' , '. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 
 
THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINIANA 
 
 ENDOWED BY 
 
 JOHN SPRUNT HILL 
 
 CLASS OF 1889 
 
 C813 
 R35w 
 
This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
THE WARGRAVE TRUST 
 
THE 
 
 WARGRAVE TRUST 
 
 BY 
 
 CHRISTIAN REID 
 
 Author of "A Woman of Fortune,'" etc ., etc. 
 
 New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 
 
 BENZIGER BROTHERS 
 
 PUBLISHERS OF BENZIGER'S MAGAZINE 
 
Copyright, 1911, by Benziger Brothers 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 *> 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Reparation 7 
 
 II. At Home 19 
 
 III. A Trust 31 
 
 IV. Laurence Meets His Uncle 43 
 
 V. A Question of Confidence 55 
 
 VI. Family History 67 
 
 VII. A Change of Name 78 
 
 VIII. A Matter of Justice 91 
 
 IX. Laurence Meets Father Martin 105 
 
 X. Miss Selwyn is Introduced 119 
 
 XI. Laurence Calls up Miss Landon 134 
 
 XII. Laurence Renews Acquaintance with 
 
 Miss Landon 148 
 
 XIII. Judge Wargrave Receives a Letter 164 
 
 XIV. Father Martin Tells Miss Landon's 
 
 Story 180 
 
 XV. Miss Landon's Secret is Revealed 193 
 
 XVI. Miss Landon Acts as Judge Wargrave's 
 
 Nurse 208 
 
 XVII. The Judge Recognizes the Likeness 224 
 
 v; 5 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVIII. The Judge's Illusion 242 
 
 XIX. Edith Creighton's Opinion op Laurence 257 
 
 XX. The Judge Asks Miss Landon's Name. . 272 
 
 XXI. Pardon and Love 287 
 
 XXII. Edith Listens at the Door 299 
 
 XXIII. Hester Explains 312 
 
 XXIV. Judge "Wargrave's Death 325 
 
 XXV. Laurence Burns the Will 340 
 
 XXVI. A Family Discussion 358 
 
 XXVII. Laurence Stays 370 
 
THE WARGRAVE TRUST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 EEPAEATION 
 
 It came, as such things generally come, with 
 the unexpectedness of a thunderbolt out of a 
 clear sky. One moment the train was flying 
 swiftly and smoothly across the beautiful 
 country, full of autumn color and the peace- 
 fulness of harvest time ; and the next it was as 
 if an Inferno of horror had opened for those 
 within it. There came from the engine a sudden, 
 wild shriek, like a cry of mortal peril and 
 terror; a grinding shock, as the brakes were 
 hurriedly applied, which threw every one who 
 chanced to be standing off his or her feet ; and, 
 following immediately, a crash so tremendous 
 that it seemed impossible for anything to with- 
 stand it. The Pullman coach trembled under 
 the terrible impact like a living thing, and for 
 an instant seemed about to go over; but its 
 great weight kept it on the track, while, amid 
 
 7 
 
8 REPAEATION 
 
 the hiss and uproar of escaping steam, the 
 ordinary coaches in front tumbled upon each 
 other, splintering like kindling wood, and 
 imprisoning in their debris the shrieking mass 
 of humanity which they held. 
 
 Laurence Desmond sprang to his feet as soon 
 as movement became possible. He had been 
 lying back in his seat, half asleep, when the 
 crash came ; but there was no doubt in his mind 
 what it meant. As he opened his eyes he 
 expected to look Death in the face; but when, 
 after that sickening instant of indecision, the 
 Pullman stood still, he knew that for those 
 within it the danger was past ; and the impulse 
 to go to the aid of those others for whom it was 
 not past, whose awful cries were even now 
 filling the air, made him start hurriedly toward 
 the door. 
 
 His movement was so rapid that, in the act 
 of leaving his seat, he came into collision with 
 the occupant of the opposite section, — a young 
 woman who, like himself, was travelling alone, 
 and whose eager movement into the aisle 
 coincided exactly with his own. Both recoiled, 
 with a gasped word of apology ; and then, invol- 
 untarily catching his arm, the girl exclaimed: 
 
 ' 'You are going to help them? So am I." 
 
 He paused to stare at her. " You'd better 
 stay where you are," he said. " There's noth- 
 ing you can do, and it will be — horrible ! You 
 are quite safe here now. ' ' 
 
REPARATION 9 
 
 "I am not thinking of safety," she answered. 
 "And you don't understand. There may be a 
 great deal that I can do. I'm a trained nurse." 
 
 "Oh!" He knew what this meant; and he 
 also recognized, with the insight which comes 
 in such moments of emergency, that there was 
 no possibility of flinching or weakness in the 
 face out of which the clear eyes met his own 
 so steadily, whatever horror those eyes might 
 be called to look upon. ' ' In that case, ' ' he said, 
 "you may be of much use. Come!" 
 
 He moved on hastily, and she followed him 
 as quickly as was possible down the narrow 
 passage, now crowded with men hurrying 
 toward the door, while urging the hysterical 
 women in the different sections to keep quiet. 
 One of these women seized and detained her. 
 
 "They want us to stay here!" she cried. 
 "But you are going out." 
 
 "Because I'm a trained nurse," the girl 
 explained. "I wouldn't go if I didn't think I 
 could be of service. But those who are unable 
 to help had better stay where they are. ' ' 
 
 "But can't we help?" another asked. "If 
 some of us went with you, couldn't we be of 
 service, too ? ' ' 
 
 "It is doubtful," the girl answered. "And 
 it will be awful, — you don't know how awful! 
 Better let me go alone; and if there's anything 
 you can do, I will call for you." 
 
 Her quietness calmed them, her courage 
 
10 REPARATIOX 
 
 sliamed hysterics, and her promise acted as a 
 brace and stimulant. They fell back and 
 allowed her to go on. "Be sure and let us know 
 if there's anything we can do," they told her; 
 and when, with a nod, she hurried away, they 
 looked at each other with that mingling of 
 wonder and admiration which, while it lasts, 
 uplifts the human spirit above the common 
 things of life. Some faint realization came to 
 them of the awfulness of the scene to which she 
 was hastening, and a shudder shook even the 
 strongest. They sank back into their seats, as 
 if stilled by a compelling hand; and there can 
 be little doubt that more than one prayed in her 
 heart that the call for help might not come to 
 her. 
 
 Meanwhile the girl found Desmond waiting 
 for her just outside the car, where no obse- 
 quious porter with his stool was in attendance 
 now. As he helped her to the ground, he said 
 hesitatingly : 
 
 "Of course I know what your training has 
 been, but I hope you are strong enough to stand 
 this. It's — as bad as can be." 
 
 A glance told her what he was trying to pre- 
 pare her for; and she felt her heart turn sick, 
 as it had not turned since the first days of 
 the training to which he alluded. But her 
 voice betrayed no sign of this, as she said 
 hastily : 
 
 "Oh, I'm strong enough! And, any way, I 
 
REPARATION 11 
 
 haven't time to think of myself. Let us get 
 on — quick ! ' ' 
 
 Without more words, they hurried forward 
 to the scene of disaster. The two engines, which 
 had come together in a head-on collision, lay 
 overturned, a great mass of distorted metal, of 
 escaping steam and smoking fires ; underneath 
 which were buried the bodies of the engineers 
 and firemen, for whom rescue was so clearly 
 impossible that it could only be hoped that 
 death had come to them with merciful swift- 
 ness. But in the frightfully piled-up wreckage 
 of cars there were many shrieking, moaning 
 creatures still living and crying for help; and 
 to extricate these, men were working madly, 
 furiously, tearing away the debris and bring- 
 ing out the injured and the dead as fast as 
 possible. 
 
 Already many had been placed on the ground 
 by the side of the wreck — some, both of living 
 and dead, no more than awful fragments of 
 humanity — and in a minute the young nurse 
 was on her knees by the side of the first of 
 these, her bag open, her quick, deft hands giv- 
 ing such aid as the case required, or exigence 
 made possible. All shrinking was past. It was 
 as she had said : she had no time for thought of 
 herself or her own feelings; she was absorbed 
 in her work, in relieving and sustaining the 
 poor, fainting, suffering souls whom chance 
 had cast on her hands. 
 
12 REPARATION 
 
 For it soon appeared that their only hope of 
 such relief lay with her. There was not — at 
 least among the living — a physician on the 
 train; and as the shattered creatures were 
 brought out from the wreck and laid down in 
 increasing numbers, Desmond and several 
 other men found that they could do their best 
 relief work in giving, under her direction, that 
 " first aid to the injured" which was almost 
 immediately demanded. With coolness, clear- 
 ness and precision, she issued the orders, which 
 their willing, if somewhat clumsy, hands 
 obeyed; and as she moved from one case to 
 another, seeing at a glance what it was neces- 
 sary to do, and doing and directing this, she 
 seemed, to those who had time to think and to 
 observe, the incarnation of helpful energy, as 
 well as of trained skill. 
 
 Nor was this energy the cold and soulless 
 thing which hospital training too frequently 
 produces. There was in it a warmth of human 
 sympathy, a compassion for suffering, which 
 gave gentleness to every touch, and spoke in 
 every word she uttered. Courage seemed to 
 emanate from her; and many of the most des- 
 perately injured hushed their cries as they 
 looked up into her face, at once so tender and so 
 brave. It may have been this influence which 
 made one man catch her hand, as she bent over 
 him to examine his injuries. 
 
 i ' You can do nothing for me, ' ' he said. " I 'm 
 
REPARATION 13 
 
 hurt past help; I know enough to know that. 
 All you can do is to get me a priest — for the 
 love of God !" 
 
 When this demand is made in the face of 
 death, not even the most ignorant ever doubts 
 the religion of the person who utters it. The 
 nurse looked around at her assistants. 
 
 ' ' This man is a Catholic, ' ' she said, ' ' and he 
 wants a priest. Is there any among the pas- 
 sengers?" 
 
 They glanced at each other, and it was Des- 
 mond who answered : 
 
 ' ' There 's no priest, or he would be here with 
 us. But one may come on the relief train that 
 has been telegraphed for to Kingsf ord. ' ' 
 
 " Can't you send a message to make sure?" 
 the injured man asked. "Unless there's a call, 
 they may not bring one." 
 
 "Yes, I'll go and send a message at once," 
 Desmond answered. He looked apologetically 
 at the nurse. "I'm sorry to leave," he said, 
 "but this is the most urgent need of all. And 
 meanwhile" (he leaned over the man) "you 
 know what to do : make your act of contrition. ' ' 
 
 "I've forgotten, — help me to make it," the 
 other said. 
 
 With only an instant's hesitation, the young 
 man knelt down beside him and repeated a 
 brief act of contrition, pausing between each 
 sentence for the halting utterance to echo his 
 words. Then, rising, he started at a run toward 
 
14 REPARATION 
 
 the station, a mile or more distant, whence the 
 message must be sent to the large town, twenty 
 miles away, where the demand for help had 
 already gone, and from which a relief train 
 would be sent to the scene of disaster. The 
 need to dispatch his message before that train 
 left made him put forth all his powers; and 
 even at this moment the men whose gaze fol- 
 lowed him could not forbear their tribute of 
 admiration. 
 
 "That's sprinting for you!" exclaimed one 
 to another. "He's in fine form. At that rate, 
 he '11 make a mile in best athlete 's time. ' ' 
 
 "God reward him!" the man on the ground 
 muttered, and fell to repeating his act of con- 
 trition again. 
 
 When Desmond returned a little later, some- 
 what spent and breathless, the nurse, by whose 
 side he paused, looked up at him with the 
 brightness of approval in her eyes. 
 
 "You've been very quick,' ' she said. "It was 
 good of you to make such an exertion." 
 
 "Oh, anybody would have done as much!" 
 he replied. "To get a priest for the dying is 
 the most imperative duty, you know." 
 
 "Is it?" she asked, a little wonderingly. 
 "And did the message catch the relief train?" 
 
 "Yes, barely. The answer was that they 
 were nearly ready to start, and that they would 
 certainly bring a priest with them." 
 
 She nodded backward. ' ' Tell that poor man. 
 
REPARATION 15 
 
 It may help to keep him alive until they get 
 here." 
 
 He went as she suggested, and found the man 
 evidently sinking fast, though still clear in 
 mind. 
 
 "I hope I'll last," he said anxiously. "But 
 I'm awfully weak, and feel as if I may go any 
 minute. Can't you give me something to 
 strengthen me?" 
 
 "Give him some brandy, and this hypoder- 
 mic of strychnine," the nurse said, when Des- 
 mond carried the request to her. "That is all 
 we can do. He is fatally injured, and can not 
 last long." 
 
 Desmond looked doubtfully at the hypoder- 
 mic syringe offered him. 
 
 "You'd better come and give that yourself," 
 he said. 
 
 She came; and after she had given it, the 
 man looked up at her gratefully. 
 
 "Keep me alive!" he entreated. "A great 
 deal depends on it. I'm not thinking only of 
 absolution for myself : there 's a wrong I must 
 try to right before I die. I can 't face God with 
 that on my soul." 
 
 The girl glanced at Desmond, and again he 
 read wonder as well as pity in her eyes. 
 
 "If we could do anything to help you!" she 
 suggested. 
 
 But the man shook his head. ' ' The priest ! ' ' 
 he said — "the priest!" 
 
16 KEPAKATION 
 
 The needs of others being urgent, they were 
 forced to leave him then; and some time 
 elapsed before a distant roar, momently grow- 
 ing louder, announced the welcome coming of 
 the relief train. Desmond ran back to see if the 
 man was still living, and was conscious of a 
 thrill of relief when he met his eyes eagerly 
 anxious. 
 
