Jane Cable

Mr. Clegg was not long in convincing Graydon that his proposition to him was sincere and not the outgrowth of sentiment. A dozen men in the office greeted Graydon with a warmth that had an uplifting effect. He went away with a heart lighter than he had once imagined it could ever be again. In two weeks he was to be in absolute control of the New York branch; he assured the firm that his physical condition was such that he could go to work at once, if necessary.

As he hastened to the Annex, misgivings again entered into his soul. The newspapers had heralded his return and had hinted broadly at romantic developments in connection with Miss Cable, "who is at the Annex with Mr. and Mrs. Cable." There were brief references to the causes which sent both of them to the Philippines, find that was all.

Without hesitation, he came to the point by asking if she knew what had befallen his father. Jane had heard the news the night before. He thereupon put the whole situation before her just as it had been suggested in Droom's ironical remark. It was not until after the question had been passed upon by Mr. and Mrs. Cable that she reluctantly consented to visit Graydon's father--solely for the purpose of gleaning what information she could regarding her parentage.

They left the next day with Elias Droom, depressed, nervous, dreading the hour ahead of them. Neither was in the mood to respond to the eager, excited remarks of the old clerk. The short railroad trip was one never to be forgotten; impressions were left in their lives that could not be effaced.

James Bansemer, shorn and striped, was not expecting visitors. He was surprised and angry when he was told that visitors were waiting to see him. For four weeks he had laboured clumsily and sourly in the shoe factory of the great prison, a hauler and carrier. His tall figure was bent with unusual toil, his hands were sore and his heart was full of the canker of rebellion. Already, in that short time, his face had taken on the look of the convict. All the viciousness in his nature had gone to his face and settled there. He had the sullen, dogged, patient look of the man who has a number but no name.

The once dignified, aggressive walk had degenerated into a slouch; he shuffled as he came to the bars where he was to meet his first visitors. He was not pleased but he was curious. Down in his heart he found a hope that his attorney had come with good news. It was not until he was almost face to face with his son that he realised who it was; not until then that he felt the full force of shame, ignominy, loathing for himself.