"I might do this," he said. "I might pose as his unknown friend—another philanthropist, Cynthia." He smiled rather grimly. "I might get hold of him when he comes out, give him something to do to keep his head above water. If he has any manhood in him, he won't mind what he takes. And I might—later, if I thought it practicable—I only say 'if,' Cynthia, for after many years of prison life a man isn't always fit company for a lady—I might arrange that you should see him in some absolutely casual fashion. If you consent to this arrangement you must leave that entirely to me."
"But you will hate to do it!" she exclaimed.
He rose. "I will do it for your sake," he said. "I shall not hate it if it makes you see things—as they are."
"Oh, but you are good," she said tremulously—"you are good!"
"I love a good woman," he answered gravely.
And with that he turned and left her alone in the firelight with her romance.
II
It was early on a dark November day that the prison gate at Barren Hill opened to allow a convict who had just completed twelve years' penal servitude to pass out a free man.
A motor car was drawn up at the side of the kerb as he emerged, and a man in a long overcoat, with another slung on his arm, was pacing up and down.
He wheeled at the closing of the gate, and they stood face to face.