it. "Why, man," he cried, "I loved that child's mother to the
day of her death. I loved that woman then, and, God help me!
I love that woman still."

He covered his face with his hands, and sat leaning
forward and breathing heavily as he rocked himself to and fro.
Van Bibber still stood looking gravely out at the lights that
picketed the black surface of the city. He was to all
appearances as unmoved by the outburst of feeling into which
the older man had been surprised as though it had been
something in a play. There was an unbroken silence for a
moment, and then it was Van Bibber who was the first to speak.

"I came here, as you say, on impulse," he said; "but I am
glad I came, for I have your decisive answer now about the
little girl. I have been thinking," he continued, slowly,
"since you have been speaking, and before, when I first saw
her dancing in front of the footlights, when I did not know
who she was, that I could give up a horse or two, if
necessary, and support this child instead. Children are worth
more than horses, and a man who saves a soul, as it says"--he
flushed slightly, and looked up with a hesitating, deprecatory
smile--"somewhere, wipes out a multitude of sins. And it may
be I'd like to try and get rid of some of mine. I know just
where to send her; I know the very place. It's down in
Evergreen Bay, on Long Island. They are tenants of mine
there, and very nice farm sort of people, who will be very
good to her. They wouldn't know anything about her, and she'd
forget what little she knows of this present life very soon,
and grow up with the other children to be one of them; and