 "Yes, it's the train,' ' he said, in answer to 
 their unspoken question. "I'll bring the priest 
 at once." 
 
 He was at the side of the train when it drew 
 up, and was not surprised that the first person 
 to spring to the ground, before it had fairly 
 ceased movement, was a spare man wearing a 
 Roman collar. 
 
 "This way, Father!" he exclaimed. 
 "There's a man here desperately injured, who 
 has been keeping himself alive just to see you. ' ' 
 
 "Show me where he is," the priest said, hur- 
 rying forward. Then, as they went, he turned 
 a quick glance on the other. "You're a 
 Catholic?" he inquired. 
 
 Desmond assented. He might truthfully have 
 added, ' ' Rather a poor one ' ' ; but he knew that 
 his shortcomings of conduct were not in ques- 
 tion, but only the essential point of faith. 
 
 "Then wait while I hear the poor soul's con- 
 fession," the priest went on, "and you can 
 assist me in anointing him. ' ' 
 
 Desmond would have been quite sure, at any 
 
EEPAEATION 17 
 
 time before this, that he had a thorough intel- 
 lectual appreciation of the value of his faith, 
 however lightly he might seem to hold it; but 
 he knew, when he saw the light which flashed 
 over the face of the dying man at sight of the 
 priest, that he had never until that instant 
 appreciated it at all. As a matter of fact, he 
 had never until then seen what might be called 
 the working application of the great principles 
 which he had held as abstract truths; he had 
 never before realized what those marvellous 
 channels of divine grace which we call the sac- 
 raments mean to the souls of men ; and he had 
 never come into immediate touch with the tre- 
 mendous power of the Supernatural manifest- 
 ing itself through the most ordinary agency in 
 the supreme moments of mortal exigence. 
 
 It was certainly an ordinary agency, and an 
 ordinary scene this, of a man kneeling down by 
 another, and bending his ear to catch the 
 broken, gasping utterances which death threat- 
 ened momentarily to cut short. At length the 
 voice ceased, and the priest raised his head, 
 shaking it a little. 
 
 "That is enough, — don't try to tell any 
 more," he said soothingly. "Kenew your sor- 
 row for all the sins of your past life. Now I 
 am going to give you absolution. ' ' 
 
 The hand was lifted, the saving Sign made, 
 the old familiar words murmured here amid 
 all this scene of wild confusion and noise, as 
 
18 
 
 BEPAKATION 
 
 in the quiet of so many confessionals: "Ego te 
 absolve*. . . . " 
 
 The man gave a deep sigh, as of one from 
 whom a great load was lifted, and his eyes 
 opened once more. 
 
 "God be praised!" he said. "I've told the 
 truth at last; and you'll tell those who should 
 know, Father, — you'll put things right, — you 
 won't forget the name!" 
 
 The priest bent down again. "You haven't 
 told me the name ! " he whispered urgently. 
 * ' Quick, — tell it to me now ! ' ' 
 
 But the eyes had fallen shut, the spirit 
 drifted away into the mysterious region where 
 human speech can no longer reach. 
 
 "It's — all right!" the lips murmured. 
 "Lord, I'm sorry — sorry — " 
 
 Desmond's hand fell on the priest's shoulder. 
 
 "He's dying, Father!" he warned. "You'll 
 have to be in haste if you want to anoint him. ' ' 
 
 He died ten minutes later; and as the priest 
 looked down into the dead face, he shook his 
 head again, regretfully. 
 
 "He never told me the name," he said. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AT HOME 
 
 No very long time was required, after the 
 arrival of the relief train, to transfer all the 
 injured to it, for transportation to the hospital 
 at Kingsf ord ; and it was natural that the doc- 
 tors should have desired to retain the services 
 of the nurse who had rendered such excellent 
 aid before their arrival, and proved so capable 
 in acting under their directions afterward. 
 
 "You'll come with us, of course, " the chief 
 surgeon told her. "We're rather short of 
 nurses for ordinary demands just now; and, 
 with this influx of patients, I hardly know what 
 we should have done if we had not found you, 
 Miss — er — " 
 
 "Landon, — Hester Landon," the girl sup- 
 plied. 
 
 * i I see that you have been well trained, ' ' the 
 doctor went on. ' ' You are a graduated nurse 1 ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I made my course, and took my 
 
 diploma at " (she named one of the most 
 
 noted medical schools and hospitals in the 
 country) "last year.' ' 
 
 "Good! Have you any engagement just 
 now?" 
 
 19 
 
20 AT HOME 
 
 "None. I was on my way to Kingsford for 
 a vacation. ' ' 
 
 "Well, instead of a vacation, Fate has sent 
 you work you can't refuse. You've helped these 
 poor creatures immensely already, and you'll 
 have to keep on helping them. ' ' 
 
 1 ' I ask nothing better, ' ' the girl said quietly. 
 
 So, when the last patient had been placed on 
 the train, and all was in readiness for its de- 
 parture, Desmond was not surprised to see the 
 nurse also remaining on it. 
 
 "Yes, I am going with them," she said, meet- 
 ing his glance. ' ' They need me, and I am glad 
 of the work. I prefer hospital service to the 
 private nursing I have been doing lately." 
 
 A sudden idea flashed into Desmond's mind. 
 He was never able to account for its occurring 
 to him; but he said, nevertheless: 
 
 "You have been doing private nursing? 
 Then perhaps, after this demand is over, you 
 would consent to take a case?" 
 
 "Why, yes — if nothing else offered." But 
 she looked a little surprised. "Do you know 
 of such a case 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' I have been summoned to Kingsford by the 
 illness of a near relative, and it strikes me that 
 there may be need of professional nursing. I 
 have seen your work, and so — " 
 
 The train began to move. She nodded 
 quickly. 
 
 "If you want me, you'll know where to find 
 
AT HOME 21 
 
 me — for a time, at least — at the hospital in 
 Kingsford. Ask for Miss Landon. And now 
 you had better get off — unless you wish to add 
 to the number of the injured. " 
 
 But, instead of getting off, he leaned forward 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 ' ' Since we may not meet again, ' ' he said, ' ' I 
 can not go without telling you how much I 
 admire all that you have done. I know that it 
 doesn't matter a particle to you whether or not 
 I admire it, but I couldn't help telling you. It 
 was wonderful. Good-bve!" 
 
 "You have done a great deal yourself," she 
 answered; "and we may both be glad that we 
 were able to do anything. But thank you — and 
 now do get off!" 
 
 The train was gathering dangerous speed 
 when he swung himself to the ground a moment 
 later. But he landed safely, and then stood for 
 an instant, looking after it as it vanished in the 
 distance with its freight of suffering, maimed 
 humanity. He was conscious of a load lifted 
 from his spirit in the knowledge that he had 
 looked his last on those sufferers; but he 
 thought of the nurse who still stood at her 
 post — whose work, in fact, was just begin- 
 ning — and was glad that he had expressed a 
 little of the admiration which he felt. What a 
 charming face it was, too, with lucid gray eyes 
 under black lashes, which had looked at him as 
 he spoke! And what a small hand — to be so 
 
22 AT HOME 
 
 capable — had rested for an instant in his! 
 Something in her manner made him think of 
 a Sister of Charity rather than of the ordinary 
 professional nurse, and he lifted his hat in 
 parting salute to the vanishing train that bore 
 her out of his life. 
 
 It was several hours later when the remain- 
 ing passengers, together with the bodies of the 
 dead, were removed from the scene of the dis- 
 aster; and dusk had fallen before they finally 
 reached Kingsford. 
 
 As their train drew up at the station, it was 
 to find a crowd assembled, drawn chiefly by 
 news of the accident, which made it difficult for 
 Desmond to tell whether or not any one was 
 there to meet him. Alighting from his car, he 
 stood for a moment — a marked figure from his 
 height, his well-knit proportions, his clear-cut 
 features and bright eyes — glancing out over 
 the throng which filled the platform. It had 
 been years since he was in the South before — 
 not, in fact, since his early boyhood, — but the 
 familiar characteristics of the scene roused a 
 thousand delightful memories. The soft air, 
 which enveloped him like a caress, seemed in 
 accord with the deliberation of movement, the 
 drawling softness of speech, of the people, 
 white and colored, who lounged around ; and he 
 was recalling with a keen sense of pleasure all 
 the associations which these things had for him, 
 when a touch on his arm made him turn, to meet 
 
AT HOME 23 
 
 the gaze of a wiry old man, with bronze-colored, 
 wrinkled countenance, who was peering anx- 
 iously into his face. 
 
 "Scuse me, sail," this dignified person said, 
 with a manner of extreme politeness; "but 
 ain't you Mr. Laurence Desmond?" 
 
 Desmond laughed as he grasped the hand 
 which touched him. 
 
 "Why, Uncle Hiram," he said, "are you in 
 doubt about me? Have I changed as much as 
 that?" 
 
 "No, sah, — no, sah," answered the old 
 Negro, while the smile which irradiated the 
 bronze-colored face and deepened all its 
 wrinkles was a very wonderful illumination 
 indeed. "Now that I looks at you, I sees you 
 is the same little Mass Laurie growed big. And 
 I'm mighty glad to find you safe and well, sah. 
 We Ve been tur 'ble uneasy 'bout you ever sence 
 we heered of the accident." 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry!" Desmond exclaimed 
 with quick compunction. "I should have sent 
 a message to say that I was safe. But I never 
 thought of the news reaching Hillcrest. I hope 
 my uncle didn't hear it?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sah, — nobody would 'a' told the 
 Judge ! An' I don't reckon the news has got to 
 Hillcrest. But me an' Miss Edith was in town 
 to meet the train, an' so we heered — " 
 
 1 ' Miss Edith ! Is she here ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sah, — waitin' just outside in the 
 
24 AT HOME 
 
 ea'iage. If you'll give me your checks, you can 
 go right along to her. ' ' 
 
 Desmond handed over his checks, surren- 
 dered his suit-case, and then strode away 
 through the loitering, soft-talking crowd, to 
 where, outside the station, a number of waiting 
 vehicles stood, among which he at once identi- 
 fied an open carriage, on the seat of which a 
 girl sat, holding the reins of a pair of handsome 
 and rather restive horses. 
 
 Turning her own handsome and thorough- 
 bred head, she uttered a cry of welcome. 
 
 ' l Laurence ! It is Laurence ? Oh, I am glad 
 to see you alive and — whole!" Then, as her 
 outstretched hand was taken in the clasp of his : 
 "Why didn't you let us know that you were 
 safe? We have had the most horrible time, — 
 Uncle Hiram and I! We dared not go home 
 without you, and we couldn't learn whether you 
 were alive or dead. ' ' 
 
 "I'm really most awfully sorry," Desmond 
 said again. * ' I never thought of your being in 
 town, and I hoped I would reach Hillcrest be- 
 fore news of the accident did. Unless matters 
 have changed very much down here, a train 
 more or less late is not unusual. ' ' 
 
 "Not in the least unusual, and mere delay 
 would have caused no uneasiness. But when 
 the demand for relief came, then the news of 
 the accident spread, and we knew it must be 
 very serious. Indeed we heard the most awful 
 
AT HOME 25 
 
 things, — that the whole train was wrecked, and 
 all the passengers injured or killed. ' ' 
 
 ' 'It was quite true, as far as those in the 
 ordinary coaches were concerned," he said 
 gravely. "I don't think any one of them 
 escaped injury or death. It was an awful 
 accident, — one of the worst of its kind. Don't 
 let us talk of it ! Tell me about my uncle. Is 
 he dangerously ill ? " 
 
 "He has been, but the doctors think that, for 
 the present at least, the danger is past. He is 
 very anxious to see you. It will be a great 
 relief to his mind that you have come. I — I 
 couldn't but think during these hours of sus- 
 pense what a blow it would be to him if you 
 were killed. ' ' 
 
 Desmond uttered an exclamation. "It was 
 absolutely inexcusable of me not to have 
 relieved your anxiety," he said. "But it was 
 not only that I never thought of your being 
 here: it was also that I was so absorbed in 
 helping to get the poor creatures out of the 
 wreck, in doing what one could for them — " 
 
 "Ah! then, you are excusable," she told him 
 quickly; "and I won't say another word about 
 my anxiety. But here comes Uncle Hiram at 
 last, so now we can get off." 
 
 "All right, missy," Uncle Hiram said, as he 
 mounted with surprising agility to his seat and 
 took the reins. "Steve's got the trunk, an' 
 he'll be comin' right along after us." 
 
26 AT HOME 
 
 "Then do let us get on as fast as possible/ ' 
 the young lady answered; "for I am afraid of 
 some word of the accident reaching Hillcrest 
 before we get there.' ' 
 
 "Nobody wouldn't tell the Judge, ef it did," 
 Hiram observed again, with reassuring con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Nevertheless, he obeyed the admonition to 
 drive as fast as possible; and they whirled 
 away from the station and its crowd, through 
 the streets of the town — one of the old South- 
 ern towns, painfully taking on an air of new- 
 ness and parting with dignity and beauty in 
 the effort to be modern and progressive, — and 
 out into the open country, where the dusk was 
 dying away over the wide fields, the rolling 
 hills, and tinted woods. The road lay smooth 
 as a floor before them ; the horses were eager ; 
 and Desmond thought he had never felt any- 
 thing sweeter than the freshness of the air, 
 laden with aromatic scents of field and forest; 
 particularly with the balsamic fragrance of the 
 pines, which came to them as they drove rapidly 
 along. He drew a deep breath, realizing how 
 good it was to be alive, and feeling the horror 
 and tragedy of the afternoon deepen rather 
 than lift from his spirit by contrast of his lot 
 with that of those who had been so suddenly 
 swept by a terrible death into eternity, or who 
 at this moment lay maimed and suffering in the 
 hospital of the town. 
 
