“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. ” Then he went on to say: “Well, you’ve had your little adventure, and I hope now you’ve had enough of it. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. ’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. This whole affair is truly my fault. Forthwith he presented his card. “Useless—worse than useless.
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