the household? From what you have told me, I can see that your ransom was all her doing—and why should she have done it?"
"Yes," I said to myself. "Why should she have done it?"
From this point the letter jumped into another key. "Frank," wrote Léontine, "don't think that I am urging you to remain in the Under-World. I love your firmness and I adore your strength of purpose. You are too good for a thief; too strong and fine. Oh, my dear, do you think that I have never felt as you do? Do you think that I have never wished to get out of this slough? To look the whole world in the face without fear and without reproach? I am sick of this atmosphere of doubt and defiance. Let us go away together and begin our lives afresh. We are both young and strong and talented. Let us go far away to some new country and begin our lives anew, and on a clean and wholesome footing. Let us pay your money debt, Frank—for all that I have is yours. You told me to-day that Society's debt to you had been paid in full. My dear, Society owes me a debt also; a debt far greater than yours. But if Society will give me you, I will consider the obligation as cancelled"; and then there was a whole lot which would make me feel even more a fool to repeat.
I dropped the letter on the desk and ran my hands through my hair. The room felt hot, the night was hot, my head was hot. Up I jumped and opened the window on the other side, and a fresh breeze swept in. For several minutes I stood in the window, facing it, my head in a whirl. Léontine was right, I thought. Such a past as mine could never
