“But this is purely personal, sir!” answered Mr. Watkins, sadly.  “I have come to see you about that five hundred dollars that was taken from your desk last Monday morning.”

“What of it?” asked Mr. Forbes with much of his old interest returning.  He had been too long a slave to money to loose the bondage immediately.

Mr. Watkins was trembling now so that he could hardly speak.  In his weak condition of health the recent deluge of trouble was telling upon him.

“She took it, I suppose, that girl that I employed that morning,” said Mr. Forbes, trying to hurry matters.  “Has anything been done?  I told Hardy to look after it.”

He picked up Faith’s letter again and glanced at it absently.  When he saw the name he dropped it as if it had stung him.

A great wave of color purpled his heavy face, and instantly he was the same old tyrant, raging furiously at the creatures whom fate had made his victims.

“See here, Watkins!  Here’s her letter!  Can you believe such deceit!  She not only cursed me that morning with her religious cant, but she stole my money as well; now she mocks my sorrow with a letter like that—­she is ‘sorry’ for me!  Do you hear, Watkins?  She is ‘sorry!’”

The great veins were standing out like cords upon his forehead, and he began pacing the floor in a perfect frenzy of anger.

“Tell Hardy to arrest her and have her locked up at once!  I’ll make an example of her before the whole store!  The idea of her daring to write me a letter!”

“But, Mr. Forbes, please listen!” cried Mr. Watkins at last.  This injustice to Faith had brought him to his senses.  “It was not Miss Marvin who stole the money!  She is a good girl, sir, the best I ever knew, and she is sorry for you, sir; if she wasn’t she would not say so!”

“But the money!” roared Mr. Forbes.  “Who took the money?  If it wasn’t the girl, why didn’t you say so?”

“I couldn’t, sir, at first, but I will say it now; but for pity’s sake be merciful, sir.  The thief was my own poor brother!”

“What! the boy who tends door?” asked Mr. Forbes in great astonishment.

“Yes, sir; poor Sam took it!  He stole it for our mother!”

Mr. Forbes stared at him some time before he spoke again.

“And the girl,” he asked finally.  “Has Hardy been following her?”

“He has indeed,” said Mr. Watkins quickly, “but I dare not report his actions; I have no proofs to offer.  Hardy would doubtless deny all that she could say of him, for a girl is helpless in the hands of a villain like Hardy.”

“I have found him a good detective,” said Mr. Forbes, slowly, “but if you knew who took the money why didn’t you tell him?”

“How could I, sir?”

Mr. Watkins had begun to tremble again.

“The knowledge of his sin is already killing my mother; if it becomes public she will die.  I was waiting for you to come back to business.”