AT HOME 27 
 
 The girl beside him heard him suddenly 
 groan, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. 
 
 "You are thinking of those dreadful things 
 again,' ' she said. "Don't! You did what you 
 could for the poor people, and now you can do 
 nothing more ; so try to forget it all. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, but you don't know!" he exclaimed. 
 "It seems positively awful that I should be here 
 alive — so intensely alive — and whole, as you 
 said, enjoying rest and comfort, and this divine 
 air, while they — " 
 
 As his voice sank she was conscious of the 
 shudder that again shook him. 
 
 "It is awful," she agreed. "But that is life. 
 One suffers and another goes free, and we don't 
 know why. ' ' Then she added fervently : "I am 
 glad I never had to look on such horrors." 
 
 "And yet I saw a girl as young as you are 
 face them unflinching this afternoon," he said. 
 "It is true she was a trained nurse, but her 
 courage was wonderful. She shrank from noth- 
 ing, — and there were things from which the 
 strongest man shrank." 
 
 "If she was a trained nurse, that explains it, 
 doesn't it? They se^m, as a class, to have lost 
 the power to feel for suffering." 
 
 "Not all of them, I am sure. I don't think 
 this girl had, for she was as gentle as she was 
 brave. I can give you no idea of how she helped 
 some of those poor creatures. There was one 
 
28 AT HOME 
 
 woman hopelessly fastened in the wreck, whose 
 hand she held until she died." 
 
 "Oh!" It was the turn of the listener to 
 shudder. ' ' Don 't talk of it ! " she pleaded. ' ' It 
 is too dreadful ! Be thankful you are safe, and 
 try to forget it all. Do you know," with a quick 
 change of tone, "I think it rather strange that 
 I should have recognized you immediately, 
 considering how long it is since I saw you last, 
 and how young you were then? Of course I 
 was expecting to see you, but still it was 
 strange. ' ' 
 
 "No stranger than that I hadn't a doubt 
 who you were," he answered. "It indicates 
 that we made an impression on each other." 
 
 "Some rather hard impressions, if I remem- 
 ber correctly," she laughed. "In default of a 
 boy, I was occasionally allowed the honor of 
 playing ball with you, until various bruises, and 
 finally a tooth knocked out, made mamma 
 forbid it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I think, ' ' he remarked reminiscently, ' i that 
 I carried the marks of some of the teeth which 
 were not knocked out, on my hand for a long 
 time after we parted. ' ' 
 
 "It served you right, then, for the way you 
 tormented, and held me a prisoner when I was 
 trying to get free. ' ' 
 
 "What a little tigress you were!" he said. 
 "I shall never forget how you set your teeth 
 
AT HOME 29 
 
 in my hand. There was not much delay in free- 
 ing the prisoner after that." 
 
 They both laughed over these childish recol- 
 lections, as they drove onward over the familiar 
 road, with the friendly country lying under its 
 soft mantle of darkness all about them. Pres- 
 ently the wild, sweet odors of growing things 
 along a water-course was followed by the 
 splash of the horses' feet in a shallow stream, 
 the gleam of the carriage lamps on the swirling 
 water, a sharp pull up the opposite bank, quick 
 trotting for a quarter of a mile through a 
 fragrant valley; then gates were thrown open, 
 and the road began to wind by easy gradients 
 around a terraced hill, to where a large house, 
 blazing with lights, stood on the levelled 
 summit. 
 
 As the carriage drew up before the open 
 door, through which a flood of radiance poured 
 on the gravelled sweep before it, a lady came 
 out and stood at the head of the stone steps of 
 the portico. 
 
 "O Edith," she cried, "I'm glad to see you 
 at last! What on earth has kept you so long? 
 Hasn't Laurence come?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Rachel," Desmond answered for 
 himself. "Here I am, and so sorry to have 
 been the cause of worry to you ! ' ' 
 
 He paused only long enough to help his com- 
 panion out of the carriage ; and then, running 
 up the steps, was greeted affectionately by the 
 
30 AT HOME 
 
 lady, who, taking his arm, led him into the 
 spacious and stately hall, where she paused to 
 look at him with a critical glance which quickly 
 changed to one of approval. 
 
 "My dear boy," she said, "I am delighted 
 to see you, and to find you so — so much of a 
 Wargrave ! You are amazingly like our family. 
 See, Edith" (she glanced at several portraits 
 hanging on the walls), "what a striking like- 
 ness to those!" 
 
 The girl, who had meanwhile come in, also 
 glanced at the portraits and then at the tall, 
 handsome young man. She nodded smilingly. 
 
 "He's like them," she said, "with some dif- 
 ferences. But you had better let him go and 
 rest a bit before dinner, mamma; for he has 
 been in an awful railway accident — that's why 
 we are so late, — and come perilously near, hav- 
 ing his good looks marred forever." 
 
CHAPTER HI 
 
 A TEUST 
 
 It was still with the pleasant sense of 
 recalling old and delightful recollections that 
 Desmond found himself, a little later, following 
 a trim, chocolate-colored youth — grandson of 
 Uncle Hiram — up the broad staircase which led 
 in a wide circle around the hall to the gallery 
 of the second story, on which chambers and 
 corridors opened. Aware of the curious 
 fashion in which things and places which 
 seemed very imposing to the eyes of childhood 
 undergo a shrinking process when viewed in 
 later life, he had not expected to find Hillcrest 
 as stately as his memory represented it; but, to 
 his great surprise, he found that for once mem- 
 ory had not exaggerated. This great central 
 hall, open to the roof of the house, was as fine 
 in space and architectural proportion as any- 
 thing of its kind that he had ever seen 
 anywhere ; and the sweep of the noble staircase, 
 as it circled the picture-hung walls and climbed 
 upward to a turret on the roof, was a delight 
 to the eye. So likewise he found the spacious 
 chamber into which he was ushered even more 
 
 31 
 
32 A TKUST 
 
 handsome than his recollection; for a boy of 
 twelve could scarcely have been expected to 
 appreciate the splendid old carved mahogany 
 of the canopied bed and massive wardrobe. 
 
 After the servant had been dismissed, he 
 stood for a moment looking aronnd him, con- 
 scions of a thrill of pride, as he realized, more 
 distinctly than ever before, what a fine old 
 house, full of the intangible essence of a 
 wealthy and aristocratic past, this home of his 
 mother's family was. For a century and a 
 half the Wargraves had been planted here, 
 owning many thousands of acres, of which the 
 original deeds were from the Lords Propri- 
 etors, who held the Carolinas under grant of 
 the British Crown ; and, though war had taken 
 tithe of these wide acres and diminished their 
 value, enough still remained to form a magnifi- 
 cent heritage. The house, replacing an earlier 
 Colonial structure, had been built in the first 
 half of the nineteenth century, before modern 
 machinery and modern methods were in vogue ; 
 and it was, therefore, not only nobly planned — 
 for which his descendants had to thank the 
 Wargrave of the day, who had travelled long 
 abroad, — but all its details of carved wood and 
 finely executed designs in plaster showed the 
 conscientiousness of the old workmanship and 
 handcraft. 
 
 In the ante-bellum South, such homes, 
 remaining in the same family from generation 
 
A TRUST 33 
 
 to generation, were not nncommon; but under 
 changed conditions, and the ever-encroaching 
 inroads of democracy, their number has grown 
 so much less that the Wargrave estate had 
 become somewhat a matter of wonder. "How 
 has it been held intact ?" strangers asked, 
 knowing the conditions of ordinary American 
 life. And even the oldest inhabitants of the 
 country could only answer, "There's some sort 
 of a family trust which has never been 
 violated. ' ' 
 
 As a matter of fact, it was only in the family 
 that this trust was thoroughly understood, and 
 held as a binding obligation, which no War- 
 grave had ever failed to observe. Even Des- 
 mond had but a vague idea of its conditions, 
 which was natural enough, seeing that they 
 seemed to concern him very little ; and what he 
 knew was drawn from sayings of his mother, 
 who had died when he was very young. His 
 father — a gay and gallant young Irish soldier 
 of fortune in the Confederate service — had met 
 the daughter of the Wargraves during the war, 
 swept her away by his tempestuous wooing, 
 overcome the family opposition founded upon 
 his nationality and his religion, and, after their 
 marriage, carried his wife abroad with him, 
 where he had become a famous war corres- 
 pondent, and was finally killed in one of the 
 Egyptian campaigns. Laurence, the only child 
 of the marriage, had adopted his father's pro- 
 
34 A TKUST 
 
 fession; and it was now in obedience to a 
 summons from his nncle, his mother's only 
 brother, that he found himself in the old home 
 of her family. 
 
 What the summons, which had been of a very 
 imperative nature, meant, he had no clear idea. 
 It was only now that he began to consider this, 
 and paused in the midst of his toilet to ask 
 himself what he knew of the family situation 
 and affairs. Really, it was very little. He 
 knew that his uncle, Judge Wargrave, had had 
 a son — he remembered clearly hearing his 
 mother speak of him — but what had become of 
 this son he did not know, not even whether he 
 were living or dead. He knew only that silence 
 had wrapped the name when he had been at 
 Hillcrest as a boy; only the old servants had 
 now and then let drop a word about "Mass 
 Harry.' ' So it seemed that, for some unex- 
 plained reason, the natural Wargrave heir had 
 ceased to be a factor in the family life. Well, 
 then, there remained only his aunt, Mrs. 
 Creighton, a childless widow, and himself; for 
 his aunt's stepdaughter — the handsome girl 
 who had met him in Kingsford — although she 
 had grown up in the house, and was a great 
 favorite of his uncle, had of course no part in 
 the family inheritance. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders as he took up his 
 dinner coat. 
 
 "It looks,' ' he said aloud, "as if the War- 
 
A TEUST 35 
 
 graves had nearly come to an end as a family." 
 And then a sudden shudder shook him again, 
 as he realized once more how nearly in his own 
 person this end had been to coming to pass that 
 afternoon. 
 
 The musical chime of a Japanese gong sound- 
 ing below, told him that dinner was ready ; and, 
 stepping out on the circular gallery, he paused 
 for an instant, arrested by the picture-like 
 beauty of the scene beneath. A hanging lamp 
 threw its soft lustre down on a large Oriental 
 rug, which covered the centre of the parqueted 
 hall ; a square mahogany table, with elaborately 
 carved legs and feet, was strewn with books 
 and papers; and by its side, turning over a 
 mass of newly arrived mail, Edith Creighton 
 stood — a radiant, graceful figure, with her 
 richly colored face and brunette head rising 
 above the lace gown that showed her slender 
 proportions — while she talked to her step- 
 mother, who sat in a deep, cushioned chair on 
 the other side of the table. At sound of his 
 closing door, she lifted her face and looked up. 
 
 "Yes, that meant dinner," she called out to 
 him gaily, her voice as clear and sweet in 
 timbre as the beautiful metal which had just 
 been struck where it hung by the dining-room 
 door. * ' Come down ! ' ' 
 
 He needed no second bidding, but, running 
 down lightly, offered his arm, with a word of 
 apology, to his aunt, and led her through the 
 
36 A TRUST 
 
 open door, where the same chocolate-colored 
 youth stood at attention like a soldier, into the 
 spacious dining-room, with its beautifully dec- 
 orated ceiling in high relief, its massive, silver- 
 laden sideboard, and its table set with old East 
 Indian china. It was a table compressed to its 
 smallest circular limit for the small party of 
 three ; and as dish after dish of the distinctively 
 Southern cuisine was served, with wine that 
 had mellowed for many years in the cellar 
 below, Desmond, looking at the two charming 
 women who were his companions, felt increas- 
 ingly conscious that Fate had been very kind to 
 him indeed. By tacit consent, all mention of 
 the railway accident and its horrors was 
 avoided; and the talk rippled lightly and 
 pleasantly over old recollections, and his later 
 experiences of flood and field, until dinner was 
 over, when, declining to smoke, he accompanied 
 the ladies into the library, which, as he well 
 remembered, was the family sitting-room. 
 
 "How unchanged everything is, and how 
 perfectly charming !" he said, as he sat down 
 and glanced around the room, with its dwarf 
 bookcases, above which hung priceless old line 
 engravings; its writing table, with double 
 student's lamp; its deep easy-chairs, and moss- 
 green carpet, in which the foot sank sound- 
 lessly. "I didn't know how well I remembered 
 things until I see how familiar they all are. 
 And what a treasure-house of objects for which 
 
A TRUST 37 
 
 a modern collector would give his eyes ! Really, 
 Aunt Rachel, I wonder how even at Hillcrest 
 you have managed to keep them all. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Creighton lifted her delicate brows 
 slightly. 
 
 "My dear boy," she remonstrated, "what 
 would have become of them? One doesn't give 
 away one's old furniture and pictures and 
 china. ' ' 
 
 "No, of course not," he agreed. "But very 
 few people have so much of all these things." 
 
 "Oh, well" — and now the tone was careless 
 enough — "that is easily understood! The 
 Wargraves have always, especially before the 
 war, been able to get what they pleased, and 
 they pleased to get the best. It was like this 
 house, which my grandfather — your great- 
 grandfather — built. He allowed nothing com- 
 mon, not even a badly made brick, to enter into 
 it. The Wargraves have always been like that. 
 They cared only for the best of everything. ' ' 
 
 "So it seems," observed the young man, 
 with another comprehensive glance around. 
 "Nevertheless, I can't but wonder a little how 
 it has all been held together for — more than a 
 century and a half, isn't it? It's like the old 
 country, not at all like America." 
 
 Mrs. Creighton cleared her throat, and 
 seemed to hesitate a moment — a moment in 
 which Desmond was aware that Edith glanced 
 at him curiously — before she said: 
 
38 A TRUST 
 
 "That's just it. It is like the old country. 
 You know we are descended from the younger 
 son of an old English family ; and it seems that 
 his intention in coming over here was to found 
 a branch of the house which should equal the 
 elder branch in wealth and importance. The 
 Eevolution was a great blow to him — he was 
 then an old man, so his Royalist sentiments did 
 not attract much attention, or he might have 
 fared badly — and after it was over he tried to 
 devise some means of still accomplishing his 
 object. It was difficult, because you know the 
 entailing of property was forbidden by law, and 
 without entailed property you can not have a 
 family. ' ' 
 
 Desmond nodded. "That's just what I've 
 been thinking," he said. "How did he 
 manage ! ' ' 
 
 "He entailed the estate as far as he could," 
 Mrs. Creighton answered; "and laid it as a 
 trust, binding in honor, if not in law, on his 
 descendants to renew the entail whenever it 
 lapsed — that is, in every third generation. He 
 gave clear directions how this was to be done. 
 The property was always to be entailed on the 
 oldest son; or, failing a son, on the oldest son 
 of the oldest daughter — " 
 
 "But, good heavens!" (the young man sat 
 up in his surprise), "how were the other 
 children to be provided for?" 
 
 "There was no trouble about that — at least 
 
A TRUST 39 
 
 before the war. The income from the estate 
 was so immense that it was easy to make invest- 
 ments which secured comfortable fortunes for 
 them. It was only Hillcrest and its fifty thou- 
 sand acres which was to be kept entailed. There 
 were other plantations bought from time to 
 time and settled on sons and daughters.' ' 
 
 "And did no one ever object — ever try to 
 break the arrangement V ' 
 
 "Never. To maintain the entail unbroken 
 has been a matter of the greatest pride with 
 every member of the family. Of one thing we 
 can boast : no Wargrave has ever tried to break 
 or evade the trust, and none has ever been a 
 waster. After the war, some of the land of 
 the original grant had to be sold ; it was impos- 
 sible, under changed conditions of labor, to hold 
 it all— " 
 
 "Oh — excuse my interrupting you! — but I 
 thought you said it was entailed and could not 
 be sold!" 
 
 Again he was conscious of a quick, curious 
 glance from Edith's large dark eyes, as his 
 aunt answered : 
 
 "You haven't understood. It can only be 
 entailed, according to law, for one generation. 
 Then the entail lapses and must be renewed." 
 
 "Ah, I see! And it lapsed with my uncle, 
 leaving him free ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes ; and it was fortunate that it did. If at 
 that time he had not been able to sell twentv 
 
40 A TKUST 
 
 thousand acres, and so relieve the estate of — 
 certain burdens, I don't know what would have 
 become of us. ' ' 
 
 "But of course since then he has renewed the 
 entail ?" 
 
 The words were spoken before Desmond 
 thought, and it was the look on his aunt's face 
 that enlightened him. Into her eyes, as they 
 turned on him there flashed the same keen, 
 curious glance that had twice shone in Edith's. 
 Catching it, he felt himself flush as if convicted 
 of an intolerable betise. 
 
 "No," Mrs. Creighton said, in a rather con- 
 strained tone. "He has not renewed it — yet." 
 
 Then silence fell, and Desmond was grateful 
 to Edith when she broke it with a light laugh. 
 
 "Aren't you tired of family history?" she 
 asked. "And yet it is just as well, considering 
 your evident ignorance, that it has been some- 
 what enlightened before you see Uncle George. 
 I am afraid he would be shocked if he learned 
 how little you knew of the sacred Wargrave 
 trust." 
 
 "You see I've lived so far away from it all," 
 he said apologetically, "and — and it didn't 
 seem to concern me at all. When do you think 
 I shall be able to see my uncle f " he asked, turn- 
 ing to his aunt. "Not this evening, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 "Yes, I fancy he will send for you pres- 
 ently," she answered. "He is so anxious to 
 
A TEUST 41 
 
 see you that I don't think he will wait until 
 to-morrow. I wish he would — it is not well for 
 him to be excited at night, — but there is no pos- 
 sible means of preventing his doing as he 
 pleases.' ' 
 
 ' ' If he is an invalid, doesn't the doctor order 
 what he must or mustn't do?" 
 
 Mrs. Creighton shook her head. "You don't 
 know your uncle." she said. "He has all his 
 life been so arbitrary that he will obey no 
 orders, unless he wishes to do so. That makes 
 treatment of his case very difficult." 
 
 "Rather, I should think," the young man 
 laughed. "By the by, what is the matter with 
 him exactly?" 
 
 "He has had an apoplectic seizure, what the 
 doctors call a cerebral hemorrhage; and when 
 we telegraphed for you his condition was very 
 critical. But he has rallied in a most wonderful 
 manner, considering his age. His mind seems 
 now quite clear, and he has almost entirely 
 regained the power of speech — " 
 
 "Oh! He had lost that?" 
 
 "For a few days, yes; and even yet he con- 
 fuses names and words a little, but nothing to 
 matter. It will be the greatest possible relief 
 to him that you have come, and I am so glad 
 that he should be relieved. Ah" (she glanced 
 at the door), "here is a message from him 
 now!" 
 
 A middle-aged colored man, of the same dig- 
 
42 
 
 A TRUST 
 
 nified type as the rest of the household, stood 
 in the open door, and bowed slightly as he 
 addressed her : 
 
 "The Judge says that he'd like to see Mr. 
 Desmond now, Miss Eachel. ,, 
 
 Desmond rose, and looked at his aunt. 
 
 "Are you coming with me!" he asked. 
 
 1 ' Oh, no ! ' ' she answered. i i Virgil will show 
 you the way, and your uncle will wish to see you 
 alone. I would tell you not to stay too long, 
 only it will not depend on you — " 
 
 "Yes, it will," Desmond interposed. "I shall 
 not allow myself to be detained very long. I 
 suppose I shall find you here a little later? 
 Well, then, lead on, Virgil; though I think I 
 remember the way." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 LAUEENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 Desmond remembered the way so well that it 
 was like walking in a dream of the past, when 
 he went up the sweeping staircase, around the 
 circular gallery, and into a corridor that opened 
 from the last, and led to the apartments of the 
 owner of the house. He recalled these well : the 
 two chambers opposite to each other, — one that 
 of his uncle; the other that of the latter 's wife, 
 still kept just as she left it, although she had 
 been dead for twenty years, — and the sitting- 
 room at the end of the corridor, on which both 
 chambers opened. It was a delightful suite in 
 its seclusion and spaciousness, occupying the 
 entire wing, with windows on either side over- 
 looking the beautiful country; and it was here 
 that Desmond always thought of his uncle, 
 seated at his private desk, or in a deep arm- 
 chair reading in the great bay-window at the 
 end of the sitting-room. 
 
 And so, when Virgil, opening the door, stood 
 aside to let him enter, he found the familiar 
 figure now, — seated in the same old-fashioned, 
 winged chair, by a table which bore a shaded 
 
 43 
 
44 LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 lamp and several books and newspapers. At 
 first he thought there was little change in the 
 face turned toward him as he eagerly crossed 
 the floor. But when he took the hand extended 
 to meet his own, and looked more closely, he 
 saw that years and illness had wrought great 
 change in the handsome, stately man he remem- 
 bered, with his manner of somewhat judicial 
 severity, tempered by the exquisite courtesy 
 and fine manners of the old social order. The 
 white pallor of age was on the face now, the 
 chiselled features were drawn, and the eyes, 
 though still bright, were sunken under their 
 overhanging brows. About the broad brow, 
 which showed the intellectual qualities that had 
 made him one of the first jurists of his day, 
 the hair lay in silken waves of silvery white- 
 ness ; and altogether it seemed to Desmond that 
 he had never seen a presence more striking, 
 more full of the aroma and charm of inherited 
 culture and vanished aristocratic conditions. 
 
 "My dear uncle," he exclaimed, as he bent 
 over the figure and clasped close the frail hand, 
 "how glad I am to see you again, — and to see 
 you so much better than I expected to find 
 you ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I am better," his uncle replied, speak- 
 ing with a certain slow precision, as if not quite 
 sure of his power of enunciation; "and very 
 glad to see you, my dear boy. What made you 
 so long in coming f" 
 
LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 45 
 
 1 1 1 was out of the country when your message 
 reached me," the young man responded, as he 
 sat down in a chair to which the other pointed. 
 ' ' I had gone abroad for my paper — they wanted 
 an account of affairs in the Balkans, — but I 
 threw up the matter and returned by the first 
 steamer." 
 
 "Yes, I know. It was very good of you," the 
 slow voice answered. ' ' But to-day — what made 
 you so late to-day?" 
 
 "I'm sorry to say there was a bad accident 
 to my train — a collision with a freight train 
 about twenty miles north of Kihgsford, — which 
 delayed my arrival several hours." 
 
 "A collision! " Judge Wargrave leaned for- 
 ward into the brighter circle of the lamplight, 
 with a more shocked and startled expression on 
 his face than the news seemed to warrant, con- 
 sidering the safe and sound condition of the 
 young man who sat before him. "Was — any 
 one injured?" 
 
 ' ' Many were injured and several were killed. 
 It was an awful accident. ' ' 
 
 "My God!" The old figure shook as if with 
 palsy. * ' You might have been killed ! ' ' 
 
 "I might, of course," Desmond said; "only, 
 you see, I was in the Pullman, which, as usual, 
 withstood the shock. No one on it was hurt, 
 but all the passengers in the other coaches were 
 either killed or fearfully injured. It was the 
 old story, ' ' he observed a little bitterly. ' i I had 
 
46 LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 money enough to pay the additional cost of 
 transportation in a well-built car, so I escaped 
 uninjured, while the poor creatures who had to 
 take what the railroad company provides were 
 hurled to horrible death in its flimsy coaches.' ' 
 
 "Yes, it is, as you say, an old story and a 
 shameful state of affairs,' ' his uncle agreed. 
 "In the suits for damages arising out of such 
 cases, I have never failed, in my charges to the 
 jury, to place the responsibility on the rail- 
 roads — for which," he added, a faint smile 
 curving his thin lips, "they have never failed 
 to antagonize me in every way. But as for the 
 safety to be bought by money — well, that is an 
 old story, too. We can't change the conditions 
 on which the world rests, my boy. I hope" (a 
 little anxiously) "you haven't taken up any of 
 the modern socialistic ideas?" 
 
 "Not a bit," Desmond answered readily. "A 
 Catholic can't very well entertain socialistic 
 ideas, you know, sir." 
 
 "Oh!" A shade of reserve, of something 
 like displeasure, came into the voice now. "I 
 had forgotten that you are a — Catholic. It 
 seems as if you might have adopted your 
 mother's religion." 
 
 "My mother was received into the Church 
 before she died, ' ' Desmond reminded him. 
 
 The thin white hand waved a little im- 
 patiently. 
 
 i ' It was a pity that she yielded so far to your 
 
LATTKENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 47 
 
 father's influence,' ' Judge Wargrave said in 
 his most judicial tone. "People should be loyal 
 to the inherited beliefs of those who went 
 before them. Well, well, we won't discuss the 
 matter! I'm sorry that you have such a 
 religion ; but we must make the best of it. You 
 are the only one left to carry on the old name — 
 I suppose," he broke off abruptly, "you know 
 that is why I sent for you 1 ' ' 
 
 "No," Desmond told him honestly, "I didn't 
 know. I have never thought of such a thing. 
 You see, I belong to another family." 
 
 "You are a Wargrave," his uncle returned 
 positively, — "the only one in your generation." 
 A quick spasm of feeling seemed to pass over 
 the fine old face for a moment, and then he 
 added a little wistfully: "You are very like 
 our family in appearance. I am glad — very 
 glad — of that. ' ' 
 
 Desmond understood now the full meaning 
 of the words which had been his aunt's first 
 greeting, — the significance of her outburst of 
 gratitude that he resembled the Wargrave 
 portraits hanging below. Clearly, it was hard 
 to Wargrave pride that the only representative 
 of their proud old stock should be in a certain 
 sense an alien, the son of an Irish soldier of 
 fortune, bearing the name of a disliked nation- 
 ality. And the single solace was that the strong 
 Wargrave type had stamped itself upon him, 
 and that, in physical aspect at least, he was 
 
48 LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 clearly a son of the house. Realizing now what 
 this meant to his uncle, the young man smiled 
 a little. 
 
 "I am glad, too, if it pleases you, sir," he 
 said. "It is certainly a family of which to be 
 proud. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," the older man agreed, "it is. "We 
 have always been proud of it — we who bear the 
 name, — and of nothing more proud than of the 
 standard of honor maintained since the first 
 Wargrave set foot in the New World nearly 
 two hundred years ago. You know — youVe 
 heard of course — of the trust which has kept 
 the family in its high position?" 
 
 Desmond assented. "I have heard of it," he 
 said, without mentioning how lately he had 
 heard. ' ' It indicates a fine spirit, that the obli- 
 gation to maintain the entail has never been 
 disregarded. ' ' 
 
 "I don't think that any one has ever for an 
 instant entertained an idea of disregarding it," 
 his uncle said. "But there is a point, besides 
 that of maintaining the entail, in the trust, of 
 which you may not have heard; for it is not 
 generally known." He paused for a moment, 
 and again Desmond saw a quick spasm of 
 repressed feeling pass over the clear-cut face, 
 as it leaned forward in the lamplight. "Even 
 more binding than the entail, ' ' the slow, careful 
 utterance went on, "is an obligation not to 
 hand the inheritance on to any one who has in 
 
LAUKENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 49 
 
 any manner stained the name with dishonor." 
 Something in the tone more than in the words 
 made Desmond start. An intuition came to him 
 like a flash. This was what it meant, the old 
 silence and mystery about the absent cousin, 
 which had puzzled him in his boyhood. 
 Whether dead or living, he, the son of the 
 house, whose name was never spoken, had evi- 
 dently in some manner forfeited his birthright. 
 He was as sure of it now as if the man, who 
 seemed a typical embodiment of justice un- 
 swayed by mercy, sitting there before him, had 
 stated the fact in distinct words. He had a 
 sense of touching tragedy, the more intense 
 because denied expression; and his eyes were 
 large and bright with dismay as he looked at 
 his uncle. 
 
 "It seems/ ' he said involuntarily, "a hard 
 obligation. ' ' 
 
 "No," Judge Wargrave's voice rang clear 
 and firm now in its force of denial. "It is not 
 hard, but right and just. As a man sows, so 
 should he reap — always. To maintain his 
 honor, to hand on the family name unstained, 
 has been the paramount obligation of every 
 Wargrave. If — if one forgot it, and disgraced 
 not only himself but those who went before and 
 were to come after him, it was simple justice 
 that he should be a branch cut off and disowned, 
 and that another should take his place and 
 inheritance." 
 
50 LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 The stern, passionless tones brought a lump 
 into Desmond's throat. Again he was con- 
 scious of an overpowering sense of tragedy, — 
 an instinct, amounting to a conviction, that this 
 room had echoed to such tones before, that they 
 had fallen upon a human soul bare in its agony, 
 and that he was here now to take the place of 
 the man who had then been cut off and dis- 
 owned. An intense distaste for filling such a 
 position rose within him, and once more he was 
 driven to remonstrance. 
 
 "You must forgive me," he said, "if it 
 strikes me as almost terrible, an obligation 
 which binds men to mercilessness, to denying 
 forgiveness to error, — a chance to repair, to 
 atone — " 
 
 The frown on the face regarding him made 
 him pause in his speech, suddenly aware of its 
 futility. 
 
 ' i I am sorry, ' ' said his uncle, coldly, ' ' to see 
 that you have the modern lax idea, which, in 
 mercy to the individual, forgets what is due to 
 the society or the family he has injured. All 
 law, human and divine, is founded on what you 
 call merciless justice, — on the wrongdoer suf- 
 fering the penalty of his crime.' ' 
 
 "Not divine, surely!" Desmond found him- 
 self protesting. "In that there is room for 
 forgiveness. ' ' 
 
 The frown deepened, the face in the lamp- 
 light was austere indeed now, — the face of the 
 
LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 51 
 
 judge pronouncing sentence, armed with the 
 power and majesty of law. 
 
 ' ' Almighty God, ' ' the firm tones said, ' i reads 
 the hearts of men and knows what we can never 
 know of their guilt or innocence. Human law 
 can only judge outward actions, and must, for 
 the greater good of the greater number, be 
 merciless in exacting the penalty of wrong- 
 doing. Let us speak no more of this. I only 
 wish you to understand fully the trust handed 
 down with the Wargrave inheritance, no part of 
 which has never been violated. " 
 
 He paused and lay back in his chair, silent 
 for a moment; then, before Desmond could 
 speak, resumed in a lower voice : 
 
 "I feel that I have been greatly to blame. I 
 have deferred the imperative duty of fulfilling 
 the trust, which it has fallen to me to fulfil, 
 through a weakness — a vain hope, vainly 
 indulged — which has come near to being most 
 terribly punished. When I was taken ill, when 
 I realized what had befallen me, when for days 
 my tongue would not utter the words I wished 
 to say, a great terror seized me : I saw myself 
 dying without having fulfilled the trust, — I, the 
 first Wargrave who had ever failed to do so! 
 I can not express my agony — or my gratitude 
 when I found speech restored to me ; and I have 
 counted the days until you came. If I had 
 known how near you were to death, almost at 
 the threshold of my house, this afternoon — " 
 
52 LAUEENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 he lifted his hand to his eyes, as if overpowered 
 by the thought, and again a strong shndder 
 shook his frame. "If you had died," he went 
 on brokenly, "my punishment would have 
 seemed more than I could bear. But you are 
 here safe; and my will is there" (he pointed to 
 his desk) "ready to be signed. I have done 
 nothing but practise writing my signature since 
 I began to be able to use my hand again. Per- 
 haps you wonder why I have waited for your 
 arrival to sign it?" (Desmond's face had ex- 
 pressed his surprise.) "It was because I must 
 have your solemn promise that you will, as far 
 as lies in your power, fulfil all the conditions of 
 the trust — " 
 
 Involuntarily a cry forced itself from the 
 young man's lips. 
 
 "You can't mean," he exclaimed, "that I am 
 to carry it on — to receive the family inheri- 
 tance I ' ' 
 
 Almost sternly, the vivid eyes under the 
 overhanging brows met his own. 
 
 "What else could I mean!" Judge WargraVe 
 asked. "Who else is there to receive and carry 
 on inheritance and trust! To-morrow I will 
 explain everything to you; and then, when I 
 have your promise, I will sign what has waited 
 so long for signature, and be ready to die in 
 peace. Now I am a little tired, and we must 
 take no risks until the will is signed. So you 
 had better go. Thank God, you are here at last! 
 
LAURENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 53 
 
 I shall sleep well in thinking of it. Good- 
 night ! ' ' 
 
 As he echoed the salutation, while clasping 
 again the old hand extended to him, Desmond 
 recalled with a certain sense of amusement his 
 confident assurance to his aunt that he would 
 not allow himself to be detained beyond what 
 he thought a proper time. He knew now that it 
 would have been impossible for him to suggest 
 departure or anything else in opposition to the 
 steel-like will which the frail but indomitable 
 personality before him breathed. 
 
 "I am glad to be here, and that my coming 
 has brought you relief, sir, ' ' he said. Then, as 
 he turned to go away, Judge Wargrave struck 
 a bell which stood on the table near his hand. 
 Before its silvery sound had died, the door 
 swung open, and Virgil appeared, standing 
 with the same grave dignity of bearing on the 
 threshold, to usher him out. 
 
 When he found himself downstairs again, 
 Desmond hesitated a little. Through the open 
 door of the library he saw his aunt reading 
 within; but from an adjoining room the sound 
 of a piano, softly played, told him that Edith 
 was there, and after a minute he entered the 
 latter apartment. 
 
 It was a large and beautiful drawing-room, 
 stately in its dimensions, in its pillared 
 chimney-piece of Italian marble, and lofty, 
 
54 LAUEENCE MEETS HIS UNCLE 
 
 stuccoed ceiling, filled with lovely old furniture, 
 among which a few modern articles appeared. 
 
 One of these was the handsome piano at 
 which Edith sat ; while, on the other side of the 
 room, the small quaint ancestor of this later 
 instrument stood on straight, slender legs in its 
 case of delicately inlaid wood. Desmond fan- 
 cied a fair ghost, in scant, high-waisted frock, 
 seated at it, drawing from the yellow old keys 
 thin, sweet melodies, which only the ears of the 
 spirit heard ; while the graceful figure opposite 
 was modulating some of the most intensely 
 modern music. He sat down beside her and 
 waited until she presently paused and looked 
 at him. 
 
 i l Do you like Brahms ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 ' t No — yes — I mean, I really don 't know, ' ' he 
 answered. Then suddenly: " Edith, tell me 
 what has become of my cousin, Harry War- 
 grave T" 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 Edith 's hands dropped involuntarily with a 
 crash on the keyboard. She shivered slightly at 
 the discord; lifted them, and turned around on 
 her seat, facing Desmond. 
 
 "It was too bad to make such a noise,' ' she 
 said; "but you startled me tremendously. I 
 don't know when I have heard that name 
 before." 
 
 "But why should it be tabooed?" he asked. 
 ' ' That is what I want to know. ' ' 
 
 "Don't you know — anything?" she inquired, 
 a little curiously. 
 
 "Nothing at all," he answered. "How 
 should I? My mother died so early, and it was 
 only from her that I ever heard anything of the 
 family. Then when I was here as a boy — " 
 
 ' ' Nobody told you anything then f ' ' 
 
 "Nobody. I felt instinctively that there was 
 a mystery about my cousin, that his name was 
 never to be mentioned. But a boy is a rather 
 selfish animal, who does not generally trouble 
 his head about anything but his own concerns. 
 I was too busy with my various amusements to 
 
 oo 
 
56 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 think of the matter except in the most passing 
 manner. And since then I have never thought 
 of it at all, — never for an instant imagined that 
 it would concern me. ' ' 
 
 "And now you know that it does?" 
 
 "Yes, now I know that it does; and I must 
 know more before I can consent to take a man 's 
 inheritance. ' ' 
 
 With her left hand she absently struck a few 
 chords before she said : 
 
 "I don't think vou will have a choice in the 
 matter. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I have a choice," he replied. "My 
 uncle has just told me that he has not signed 
 his will because he has waited for me to make 
 certain promises. I can refuse to make those 
 promises." 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't do that!" she exclaimed 
 hastily. "It would — I don't know what it 
 wouldn't do! Break his heart; kill him, per- 
 haps. Since his seizure he has seemed to live 
 only for your coming. The doctor says his 
 recovery has been marvellous, like a triumph of 
 the will over the flesh. And it has all been 
 that he might do this thing — fulfil the War- 
 grave trust. If you failed him now, it would be 
 terrible. ' ' 
 
 "I don't want to fail him," the young man 
 said earnestly; "but, equally, I don't want to 
 be a party to injustice. So I must know what 
 
A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 57 
 
 has become of my cousin, and you are the only 
 person I can ask to tell me." 
 
 There was again silence for a moment. Then, 
 glancing at the door which led into the library, 
 to be sure that it was closed, the girl said: 
 
 "I will tell you all that I know, but it is very 
 little. He was already gone when my father 
 died, and mamma came back here to live, bring- 
 ing me with her. But I think the catastrophe 
 that banished him must have occurred shortly 
 before that; for the servants still talked of 
 'Mass Harry' — " 
 
 Desmond nodded. "Yes, they did that when 
 I was here. It was only from them that I ever 
 heard his name. ' ' 
 
 "And one — his old nurse, who is now dead — 
 often spoke of him, ,, Edith went on. "It was 
 from her I learned all that I know ; for, with a 
 child's insatiable curiosity — I don't, by the 
 by, agree with you that children haven't 
 curiosity — " 
 
 "I spoke only of boys," he responded. 
 "Feminine children no doubt have abundance 
 of it." 
 
 She gave him a flashing smile. 
 
 "I understand what you mean; but never 
 mind. Well, Mom Gracie was, I suppose, glad 
 of some one to talk to on the subject so near 
 her heart. She warned me not to tell that she 
 had talked, and then she told me all she knew. 
 As well as I remember, it wasn't very clear as 
 
58 A QUESTION" OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 a narrative, but she made me realize that some- 
 thing dreadful had happened. She described 
 the last coming home of the young man, the 
 sense of impending tragedy that everybody 
 about the house had in the consciousness of 
 changed relations between father and son. ' ' 
 
 " ' Virgil was in the dining-room then,' she 
 said, 'and he come out to me fairly shakin\ 
 "They ain't talkin' an' they ain't eatin'," he 
 says; "an' the Judge" (the young niggahs 
 always called Mass George "the Judge") 
 "looks jes' like he does when he's sittin' on 
 the bench." It was after that — might 'a' been 
 several hours after,' she went on, 'for I know 
 it was dark — when Mass Harry come out 
 hisself to my house. "Good-bye, Mammy!" he 
 says. "I'm goin' away, an' I don't think I'll 
 ever be back again." — "G'long, Mass Harry!" 
 I says. "What you talkin' that foolishness 
 fuh?" — "It ain't foolishness," he says (an' 
 then I saw he was as white as your pocket- 
 handkercher, chile, an' his eyes shinin' like 
 stars) ; "I'll never come back unless my father 
 sends for me, and he'll never do that," he 
 says. — ' ' Good Lord ! " I screams out, " an ' why 
 wouldn't he send fuh you, when you's his only 
 child?" — "Bekase he believes somethin' of me 
 that isn't true," he says (yes, Miss Edith, 
 that's what he said, — "somethin' that isn't 
 true") "an' I can't disprove it, an' I'll never 
 ask him to take my word again." 
 
A QUESTION" OF CONFIDENCE 59 
 
 " 'Well, I cries an' pleads with him,' the old 
 soul continued; 'but ov co'se he wouldn't listen 
 (the Wargraves is always awful set when they 
 make up their minds to anything). An' when 
 Hiram come an' tol' him the buggy was ready, 
 he bid me good-bye an' went away.' Then she 
 burst out crying; I shall never forget how she 
 cried. 'An' he never has come back,' she would 
 say, 'an' he never will ! I'll never see my baby 
 again. It killed his mother ; she never held up 
 her head after he went away. But nothin' 
 don't move Mass George; an' it's my 'pinion,' 
 she added solemnly, 'that the Lord Hisself 
 couldn 't move him. ' ' ' 
 
 "You are a good story-teller, Edith," Des- 
 mond said, as the girl's voice ceased. "You 
 have made me see and hear old Mom Gracie. 
 You know she was living when I was here, and 
 I understand now why I was always conscious 
 of a certain hostility in her glance when she 
 looked at me. It vaguely puzzled me then, but 
 I comprehend now: she was jealous of me as 
 supplanting the 'Mass Harry,' of whom she 
 often muttered unintelligible things. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, " Edith said. ' ' I think you must have 
 been indeed a very unobservant and self- 
 centered boy if you were only vaguely aware of 
 her dislike. It was always clear enough to me. ' ' 
 
 "Of course I was self -centered, — I've 
 acknowledged that, ' ' he replied. ' ' But, you see, 
 you had advantage of being in her confidence. 
 
60 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 Yet none of this clears up matters much. The 
 question is, what did he do ! ' ' 
 
 Edith shook her head. "I haven't the least 
 idea, ' ' she replied. ' ' I have never ventured to 
 ask. ' ' 
 
 ' 'Well, I must ask," the young man said in 
 a resolute tone; "and, what is more, I shall 
 insist upon an answer. I will make no promise 
 and take no man's inheritance in the dark." 
 
 The girl looked at him, as she had looked in 
 the library before he went upstairs. It was 
 evident that he surprised her, and also that he 
 roused her interest. There was not a great deal 
 of light in the room — only that of a tall, silken- 
 shaded lamp by the piano, — but the concen- 
 trated radiance of this fell on his face; and it 
 struck her that there was a great deal of 
 strength and determination expressed in the 
 firm contours. Usually the debonair charm of 
 the countenance, the gay smile of the upward 
 curling lips, the gleam of humor in the dark- 
 blue Irish eyes, masked these characteristics; 
 but they were very evident now, as he gazed 
 past her, as if seeing, in the shadows beyond, 
 the picture of the banished son of the house, 
 which her words had so vividly evoked. 
 
 "Do you know," she said presently, "that 
 your attitude surprises me a little? Most 
 people would be glad to accept such an inheri- 
 tance as is offered to you, without pressing 
 
A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 61 
 
 inquiries about some one whom you have never 
 seen or known.' ' 
 
 He looked at her gravely. "What has seeing 
 him or knowing him to do with it?" he asked. 
 "I am not thinking of him, but of myself. It's 
 a simple question of not profiting by injustice. 
 I can't do that; so I must find out what has 
 become of Harry Wargrave, and why he for- 
 feited his inheritance before I can consent to 
 take it." 
 
 "How will you find out?" 
 
 "I shall ask my uncle." 
 
 " Oh ! " It was again an exclamation of some- 
 thing like horrified protest. "You must not 
 dream of such a thing! The effect might be 
 terrible. If you must ask somebody, ask 
 mamma." 
 
 "Do you think she knows?" 
 
 "I should suppose that she certainly does." 
 
 "Very well." He .rose as he spoke. "I will 
 go and ask her. ' ' 
 
 Her glance followed him, with mingled 
 wonder and approval, as he walked without an 
 instant's hesitation to the door which led into 
 the library, opened it, passed through, and 
 closed it behind him. At the sound of its clos- 
 ing, she drew a deep breath, then, dropping her 
 hands on the keys of the piano, began to play 
 again. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the same sound, Mrs. Creigh- 
 
62 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 ton looked up from her book and smiled at the 
 young man advancing toward her. 
 
 "Well, your uncle did not keep you very long, 
 after all. I am glad of that. ' ' 
 
 "I have been downstairs some time," Des- 
 mond answered. "I've been talking to Edith 
 in the drawing-room. He said that he did not 
 wish to keep me long — to-night." 
 
 "No doubt it was enough just to see you, to 
 satisfy himself that you were really here, ' ' Mrs. 
 Creighton observed. "He was pleased, was he 
 not?" 
 
 "Very much, I think." 
 
 "I'm quite sure he was pleased," she said 
 i i It must have gratified him deeply that you are 
 so much of a Wargrave. And did he" (she 
 hesitated slightly), — "did he tell you why he 
 has been so anxious for your coming?" 
 
 "Yes," Desmond answered gravely, "he told 
 me. I was very much surprised." 
 
 "You had not expected anything of the 
 kind!" 
 
 "No, — how could I? It had never for an 
 instant occurred to me that I could be made the 
 Wargrave heir." 
 
 She glanced away from him, and he was quite 
 sure that he heard her sigh. 
 
 "I suppose not," she said. And then, in a 
 lower tone : ' l You knew nothing of the family 
 tragedy?" 
 
 "Nothing," he answered, — "absolutely noth- 
 
A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 63 
 
 ing until to-night. Now, for the first time, I 
 have learned that there is a tragedy. Aunt 
 Rachel, will you tell me the facts of it!" 
 
 As he leaned toward her, his aunt shrank 
 back into her chair, and made a motion of dis- 
 sent with her hand. 
 
 * ' Don 't ask me!" she said. ' ' I — I don 't want 
 to talk of it. Be satisfied that your uncle has 
 the right to do what he intends, that no one has 
 any power to interfere." 
 
 "That isn't the point," the young man 
 answered. i i He may have the right to do what 
 he intends, and no one may have power to inter- 
 fere ; but there is a word for me to say, and that 
 word is that I can not accept this inheritance 
 if any shadow of injustice to another is 
 involved in giving it to me. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Laurence ! ' ' Mrs. Creighton sat erect now 
 and stared at him. "You can't mean that you 
 will refuse to take what your uncle wishes to 
 secure to you?" 
 
 ' ' I mean just that, Aunt Rachel, ' ' he told her 
 firmly, "unless I am convinced that I can take it 
 consistently with justice and honor." 
 
 A flush sprang to her face, an angry light to 
 her eyes. 
 
 "You venture to question that your uncle 
 could act otherwise than with justice and 
 honor?" she demanded, in a vibrating tone. 
 
 He looked at her steadily; and as he looked, 
 she was struck, as Edith had been a few minutes 
 
64 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 earlier, by the expression of determination that 
 came out on his face. 
 
 "I am not questioning my uncle's conduct,' ' 
 he said, "because I know nothing about the 
 motives actuating or the grounds justifying it. 
 But I can not shift responsibility for my con- 
 duct to any one else. I must be certain where I 
 stand before I can agree to profit so greatly by 
 another's loss." 
 
 "I consider this presumptuous and — disre- 
 spectful in the extreme !" his aunt returned. 
 "It should be enough for you that your uncle 
 is acting as he thinks right ; and no one — no one 
 in the world — has ever before doubted his 
 honor. ' ' 
 
 "I am not doubting it," Desmond assured 
 her. "I am certain that he would go to the 
 stake for what he felt to be a point of honor, 
 but it is possible that there might be a differ- 
 ence of opinion between us. ' ' 
 
 "And you would set your judgment up 
 against his!" 
 
 "When it comes to a matter of conscience, I 
 must, you know. I am sorry to vex you, Aunt 
 Eachei, but I can not recede from my position. 
 Before I agree to accept this inheritance, I 
 must know why my uncle's son and rightful 
 heir forfeited it, and what has become of him. ' ' 
 
 "You — " Mrs. Creighton's voice failed for a 
 moment, and then, regaining control of it, she 
 went on bitterly, — "you are so ungrateful, as 
 
A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 65 
 
 well as presumptuous, that if there were any- 
 one to take your place, I should advise my 
 brother to let you go. But you know that we 
 are at your mercy ; that there is no one else to 
 carry on the family, the name — " 
 
 1 ' I have known nothing of the kind, and I am 
 sorry if it is so," Desmond said, with a gentle- 
 ness that sprang from pity. "But if you wish 
 me to do this, why not be frank with me ? Why 
 not give me the confidence that it is surely my 
 right to ask?" 
 
 "I do not admit that it is your right to ask 
 what does not concern you." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. The ages-old 
 masculine contempt for a woman's reasoning 
 power was in the gesture, as well as a certain 
 hopelessness. 
 
 "In that case," he said, "I shall have no 
 alternative but to ask my uncle the question you 
 decline to answer." 
 
 "What!" she almost sprang at him. "You 
 would have so little feeling, so little decency, as 
 to mention the matter to InimV 
 
 Again she was struck by the resolute deter- 
 mination in the young face looking at her. 
 
 "You force me to do so," Desmond 
 answered. "Where else am I to go for the 
 information I must have ? And I do not believe 
 that my uncle will misunderstand me, as I 
 regret to see that you do. He will recognize 
 that with responsibility must go knowledge; 
 
66 A QUESTION OF CONFIDENCE 
 
 that no man should be asked to make a promise 
 and accept a burden in the dark." 
 
 " You call it accepting a burden to take a 
 princely inheritance 1 ' ' 
 
 "However princely, it would be a burden 
 beyond my power of bearing, if I were not sure 
 that it was justly mine. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Creighton rose from her chair with a 
 haste of movement which showed that her 
 power of self-control was stretched to its 
 utmost tension. She walked across the floor, 
 stood for a moment gazing out of a window on 
 the moonlit lawns and terraces; then turned, 
 came back and sank into her seat again. Her 
 face was set and very cold as she now looked at 
 Desmond. 
 
 "You have found a means to force me to do 
 what you wish," she said. "Anything is better 
 than that you should speak to my brother on a 
 subject which even / have never dared to touch 
 with him. I will tell you all that I know about 
 my nephew, and I trust that it will be enough 
 to satisfy your — curiosity." 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 FAMILY HISTOEY 
 
 Notwithstanding his resolute determination 
 to keep Ms temper, the last word spoken by 
 Mrs. Creightbn stung Desmond a little. 
 
 "I do not think," he observed, "that my 
 desire for knowledge on this subject could be 
 called curiosity ; but we will not dispute over a 
 name. The essential thing is that I should 
 learn the facts." 
 
 "Well," Mrs. Creighton said, "the facts, as 
 far as I know them, are briefly these — ' 
 
 Although it seemed her intention to go on, 
 she nevertheless paused, gazing into the brass- 
 girt fireplace, where a few logs burned more 
 for cheerfulness than warmth. When she pres- 
 ently spoke again, her voice had changed a 
 little; it seemed that she was thinking less of 
 the young man who had so unexpectedly roused 
 her antagonism than of the events and figures 
 of the past. 
 
 "You are," she said, "so ignorant of the 
 family history that I had better begin by telling 
 vou that vour uncle is onlv the half-brother of 
 
 67 
 
68 FAMILY HISTORY 
 
 your mother and myself. Our father married 
 twice, and there was a long interval between his 
 marriages. Consequently the son of the first 
 marriage was twenty years older than the 
 children of the second. We were very young, 
 your mother and I, when our father died; and 
 our brother became not only our legal guardian, 
 but in every respect a father to us. I can barely 
 remember when he was married; and Harry, 
 his only son, was therefore practically of our 
 generation, and like a brother rather than a 
 nephew. We were very fond of him'' (her 
 voice trembled a little); "and what happened 
 later was, and still remains, a great grief to me. 
 
 "Well, we grew up during the war, knowing 
 little of it ; for the routine on the great planta- 
 tions went on just as if there had been no war, 
 until near the close, when your uncle was 
 brought home badly wounded; and the friend 
 who brought him, who had carried him off the 
 field and saved his life was your father. He 
 was very attractive, and we all fell in love with 
 him ; but he fell in love with your mother, who 
 had just grown into womanhood and was most 
 charming. Perhaps' ' (abruptly) "you think all 
 this is very far from what I started to tell, but 
 it seems best to make everything clear to you." 
 
 "It is best, I am sure," Desmond told her, 
 "and also very interesting. You see, as you 
 have said, I am very ignorant of all these 
 things, and glad to know them. About my 
 
FAMILY HISTORY 69 
 
 father and mother now — there was opposition 
 to their marriage, was there not?" 
 
 "Yes. Much as he liked your father, who 
 was really a fascinating person, my brother had 
 too keen a sense of his responsibility toward us 
 not to feel that there were many objections to 
 the marriage. There was a considerable dis- 
 parity of age, to begin with, difference of 
 nationality, and most of all, of religion." 
 
 The young man nodded. "I understand," 
 he said. "The opposition was very natural, — 
 in fact, inevitable. But they overcame it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! They were both so determined 
 that after a while there was nothing to do but 
 yield. Some time elapsed, however. My brother 
 insisted that vour mother should wait until she 
 was older and certain of knowing her own 
 mind; so it was two or three years after the 
 war before they were married and went abroad. 
 Then, still later, I was married and went away ; 
 and — and while I was gone the dreadful thing 
 about Harry happened. ' ' 
 
 Silence fell again, as she stared once more at 
 the softly-burning fire, the feathery ashes. 
 Aware that half unconsciouslv she had been 
 dwelling on other things in order to keep away 
 from the subject to which she had now returned, 
 Desmond did not speak, but only sat in an 
 attitude of attention, with his eyes fixed on her. 
 Some instinct of the expectation in that steady 
 gaze, although her glance did not turn toward 
 
70 FAMILY HISTORY 
 
 him, at last forced her to take up the thread of 
 her narrative and go on. 
 
 1 ' I can not understand it, ' ' she said ; ' ' I never 
 have been able to understand it. No one ever 
 had a finer sense of honor than Harry appeared 
 to possess ; he was the very ideal of all that one 
 could have wished him to be. Only in one thing- 
 he disappointed his father. He was not willing 
 to stay on the plantation, nor yet to study a 
 profession. In the years following the war, 
 you know, there was a terrible condition of 
 affairs here in the South — an upheaval of all 
 the conditions of life, — and no one knew what 
 would or could finally result. I don't want to 
 recall the anarchy that existed for a time, and 
 threatened to make life impossible. Young men 
 especially were almost unable to bear it; and 
 for this reason (because he was afraid of what 
 Harry might be led into) my brother consented 
 that he should do what no Wargrave had ever 
 done before — go into business. He, therefore, 
 went to Baltimore and entered the commission 
 house of some old friends of ours, — men who, 
 despairing of conditions in the South, had left 
 their plantations, raised what money they 
 could, and founded a prosperous business in 
 that city. I think it was almost a relief to my 
 brother that he was away during the terrible 
 years in which things were gradually righting 
 themselves, when it required all his judicial 
 temperament to avoid trouble. But I know that 
 
FAMILY HISTORY 71 
 
 he never ceased to look forward to the time 
 when the son of the house could return to take 
 up the inheritance which had been saved for 
 him by such careful and almost heroic effort. 
 Then— the blow fell. ' ' 
 
 It seemed to Desmond that the tense sus- 
 pense in which he was left when her voice 
 dropped again was almost more than he could 
 bear. He felt his hands involuntarily clench- 
 ing. It was as if once more he almost touched 
 the old tragedy; as if its agony took material 
 shape before him, and he felt that he must know 
 whatever there was to know. At length he 
 could wait no longer. 
 
 " Don't try to go into particulars,' ' he said 
 gently. "Just tell me briefly what happened." 
 
 Then, for the first time since she began her 
 story, she turned to meet his gaze ; and in her 
 darkened, dilated eyes he saw all that she was 
 suffering. 
 
 "I can't go into particulars," she said, 
 "because I don't know — I never asked for 
 them. "Why should I have tortured my brother 
 with questions? He was a lawyer as well as a 
 man of stern integrity. He would have died 
 before he would have been guilty of an injustice 
 toward the poorest negro. Could 1 imagine, 
 therefore, that he was guilty of any toward his 
 only son? What he wrote to me (for he never 
 spoke of the matter) was this : 'I have learned 
 from my old friend, Colonel Escott, that Harry 
 
72 FAMILY HISTORY 
 
 has been guilty of irregularities — so he puts 
 it — in the business entrusted to him. The 
 proofs, into which I need not enter, seem quite 
 clear. The firm has lost many thousand dol- 
 lars, and the cheques passed through Harry's 
 hands. I sent for him at once, and he can give 
 no satisfactory explanation of the defalca- 
 tion, — for that, in plain language, is what it is. 
 He denies that he has been guilty of dishonesty, 
 but the proof would convict him in any court 
 of law. This being so, there has been only one 
 course for me to pursue. I have paid every 
 dollar of which the firm has been defrauded — 
 laying a charge on the estate which it will take 
 me many years to liquidate, in order to do so, — 
 and I have told Harry that, unless he can bring 
 me not merely assertion but convincing proof 
 of his integrity, he can not enter again a house 
 where honor has always been held supreme, 
 and he can never expect to inherit it. With this 
 distinct understanding, he has gone. That is 
 all.' 
 
 ' ' No doubt it seems strange to you that I can 
 quote this old letter so exactly,' ' Mrs. Creigh- 
 ton went on, after another pause, which now 
 Desmond made no effort to break; "but it was 
 the only information I ever had, and I read it 
 over and over until it was branded on my mem- 
 ory. Well, you understand now why my brother 
 has let the years go by — it is more than twenty 
 since this occurred — without fulfilling that part 
 
FAMILY HISTORY 73 
 
 of the Wargrave trust which enjoins the renew- 
 ing of the entail. He had not only to clear the 
 estate of debt, but I am sure, though he has 
 never said so, that he has always hoped, against 
 hope as it were, that Harry would exonerate his 
 name from the charge of dishonor which stood 
 against it. But that hope ended forever when 
 we heard of his death." 
 
 "Ok!" Desmond started, for tkis news came 
 to kim as a skock. "He is dead, tken ! ' ' 
 
 She nodded, and lifted her handkerchief to 
 her eyes, with the sound of a smothered sob. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "Two years ago my 
 brother had a brief message from San Fran- 
 cisco — where, it seems, Harry went when he left 
 here, — saying that he was dead." 
 
 "Is there no doubt of it! Who sent the 
 message!" 
 
 Mrs. Creighton hesitated an instant before 
 replying, and he had an instinctive feeling that 
 she did not wish to answer the question. Never- 
 theless, with a return of coldness to her voice, 
 she said: 
 
 "My brother had not the least doubt of the 
 message. I did not ask him about the name 
 signed to it, which was unknown to me." 
 
 "But not to kim!" 
 
 Tke persistence of tke question evidently 
 irritated ker. Tkere was again a flask in ker 
 glance as it turned on kim. 
 
 "Of course it was not unknown to kim," ske 
 
74 FAMILY HISTORY 
 
 answered; "but I did not trouble him with 
 inquiries. It would have been cruel, absolutely 
 inexcusable, to do so." 
 
 Desmond was well aware that the indignation 
 in her voice was for him; that she held his 
 inquiries to be, if not cruel, at least ' ; absolutely 
 inexcusable " ; but he was too intent upon his 
 object, upon satisfying the insistent demands of 
 his own conscience, to be deterred by this 
 indignation. 
 
 "You must forgive me if I ask one more 
 question, ' ' he said. ' ' Had my uncle during all 
 these years maintained any communication 
 with his son ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Creighton replied. "I know as 
 much as that, although I never saw one of the 
 communications. I think they were rare and 
 altogether formal. My brother was too just a 
 man to cast off his son entirely; and he pro- 
 vided him with a certain income, although he 
 could not make him the heir of the estate. 
 Even if he had wished to do so, the Wargrave 
 trust would have prevented that. ' ' 
 
 "He told me that the trust enjoins that who- 
 ever has been guilty of dishonorable conduct 
 should be cast out and lose the inheritance," 
 Desmond said slowly. "It seems a hard 
 condition. ' ' 
 
 ' ' A hard condition 1 ' ' his aunt repeated. ' l Do 
 you think that any one who had been guilty of 
 dishonorable conduct should be allowed to take 
 
FAMILY HISTORY 75 
 
 the inheritance which only honorable men have 
 held!" 
 
 "I think," Desmond answered, "that there 
 should be some allowance made for human 
 weakness, for possible mistakes, and — for 
 repentance." 
 
 ' ' Repentance ! ' ' There was a shade of scorn 
 in her tone as she echoed the word. ' ' How can 
 repentance change what has been done? A 
 criminal may repent, but the law exacts its 
 penalty nevertheless. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Human law, yes. ' ' 
 
 "We are not talking of divine law," she 
 returned impatiently. "But I see how it is. 
 You have been brought up in an atmosphere so 
 different from ours that you can not under- 
 stand our standards, which have for us the 
 force of laws. Of course we might have ex- 
 pected this ; and, in a certain sense, I did expect 
 it. But I never thought of your taking so 
 unsympathetic an attitude, setting yourself up 
 to judge — " 
 
 "I am sorry," Desmond said, as she broke 
 off abruptly, ' ' that you mistake me so much. I 
 am trying not to be unsympathetic ; and, so far 
 from judging, I am only asking to know how 
 matters stand." 
 
 "Well, now you know all that is essential." 
 
 "Almost all," he agreed. "It does not con- 
 cern me to decide whether my cousin was 
 hardlv dealt with, since his case has been called 
 
76 FAMILY HISTORY 
 
 to a higher tribunal. If he were living, I may 
 tell you frankly that I could not consent to take 
 his inheritance ; but since he is dead, and has, I 
 presume, left no heirs — " 
 
 The pause was interrogative; for this was 
 indeed the crucial point. On it everything 
 hinged; for in his mind Desmond was quite 
 sure that, whatever Harry Wargrave had done, 
 there would be no justice in alienating his 
 inheritance from his children on account of it. 
 But Mrs. Creighton answered without hesita- 
 tion, and more coldly than she had yet spoken : 
 
 ' i He left no heirs, so there is no need for you 
 to take that into consideration. And now I 
 think we can drop the subject. It is naturally 
 a very painful one to me, and I suppose that 
 your — scruples, shall I say? — are satisfied V 
 
 " * Scruples' is certainly a better name than 
 curiosity for what I have felt, — what has made 
 it necessary for me to annoy and give you pain 
 in this manner," said Desmond, in a tone of 
 sincere regret. ' ' I wish you would believe that 
 it was only because my conscience obliged me 
 to know exactly how matters stood, that I have 
 troubled you with what you probably consider 
 impertinent inquiries. ' ' 
 
 "No," she answered. "I admit that they 
 were not impertinent — from you. I acknowl- 
 edge that you have a right to know family 
 matters which do not concern any one else. I 
 was vexed at your persistence at first, but I see 
 
FAMILY HISTORY 77 
 
 now that it is better to have everything made 
 clear before you go to my brother to-morrow. ' ' 
 Then she looked at him with a certain softening 
 of glance and manner. "You are a true War- 
 grave in your obstinacy," she added, not with- 
 out approval. 
 
 Desmond smiled a little, not caring to explain 
 further that something much stronger, more 
 compelling, than mere obstinacy had been 
 behind his inquiries. He, too, had a sense of 
 relief that the explanation was over, and that 
 apparently there was no reason why he should 
 refuse to gratify his uncle by accepting the 
 inheritance which was offered him. 
 
 "You have been very good in bearing with 
 my questions and giving me so much informa- 
 tion, ' ' he told his aunt, with what she could not 
 but feel to be a very winning grace of manner. 
 ' ' I trust that I shall never have to annoy you in 
 the same way, nor indeed in any other, again. 
 I shall certainly endeavor not to do so. ' ' 
 
 Before Mrs. Creighton could reply, the door 
 leading into the drawing-room — where the 
 music had ceased some time before — softly 
 opened, and Edith's charming face appeared. 
 
 "Have you finished talking? May I come 
 in?" she asked. 
 
 Yes, come in," her stepmother replied. 
 
 We have finished, in the most final sense, all 
 that we have to say." 
 
 1 1 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 One of those radiant mornings of early 
 autumn, which in beauty rival if they do not 
 surpass the mornings of spring, lay like a 
 mantle of enchantment over the wide scene 
 which Hillcrest on its dominating height com- 
 manded, when Desmond stepped out of the 
 house after breakfast the next day. With a 
 sense of delight in the mere consciousness of 
 physical existence, he threw back his head and 
 expanded his lungs to the delicious air, while 
 his glance took in the beautiful picture spread 
 before him. The plateau on which the house 
 stood was covered with green lawns, that 
 dropped on one side in a succession of terraces 
 to the foot of the hill, where the cultivated 
 valley swept in graceful curve, with the bend 
 of the stream, around its base ; and the horizon 
 was bounded by softly rolling hills and woods 
 draped in sparkling purple mist. 
 
 "What a heavenly day!" he exclaimed to 
 Edith, who had come out with him, and who 
 smiled at his rapture. 
 
 78 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 79 
 
 "I won't go so far as to declare that all days 
 are heavenly at this season," she said; "but at 
 least they are so much the rule that we are not 
 surprised by them. Let us go down to the 
 flower garden. I want some roses for the 
 house.' ' 
 
 They passed down a flight of stone steps to 
 the broad terrace, facing the south, where all 
 varieties of flowers bloomed in succession 
 throughout the year, and where the magnificent 
 roses of October, finer than the roses of May, 
 were just then in their glory. The basket which 
 Edith carried was soon full to overflowing ; and 
 it was as he looked at their fragrant beauty, 
 and then at the wide, sunlit scene around him, 
 that Desmond was suddenly smitten with a 
 recollection of the railway accident of the day 
 before, and of what it had meant to so many 
 who, like himself, had yesterday looked out on 
 the world in health and strength, and to-day — 
 
 Edith was startled by the change in his 
 tone — they had been talking and laughing gaily 
 as she clipped her roses — when he said 
 abruptly : 
 
 "I think I am the most ungrateful brute on 
 the face of the earth." 
 
 She turned and looked at him in amazement. 
 
 "Now, what do you possibly mean by that?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Just what I say," replied Desmond. 
 "Think of yesterday! — think of the horror in 
 
80 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 which I was involved ; of those who were hurled 
 into eternity; of the others who are lying 
 maimed and suffering yonder" (he flung out his 
 hand in the direction of Kingsford) ; "and here 
 I am as forgetful of it all, as full of the mere 
 animal pleasure in life, as if I were a brute 
 indeed ! ' ' 
 
 "But you are unjust to yourself,' ' she pro- 
 tested. l ' Why shouldn 't you put it out of your 
 mind, when remembering can do no good, and 
 when, of course, you are grateful for your 
 escape ?" 
 
 "It is kind of you to be sure of that," he 
 remarked. ' ' I am not sure. ' ' 
 
 "Not sure that you are grateful? Oh, im- 
 possible!" 
 
 He looked at her a little oddly. 
 
 "It is to be supposed," he said, "that the 
 nine lepers who were cured long ago were 
 grateful in a certain sense ; but we are told that 
 they did not express their gratitude." 
 
 He almost laughed at the growing amaze- 
 ment in the eyes that gazed at him. 
 
 "Do you mean the lepers in the Bible?" 
 Edith asked. "What an extraordinary young 
 man you are! I didn't think that young men 
 knew much about the Bible in these days." 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh now, as he 
 answered : 
 
 "I fancy that, as a general rule, you are quite 
 right. But some of us are obliged to hear the 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 81 
 
 Gospels read occasionally; and that incident, 
 with its profound light on human ingratitude, 
 early made a deep impression on me. I remem- 
 ber as a child thinking, in a very pharisaical 
 spirit, that / would have been like the only one 
 who returned to give thanks, and not like the 
 ungrateful nine. Yet now — " a gesture fin- 
 ished the sentence expressively enough. 
 
 "But you are grateful,' ' Edith reiterated in 
 her astonishment; "and of course vou have — 
 er — expressed your gratitude. ' ' 
 
 "After a fashion, I suppose I have," he 
 replied; "but I think I must try to express it 
 a little better. ' ' He glanced at his watch. ' ' It 
 is nearly ten o 'clock. I wonder if I should have 
 time to drive into Kingsford before my uncle is 
 likely to want me ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' I think not, ' ' she answered. ' l I fancy that 
 he will want you very soon. I know that he has 
 asked both his lawyer and his doctor to be here 
 this morning." 
 
 "That sounds very solemn. What need can 
 he have for both of them ? ' ' 
 
 "To make quite sure that his will shall be 
 unassailable, I imagine. ' ' 
 
 "Who would be likely to assail it?" 
 
 She lifted her shoulders lightly. 
 
