“The gentleman is waiting in the reception-room, sir,” said he.

Mr. Burroughs paused to watch an unusually perfect ring of smoke lazily floating above his head; then took the card, and read in pencil,—­

“Theodore Ginniss would be glad to see Mr. Burroughs a moment on important business.”

“Indeed!  Well, it is a republic, and this is the West; but only Jack’s bean-stalk parallels such a growth.”  So said, in his own heart, Teddy Ginniss’s former master, as he drew two or three rapid whiffs from the stump of his cigar, and then, throwing it into the grass, strolled leisurely into the reception-room.

“Ah, Ginniss! how are you?” inquired he of the pale and nervous young man, who stood up to receive him, half extending his hand, but dropping it quickly upon perceiving those of Burroughs immovable.

“I am well, sir, thank you.”

“Want to see me on business, do you say?” continued the lawyer coolly.

“Yes, sir.”  And, as his true purpose and position came back to him, Teddy suddenly straightened himself, and grew as cool as the stately gentleman waiting with patient courtesy for his errand.

“I thought, sir, I’d come to you first, as it was to you I first had occasion to speak of my fault in hiding her.  ’Toinette is found, sir!”

“What!  ’Toinette Legrange found!  Teddy, your hand, my boy!  Found by you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Teddy, suffering his hand to be shaken.

“But what I wanted most was to ask if you think it safe to tell Mrs. Legrange.”

“Oh!  I’ll see to that.  Of course, it must be done very delicately.  But where is the child now? and when did you find her?”

“If you please, Mr. Burroughs, I should like to tell the story first to Mrs. Legrange, and I should like to tell her all myself.  It was I that hurt her, or helped to hurt her; and I’d like to be the one to give her the great joy that’s waiting for her.  Besides, sir,” and Teddy’s face grew white again, “though I did what was wrong enough, I never deny, I have suffered for it more, maybe, than you can think of; and this is all the amends I could ever want.  Mrs. Legrange has been very good to me, sir, and never blamed me, or spoke an unkind word, even at the first.”

“And I spoke a good many, you’re thinking,” said Mr. Burroughs keenly.  “Well, Teddy, I am a man, and Mrs. Legrange is a woman; and women look at matters more leniently and less exactly than we do.  But you must not be satisfied with pity instead of justice; for that will be to encourage your self-esteem at the expense of your manhood.  I do not deny that I never have recovered from my surprise at finding you had so long deceived me; but the news you bring to—­ day makes amends for much:  and, after I have heard the particulars, I may yet be able to forget the past, and feel to you as I used.”

But Teddy’s bow, though respectful, was not humble; and he only asked in reply,—­