Helen’s voice was very low as she answered, “Perhaps, at last.”  Then she sat very still, and finally raised her deep, earnest eyes and leaned forward and gazed straight into her companion’s.  “Mr. Howard,” she said, “you must know that YOU are my conscience; and it is the memory of your words that causes me all my suffering.  And now tell me one thing; suppose I were to say to you that I could beg upon my knees for a chance to earn such a life as that; and suppose I should ever come really to love someone, and should give up everything to win such a treasure, do you think that I could clear my soul from what I have done, and win rightness for mine?  Do you think that you—­that YOU could ever forget that I was the woman who had wished to sell her love for money?”

Mr. Howard answered softly, “Yes, I think so.”

“But are you sure of it?” Helen asked; and when she had received the same reply she drew a long breath, and a wonderful expression of relief came upon her face; all her being seemed to rise,—­as if all in an instant she had flung away the burden of shame and fear that had been crushing her soul.  She sat gazing at the other with a strange look in her eyes, and then she sank down and buried her head in her arms upon the table.

And fully a minute passed thus without a sound.  Helen was just lifting her head again, and Mr. Howard was about to speak, when an unexpected interruption caused him to stop.  The front door was opened, and as Helen turned with a start the servant came and stood in the doorway.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” Helen asked in a faint voice.

“I have just been to the post office,” the woman answered; “here is a letter for you.”

“Very well,” Helen answered; “give it to me.”

And she took it and put it on the table in front of her.  Then she waited until the servant was gone, and in the meantime, half mechanically, turned her eyes upon the envelope.  Suddenly the man saw her give a violent start and turn very pale; she snatched up the letter and sprang to her feet, and stood supporting herself by the chair, her hand shaking, and her breath coming in gasps.

“What is it?” Mr. Howard cried.

Helen’s voice was hoarse and choking as she answered him:  “It is from Arthur!” As he started and half rose from his chair the girl tore open the letter and unfolded the contents, glancing at it once very swiftly, her eyes flying from line to line; the next instant she let it fall to the floor with a cry and clutched with her hands at her bosom.  She tried to speak, but she was choking with her emotion; only her companion saw that her face was transfigured with delight; and then suddenly she sank down upon the sofa beside her, her form shaken with hysterical laughter and sobbing.

Mr. Howard had risen from his chair in wonder; but before he could take a step toward her he heard someone in the hall, and Mr. Davis rushed into the room.  “Helen, Helen!” he exclaimed, “what is the matter?” and sank down upon his knees beside her; the girl raised her head and then flung herself into his arms, exclaining incoherently:  “Oh, Daddy, I am free!  Oh, oh—­can you believe it—­I am free!”