He released himself from his aunt’s embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat.  With the aid of a penknife he ripped the shoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills.  Gravely he placed them in his aunt’s hand.

“You didn’t spend it?”

“I never intended to spend it—­any more than I really intended to steal it.  That’s the sort of fool your nephew is!”

“Not even a good time!” said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffed the bills into her reticule.  “Not a single whooper-upter!  Nothing but torment and remorse ... and Ruth!  Children, put your arms around me.  In a little while—­to-morrow—­all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I’ll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.  I’ll be wanting my sixteen thousand.”

“Six,” he corrected.

“Why, so it is,” she said, in mock astonishment.  “Think of me forgetting ten thousand so quickly!”

“Go to, you old fraud!  You’ll never fool me again.  God bless you, Auntie!  I’ll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to.  Home!—­which I never hoped to see again.  To dream and to labour:  to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.  And if sometimes I grow heady—­and it’s in the blood—­remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—­a thief.”

“Hoddy!” said Ruth.  “You mustn’t!”

“Nothing can change that, Dawn Pearl.  Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there.”

There fell upon the three the silence of perfect understanding; and in this silence each saw a vision.  To Ruth came that of the great world, her lawful lover at her side; and there would be glorious books into each of which he would unconsciously put a little of her soul along with his own, needing her always.  The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth—­a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.  Spurlock’s vision was oddly of the past.  He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone.

“Children,” said the aunt, first to awake, “be young fools as long as God will permit you.  And don’t worry about the six thousand, Hoddy.  I’ll call it my wedding gift.  There’s nothing so sad in this world as an old fool,” she added.

The three of them laughed joyously.

And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway.  He was caked with dried muck.  He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope.  With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible.  There was.

THE END

[Illustration:  Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge MIMI PALMERI AS RUTH ENSCHEDE ALFRED LUNT AS HOWARD SPURLOCK]

[Illustration:  Distinctive Pictures Photoplay The Ragged Edge A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY]