“If I do,” smiled Jefferson, “you shall be the first to congratulate me.  I shall come and ask you to be my wife.  May I?” he added.

Shirley smiled gravely.

“Get famous first.  You may not want me then.”

“I shall always want you,” he whispered hoarsely, bending over her.  In the dim light of the porch he saw that her tear-stained face was drawn and pale.  He rose and held out his hand.

“Good-bye,” he said simply.

“Good-bye, Jefferson.”  She rose and put her hand in his.  “We shall always be friends.  I, too, am going away.”

“You going away—­where to?” he asked surprised.

“I have work to do in connection with my father’s case,” she said.

“You?” said Jefferson puzzled.  “You have work to do—­what work?”

“I can’t say what it is, Jefferson.  There are good reasons why I can’t.  You must take my word for it that it is urgent and important work.”  Then she added:  “You go your way, Jefferson; I will go mine.  It was not our destiny to belong to each other.  You will become famous as an artist.  And I—­”

“And you—­” echoed Jefferson.

“I—­I shall devote my life to my father.  It’s no use, Jefferson—­ really—­I’ve thought it all out.  You must not come back to me—­you understand.  We must be alone with our grief—­father and I. Good-bye.”

He raised her hand to his lips.

“Good-bye, Shirley.  Don’t forget me.  I shall come back for you.”

He went down the porch and she watched him go out of the gate and down the road until she could see his figure no longer.  Then she turned back and sank into her chair and burying her face in her handkerchief she gave way to a torrent of tears which afforded some relief to the weight on her heart.  Presently the others returned from their walk and she told them about the visitor.

“Mr. Ryder’s son, Jefferson, was here.  We crossed on the same ship.  I introduced him to Judge Stott on the dock.”

The judge looked surprised, but he merely said: 

“I hope for his sake that he is a different man from his father.”

“He is,” replied Shirley simply, and nothing more was said.

Two days went by, during which Shirley went on completing the preparations for her visit to New York.  It was arranged that Stott should escort her to the city.  Shortly before they started for the train a letter arrived for Shirley.  Like the first one it had been forwarded by her publishers.  It read as follows: 

 Miss Shirley green,

Dear Madam.—­I shall be happy to see you at my residence—­Fifth Avenue—­any afternoon that you will mention.

Yours very truly,

John Burkett Ryder, per B.

Shirley smiled in triumph as, unseen by her father and mother, she passed it over to Stott.  She at once sat down and wrote this reply: 

Mr. John Burkett Ryder,