Ten bonds! More than enough! What would McGowan say now?
What would his Uncle Arthur say?
He slipped his hand under his coat fondling the wrapper, caressing it as a lover does a long-delayed letter, as a prisoner does a key which is to turn darkness into light, as a hunted man a weapon which may save his life.
It did not take Jack many minutes we may be sure to hurry from the station to Ruth's home.

There it all happened just as he had planned and schemed it should--even to the kiss and the hunting for the package of bonds, and Ruth's cry of joy, and the walk through the starlight night to Corinne's, and the finding her upstairs; except that the poor woman was not yet in bed.
"Who gave it to you, Jack ?" Corinne asked in a tired voice.
"A friend of Uncle Peter's." "You mean Mr.Grayson ?" "Yes." There was no outburst, no cry of gratitude, no flood of long-pent-up tears.

The storm had so crushed and bruised this plant that many days must elapse before it would again lift its leaves from the mud.
"It was very good of Mr.Grayson, Jack," was all she said in answer, and then relapsed into the apathy which had been hers since the hour when the details of her husband's dishonesty had dropped from his lips.
Poor girl! she had no delusions to sustain her.

She knew right from wrong.

Emotions never misled her.