The clerk standing near him in the doorway turned hurriedly.

"Any trouble?" he asked, moving toward him and noticing the ashy pallor of
his face.

The old man's hand closed spasmodically over the paper.

"Nothing," he managed to answer, waving the man away; "don't notice me."

The clerk, seeing his presence was undesirable, took up his position in the
doorway again.

Levice sat on. No further sound broke from him; he had clinched his teeth
hard. It had come to this, then. She loved him; it was too late. If the
man's heart alone were concerned, it would have been an easy matter; but
hers, Ruth's. God! If she really loved, her father knew only too well how
she would love. Was the man crazy? Had he entirely forgotten the gulf
that lay between them? Great drops of perspiration rose to his forehead.
Two ideas held him in a desperate struggle, --his child's happiness; the
prejudice of a lifetime. Something conquered finally, and he arose quietly
and walked slowly off.

Through the trees he heard laughter. He walked round and saw her swinging
Will Tyrrell.

"There's your father," cried Boss, from the limb of a tree.

She looked up, startled. With a newborn shyness she had endeavored to put
off this meeting with her father. She gave the swing another push and