“I don’t wonder,” said Faith.  “A woman could hardly forgive such an insult, but your detective is capable of far worse, Mr. Denton; he is a very wicked man.  I think it is my duty to denounce him.”

If a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet Hardy could hardly have been more astonished.  He had not dreamed that the timid girl would dare tell what he had done, particularly as she had acquiesced, as he supposed, in his vile suggestion.

Mr. Denton glanced at her sharply, but she did not quail, although her cheeks were scarlet over the unpleasant remembrance.

“Eh!  What has Hardy done?  Tell me at once, Miss Marvin.  You will never have a better time than when he is present to hear you.”

“Oh, I would never tell it behind his back,” said Faith.  “I always deal fairly and squarely, even with my enemies.”

As she spoke, she looked Hardy steadily in the eye.  He saw that she would treat him justly, but with no mercy.  It was a difficult matter for Faith to tell her tale, but she did it in a way that was absolutely convincing.

“And, oh, Mr. Denton,” she cried in conclusion, “is it not enough that we girls have to work so hard without being subjected to such vile, unspeakable horrors?”

Mr. Denton put his hands to his temples and pressed them hard for a moment.  The girl’s words had overwhelmed him with the full sense of his negligence.

To be able to prevent all or many of these evils and then to be indifferent, thoughtless, neglectful.  It had all come to him at once—­while the girl was speaking, just as the first tinge of remorse had come when Miss Jennings was dying.

Hardy was standing like a statue, his face purple with anger.  It was useless for him to speak.  He was convicted without evidence.

Mr. Denton had not replied when the poor woman was led out.  She had been searched thoroughly by the woman detective, but there were no stolen goods about her.

“That settles it, Hardy.  Yon can go,” said Mr. Denton wearily.  “The cashier will pay you.  I am done with your services.”

“Oh no!”

Faith gave utterance to a pitiful cry.  Hardy turned and glared at her a second and then left the office.

“Oh, I did not mean to get him discharged,” groaned Faith.  “Perhaps a little more mercy would have been far better.”

“He deserves no mercy,” said Mr. Denton, shortly.  There was a decision in his words that was quite contrary to his nature.

The poor woman slipped away thankfully with a grateful smile at Faith, and she was left alone with Mr. Denton.  It was the moment she had been praying for, and Faith did not intend to lose it Without a moment’s hesitation she spoke softly to her employer.

“Please, Mr. Denton, may I say a few words more?  They are not busy downstairs.  I am sure they’ll not need me.”

“Say what you wish,” was the answer, and Faith hurried on.  Her very soul was on her lips as the words fell from them.