remember that you told me it would be better for Ruth Sousera if I never knew of her Greek blood. Why did you" she was crying. "I I why did you ask me that? Ruth oh poor Ruth." And again she cried, almost hysterically. "I oh Don, I might as well give up the ship. My life my worthless life oh, dear, I wish I were dead. I must see Ruth. Oh if I only had the innocent heart that is hers. Donald can't you can't you find her? She is not guilty; it was it was I who took the ring. She found my thievery out. I put the ring in her coat I arranged the clues. If she were out of the way I would be safer, I thought. Oh, Donald, can I ever oh, find her, Don. Maybe she is starving. She is an orphan, you know, and her aunt turned her out. What if she is a Grecian? Don't you know, Don can't you see, it's what's beneath the outer garb that counts? Poor, sweet Ruth." A knock came at the door. After some hesitancy, Claire, doing her best to collect herself, admitted the guest. The early visitor was a girl. She looked at Claire, then at me, and fell forward. She was under a tremendous strain, and my two years of medical training told me that she was also starving. I ran to prevent her from falling to the floor. I raised her drooping head and, lo! I saw the sweet face, the golden hair, the blue eyes of Ruth of Ruth Sousera, the Grecian girl. Iban A train speeding rapidly through the dull gray fog of a wet March day towards the little village of Melville, bore with it a host of travel-stained, weary-looking passengers. Their tired countenances seemed to reflect the uncheerfulness of the weather. In a far end of the car, a young man sat who may have been handsome but for the haggard, ACORN 10 worn expression on his face, the hard, steely look in his eye and the bitter half smile that curled his lips. He sat with his elbow on the window-sill, his head resting on his hand, and noticed the cold, driving rain that struck his face and dark hair as little as he did the audible complaints of his fellow passengers, who did not feel inclined to favor an open window. Neither hearing nor seeing, he stared vacantly out of the window until the cry "Melville" rang through the cars in deep, sonorous tones. The first sign of life appeared on his face as he started, caught up a suit-case and rushed out of the car, jumping off almost before the train stopped. He hurriedly caught a passing taxi, and sank down with a sigh of relief when he was again under cover. "It's not the home-coming I hoped for when I went away two years ago," he muttered. "Honors, triumphs yes, and possibly some slight show of pride and interest from Dad." The satirical smile was more pronounced now. "Those were my ambitious hopes this is the reality. Oh, that first cup of wine, that gradual drifting downward and downward until now disgrace expulsion." A glow of shame mounted to his forehead and he dropped his head into his hands. "Why, I do not care for his anger it's not that, but to have brought this disgrace to him, to have" he broke off abruptly with a stifled sob, assumed once more the defiantly hard and scornful look which contrasted so greatly with the sudden boyish shame and grief. The taxi stopped with a sudden jerk before the stately old mansion of Judge Clamart. Once more the judge's son was walking up its cold stone steps, once more entering its heavy oaken doors. He stood still a moment in the great old-fashioned hall, so rich in its grandeur, yet so poor in its cheerfulness, so dark, so silent. Perhaps if there had been a motor to meet him, or little brothers and sisters tumbling down the broad stair case to be at the door first "Why, Master Ivan!" the surprised and pleased voice of the butler broke in upon his reveries. "How are you, Reynolds?" he said, and his face softened as he grasped the hand of the faithful old servant. "I caught an earlier train than I expected. Where is Judge Clamart?" In a few moments Ivan stood before the door of the judge's study. He had braced himself to endure anger, reproach, or cold displeasure and he leaned against the mantle some few feet behind his father. The bent head, with its iron gray hair, above the broad, stooped shoulders, slowly lifted; just as slowly the large chair wheeled around, and Judge Clamart turned to face his son. Ivan remained motionless. "Well, Ivan, you have returned," he said, as if stating a fact which he alone possessed. "I suppose you found your room ready as usual." Having given forth these cold facts, he wheeled the big chair round, and Ivan saw only the gray hair and black coat. He had