Then, moved by some strange impulse in the presence of this pure,
unworldly girl, Stephen Potter suddenly spoke out, for the first time
since his boyhood, with absolute sincerity.

"Miss Miller, you are your father over again. I reverenced your father. I
have wronged many men without caring, but it troubled me to wrong him. I
would give you that money to-night, if I had it, or could raise it. I am
not a rich man. I have not a dollar in the world. This house is not mine.
It may be sold over my head any day. I am deep in trouble, but not so deep
as I deserve to be," and he buried his face in his hands.

Draxy believed him. And it was true. At that moment Stephen Potter was
really a ruined man, and many others were involved in the ruin which was
impending.

Draxy rose, saying gravely, "I am very sorry for you, Mr. Potter. We
heard that you were rich, or I should not have come. We are very poor, but
we are not unhappy, as you are."

"Stay, Miss Miller, sit down; I have a thing which might be of value to
your father;" and Mr. Potter opened his safe and took out a bundle of old
yellow papers. "Here is the title to a lot of land in the northern part of
New Hampshire. I took it on a debt years ago, and never thought it was
worth anything. Very likely it has run out, or the town has taken
possession of the land for the taxes. But I did think the other day, that
if worst came to worst, I might take my wife up there and try to farm it.
But I'd rather your father should have it if it's good for anything. I
took it for three thousand dollars, and it ought to be worth something. I
will have the legal transfer made in the morning, and give it to you
before you leave."