“I do not think I am going beyond my strength,” Virgie replied, gravely.  “Besides, I am much more content when I am very busy; it keeps me from—­thinking.”

“You ought to be far more than simply ‘content,’” answered Mr. Knight, regarding the fair face wistfully, “for you are not only making plenty of money, but winning fame for yourself also.  The name of Alexander bids fair to become renowned.”

Virgie started violently at this, and glanced sharply at her companion.  Then a burning blush suffused her face, and she said, in a low, pained tone: 

“Oh, I hope not!  I—­I do not wish to be known.  I am afraid I have done wrong in using the name at all.  I did it hastily, impulsively——­”

She stopped, covered with confusion, a look of distress on her lovely face for having allowed herself to say so much.

Mr. Knight looked astonished for a moment, while he earnestly studied her countenance.  Then light seemed to dawn upon him suddenly.

“Pardon me,” he said, leaning eagerly toward her, “but what you have said has enlightened me regarding something that has puzzled me since the day I first met you.  You are the daughter of Abbot Alexander who disappeared so mysteriously from this city several years ago.”

“Yes, it is true,” Virgie confessed, with bowed head and burning cheeks.  “But, oh, Mr. Knight, pray do not allow any one else to suspect my identity if you can avoid it.  Put some other name to my books, or put no name at all to them.  For my father’s sake, I shrink from attracting public attention to his name.”

“My dear young friend, I fear you are morbidly sensitive I used to know your father, and I always esteemed him as a noble man—­one whose honor was unimpeachable.”

“Ah!  Then you do not know—­”

“Yes, I do know all about that financial earthquake which wrought his ruin and that of many others; but I am sure he was blameless.”

“You judge him, then, more kindly than others,” Virgie returned, almost weeping to hear her father so warmly defended.  “There are few, I fear, who do not believe the very worst of him even now.”

“Doubtless that is true,” Mr. Knight answered, with a sigh; “but I have always been convinced that that rascally cashier was at the bottom of the wrong.  You must pardon me for speaking so plainly.  I know that he was a relative, though unworthy the name he bore.”

“But all the papers stated that the president and cashier were in league,” said Virgie.

“I know it; and at first the affair did have that appearance—­at least, such a construction was but natural under the circumstances.”

“But papa gave up every dollar he possessed to right the wrong.”

“I know he did, but the amount was so small, compared with that which had been stolen, that people were skeptical regarding his motives, and when he also disappeared, they were only too ready to believe that he had gone to share the plunder with the guilty cashier.  But I would as soon suspect myself of a crime as Abbot Alexander.  I know that he was an honorable man.”