"Oh, what is it?" she cried, involuntarily, as she saw his face. "Don't, dear Mr. Watkins; don't take it so badly."
Mr. Watkins put his hand on her arm as she spoke. He was so faint and weak that he seemed obliged to lean on something.
"I—I have explained that matter about the money," he whispered, hoarsely. "Hardy will not annoy you any longer. The thief has been discovered."
He looked so wretched that the tears sprang to Faith's eyes.
"I am glad it is explained," she answered, hastily, "but you are ill, Mr. Watkins. You should go home this minute."
"Home—home!" repeated Mr. Watkins in a vacant manner.
Then with a fearful groan of agony he collapsed completely. As he fell to the floor several of the undertaker's clerks rushed forward and lifted him up.
"Another victim of conditions, of greed and avarice," said a voice in Faith's ear.
She turned quickly and recognized Miss Alma Dean, the woman inspector, whose card she had in her pocket.
Without waiting for Faith to answer, the lady went on speaking. The men were laying Mr. Watkins on a sofa not twenty feet away from the body of his dead sweetheart.