“You saved me—­me,” cried Halloran, huskily, “your deadly foe, who tried to rob you of your life.”

“It was my duty, ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,’” quoted Lester, quietly.

Halloran fell on his knees, covering the other’s hands with passionate kisses, tears falling like rain from his eyes.

“From this hour the life that you have saved shall be devoted to you—­and God!” he cried brokenly.  “Oh, will Heaven ever forgive me for the past?  There are two bullets left in the revolver; you ought to shoot me dead at your feet, Lester Armstrong.  I deserve it.”

Lester shook his head.

“Do better with your life than you have done in the past,” he said.

Halloran tried to rise to his feet, but fell back exhausted on the snow.

“I cannot walk,” he gasped.  “I—­I am sure my limbs are frozen.”

With a humane kindness that won him Halloran’s gratitude to his dying day, Lester helped him to the railway station, and to board the incoming train, taking him to a hospital when they reached New York City.

Halloran had lapsed into unconsciousness, but Lester was too kind of heart to desert him in his hour of need.

The clock was striking five as Lester left the hospital.

On the pavement he paused, asking himself if he could go to a hotel presenting that soiled, unkempt appearance.  Then like an inspiration it occurred to him that the best place in the world to go to was Mr. Conway’s; and he put the thought into execution at once, reaching there nearly an hour later.

Mr. Conway and Margery were just sitting down to breakfast as he rang the bell of the humble little cottage.

Mr. Conway answered the summons.

The scene which followed can better be imagined than described.

It was hard to convince father and daughter, at first, that in telling his story he was not attempting to play some practical joke upon them.

That he had a cousin who so cleverly resembled him that even those who had known Lester intimately for long years should be so cleverly deceived by him seemed almost incredible.  Margery hid her face in her trembling hands while her father gave Lester a full account of what had transpired, while the latter’s emotion was great; and his distress intense, upon learning that Kendale had dared betroth himself to Margery in his name, and that the gentle-hearted girl had learned to care for the scamp, despite her repugnance to him at first.

Lester thought it best, under the circumstances, to confide in full to Margery and her father concerning his own love affair, lest they might expect him to carry out the contract his cousin had made in regard to marrying his old friend’s pretty daughter.

Margery’s next words, however, set his troubled heart at rest in that respect.

She looked up at him suddenly through her tears, saying shyly: 

“There is another who cares for me, not knowing of this affair, one whom I once thought I could love.  Yesterday he wrote me a letter, asking for my heart and hand.