 "How should I know? But it is character- 
 istic of him to make things absolutely safe, 
 whether there is danger or not. Now shall we 
 go and see him? I always take him some 
 
82 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 flowers in the morning, and you can then find 
 out exactly when he will want you." 
 
 "It is clear that I can't do better than put 
 myself into your hands," he said. 
 
 So they returned to the house, and went 
 together upstairs to the apartments of its 
 master. Virgil opened the door of the sitting- 
 room to Edith's knock; but before he could 
 answer her inquiry, Judge Wargrave's voice 
 spoke : 
 
 ' ' Yes, yes, my dear ! Come in. ' ' 
 
 She entered, followed by Desmond, who was 
 immediately struck by the cheerfulness of the 
 sunshine-flooded room, and by his uncle's 
 increased vigor of appearance. He was seated 
 in the same large chair in which he had been 
 sitting the night before; but it was now rolled 
 over to his desk, which was open. As he turned 
 to greet them, Desmond was further struck by 
 the affectionate warmth of his manner to Edith, 
 who kissed him as if she had been his daughter. 
 
 "You are feeling better to-day," she told 
 him, as he patted her hand. i i Your new physi- 
 cian here" — she glanced at Desmond — "has 
 done you a world of good. At this rate, we 
 shall have you downstairs in a day or two. ' ' 
 
 The Judge shook his head. 
 
 "I'm afraid not so soon as that," he 
 answered. "My legs are still very untrust- 
 worthv. But I do feel better — much better — 
 this morning, and no doubt the cause is what 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 83 
 
 you say. I hope you are quite well, my boy," 
 he added, looking at the tall young man who 
 stood smiling down at him. 
 
 "As well as possible, sir," Desmond an- 
 swered. "Who could be otherwise in this divine 
 climate, this beautiful place? I have just been 
 in the garden with Edith enjoying both. ' ' 
 
 "And see what lovely roses I have brought 
 you!" Edith added, holding up the flowers. 
 "They are blooming gloriously just now. 
 Virgil, fill that vase with fresh water for me. ' ' 
 
 Both men watched her with a sense of pleas- 
 ure as she stood arranging the beautiful blooms 
 in the tall crystal vase which Virgil made haste 
 to bring to her; and then Desmond was con- 
 scious that his uncle's glance turned again with 
 a certain keenness on himself. 
 
 "And so you like the old place!" he said. 
 "It hasn't disappointed you — eh?" 
 
 "I don't see how it could possibly disappoint 
 any one," Desmond replied. "I have never 
 seen a more charming place in any country. 
 Everything about it is so harmonious, ' ' 
 
 Judge Wargrave nodded. 
 
 "Yes, there's no note of new conditions here. 
 You'll find them all around, but not — thank 
 God !— at Hillcrest. " Then to Edith: "Thank 
 you, my dear! Those roses are indeed lovely. 
 Now I am going to ask you to leave Laurence 
 with me ; and if Glynn or Blaisdell come, send 
 either or both of them up. ' ' 
 
84 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 Edith's smile to Desmond said, "I told you 
 so!" as she gave a last touch to her roses, 
 signified assent to the directions ahout the doc- 
 tor and lawyer, and left the room. Judge War- 
 grave's glance followed her to the door; and, 
 when it closed on her graceful figure, returned 
 to Desmond, who had meanwhile sat down 
 beside him. 
 
 "I can't tell you what sunshine she has 
 brought into this house, since she came here as 
 a child, ' ' he said. * i I could not love her better 
 if she were my own daughter. ' ' 
 
 "I can easily believe it," Desmond answered. 
 ' 'She seems delightful." 
 
 "She is just that — delightful !" his uncle said 
 with emphasis. "You will not be surprised 
 that I have remembered her in this, ' ■ he added, 
 taking up a legal-looking paper which lay on 
 the desk beside him, and which Desmond imme- 
 diately divined to be his will. "I wish that I 
 could have left her more, but my power is 
 limited. I have very little to give outside of 
 what must be kept intact. ' ' 
 
 "I was under the impression," Desmond 
 remarked, ' ' that you had power to do what you 
 pleased with the entire property, and I can see 
 no reason why you should not provide for her 
 as liberally as you like." 
 
 Judge Wargrave frowned slightly. 
 
 "That speech indicates that you have not 
 grasped the nature of the trust I hold and of 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 85 
 
 which I have spoken to you, ' ' he answered. ' ' 1 
 have a legal power to do what I please with the 
 entire property, but I have no moral right to 
 make other than one disposition of the greater 
 part of it. Is it possible that you have not yet 
 understood this?" 
 
 "Yes," the young man returned, "I have 
 understood it. But — you see" (he hesitated a 
 little), "you are going out of the regular suc- 
 cession in choosing me as your heir — " 
 
 "I am doing nothing of the kind," his uncle 
 interposed sharply. "I am, on the contrary, 
 complying exactly with the directions of the 
 trust, — am doing what I have no choice but to 
 do. ' ' He extended his thin, tremulous hand and 
 took a folded document out of a pigeonhole 
 before him. "This is a copy of the will which 
 created the trust," he went on. "It was made 
 by Eobert Wargrave in 1784, after the Inde- 
 pendence of the Colonies was assured, and 
 when he recognized what character of legisla- 
 tion with regard to rights of property was to be 
 expected from the spirit dominant in them. 
 Here" (he folded back a page of the yellow 
 paper and pointed to a paragraph marked in 
 red ink) "you can read exactly what he made 
 binding in honor, if not in law, upon his 
 descendants. ' ' 
 
 It was with a strange thrill, as if he were 
 touching the hand of the man so long dead, that 
 Desmond took the old document, an attested 
 
86 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 copy of the original will made more than a hun- 
 dred years before. Transcribed in the faded, 
 yet beautifully clear handwriting of the clerk 
 of the court of that day, he read the directions, 
 carefully and distinctly expressed, which had 
 bound every Wargrave up to the last represen- 
 tative of the name who now sat before him. 
 When he finally lifted his eyes from the paper 
 they were very grave. 
 
 1 ' Yes, it is all here, ' ' he said. i ' He makes the 
 obligation to fulfil his wishes binding in honor 
 upon all his descendants. But — forgive me if 
 I question whether he had the right to do this." 
 
 "Laurence !" 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me," the young man 
 went on quickly. "He had, without doubt, the 
 right to express his wishes, and ask that they 
 should be observed as far as possible; but to 
 lay them with the force of law upon all who 
 were to come after him, without regard to other 
 conditions which might arise, seems to me 
 unreasonable. Do you think, now, that a man 
 would violate honor who, in obedience to the 
 higher law of justice, should fail to observe this 
 command?" 
 
 "I am at a loss to know what you mean by 
 'the higher law of justice, ' " his uncle an- 
 swered coldly. "You grant, I suppose, the right 
 of the owner to entail his property, if the law 
 permitted, as property is entailed in the old 
 country. Very well, then; how can you deny 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 87 
 
 his right to say to his descendants, 'I am for- 
 bidden, in the interest of republican theories, to 
 entail my estate beyond a certain limit; so I 
 trust to your honor to do what I am unable to 
 do, — to maintain this entail for the sake of the 
 family on the lines I have laid down ' % If there 
 is no injustice in such an entail for the one or 
 two generations legally permitted, on what 
 principle does it become unjust when put in 
 force for any number of generations 1 ' ' 
 
 "I — don't know," Desmond was obliged to 
 answer ; for, as a matter of fact, his protest had 
 been one of instinct and impulse rather than of 
 thought. He could not mention the condition 
 which seemed to him most hard, — that which 
 declared the inheritance should be forfeited by 
 any form of dishonorable conduct. And, after 
 all, he reminded himself, Harry Wargrave was 
 dead, and concern on his behalf altogether un- 
 necessary. He glanced down again at the 
 paper in his hand. "I observe,' ' he said, "that 
 those who are in the line of succession are very 
 clearly specified — first, sons, with strict regard 
 to primogeniture; or, failing these, the sons of 
 daughters. That, of course, is where I come 
 in. ' ' He paused suddenly, as if struck by a new 
 thought. "I wonder — " he began, and paused 
 again. 
 
 "What?" his uncle asked, and Desmond's 
 ear told him that there was a note of distinct 
 
88 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 apprehension, as well as of repressed impa- 
 tience, in his voice. 
 
 "Only this," the young man answered 
 hastily. " Since it appears that I am the sole 
 representative of the family in my generation — 
 for so my aunt told me last night, — it occurs 
 to me to wonder whether, if I had been killed 
 in that railway accident yesterday, you would 
 feel yourself free to do with the estate what 
 you like — to leave it, let us say, to Edith!" 
 
 "Certainly not," Judge Wargrave answered 
 with decision. "I should have to go back a 
 generation to find an heir, that is all." 
 
 * ' Oh, I see ! Nothing short of the wiping out 
 of all the branches of the family could release 
 you from the obligation of renewing the 
 entail. ' ' 
 
 "You speak rather flippantly," his uncle 
 said, "but you are right. Only the extinction 
 of the family could put an end to the obligation, 
 and that is an event which we need not consider. 
 I am very thankful that you were spared yes- 
 terday ; but I think that we have had enough of 
 this discussion. Now I must ask vour attention 
 and assent to one or two points before I sign 
 my will in the presence of the witnesses whom 
 I am expecting. First, you understand that 
 you will have no power over the property, 
 except to use its income and hold the estate in 
 trust for the heir of entail who will succeed 
 you?" 
 
A CHANGE OF NAME 89 
 
 Desmond nodded. "I understand," lie said. 
 "I shall have no responsibility. I represent the 
 generation that is bound, while the heir who 
 follows me will be free — " 
 
 "No." The interruption was short and 
 stern. "He will be as bound as you are — in 
 honor. And there your responsibility comes 
 in: to make him comprehend this, to hand on 
 the family tradition in all its binding force. 
 That is what you must promise to do." 
 
 Desmond smiled a little. It seemed difficult 
 to imagine himself inculcating the Wargrave 
 tradition on that shadowy, non-existent person- 
 ality of the future. 
 
 "I will promise to do my best to make the 
 obligation clear to whoever comes after me," 
 he said. 
 
 His uncle lifted his hand with the gesture of 
 one who administers on oath. 
 
 "You promise to fulfil the family trust in 
 every particular, as far as lies in your power, 
 so help you God!" he dictated slowly. 
 
 The solemnity of the last words was so unex- 
 pected that the smile left Desmond's lips. For 
 an instant he hesitated, conscious of a deep 
 reluctance to bind himself in such a manner; 
 but then the recollection came again that he 
 was not asked to promise anything against 
 which conscience could protest. Why should he 
 not call God to witness his intention to fulfil as 
 far as lay in his power — which did not seem to 
 
90 A CHANGE OF NAME 
 
 be very far — the trust committed to him? He 
 met his uncle's piercing gaze after an instant 
 with a candid glance. 
 
 "Yes," he assented. "I promise that — so 
 help me God ! ' ' 
 
 Something like a sigh of relief came from the 
 older man's lips, as he sank back in his chair. 
 
 "Well, that is all," he said, — "except that, 
 on inheriting the estate, you must take the 
 name of Wargrave. ' ' 
 
 But here Desmond demurred. "I don't 
 think," he said, "that I can agree to give up 
 my father 's name. I am rather proud of it. ' ' 
 
 "Use both, then," his uncle answered. "It 
 is a fashion I dislike, but there have been onlv 
 Wargraves at Hillcrest for close upon two hun- 
 dred years, and we can have no change now." 
 Then, as voices and steps were heard approach- 
 ing along the corridor outside, "There are 
 Glynn and Blaisdell," he said. "Thank 
 Heaven, I shall soon have the weight that has 
 burdened it so long lifted from my mind ! ' ' 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 "Well," Desmond said, with a slightly 
 whimsical smile, to Edith, when he met her a 
 little later in the hall, where the wide doors 
 were open to the sunny brightness of the day, 
 and the fragrant breezes that swept through: 
 "the weight of the Wargrave trust has fallen 
 upon my shoulders. Do you perceive any 
 change in my appearance ? ' ' 
 
 "What change should there be!" she asked, 
 regarding him amusedly. "A look of import- 
 ance, perhaps!" 
 
 But he shook his head. "By no means. As 
 far as I can make out, I am of no importance 
 at all, except to hand on the estate, and incul- 
 cate the binding nature of the trust on a person 
 known as 'the heir of entail.' Oh, by the way, 
 who is Robert Wargrave Selwyn I ' ' 
 
 Edith's laugh rang out. "Bobby Selwyn!" 
 she exclaimed. "Oh, you can't have forgotten 
 him!" 
 
 "By Jove, but I had!" Desmond assured her. 
 "Or at least I didn't identify a boy of that 
 
 91 
 
92 A MATTEE OF JUSTICE 
 
 name, whom I knew a dozen years ago, with the 
 Bobert Wargrave Selwyn whom I have just 
 heard solemnly declared the heir of entail, in 
 case I die without direct heirs.' ' 
 
 "So Bobby is put in the entail!" Edith said, 
 in a somewhat awed tone. "Of course one 
 expected it — he is the nearest heir after your- 
 self, — but it must have gone hard with Uncle 
 George; for he doesn't like him at all." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "For the reason that fire and water don't 
 agree : they are mutually antipathetic. Bobby 
 belongs to the new generation, is aggressively, 
 offensively modern, believes in everything that 
 Uncle George abhors, has enraged him by try- 
 ing to persuade him to sell some of the Hillcrest 
 land and water-power for a manufacturing- 
 site ; and altogether made himself so obnoxious 
 that I think — I really think it is one of the finest 
 things I ever heard of that Uncle George should 
 have named him as an heir of the property. ' ' 
 
 "I see what you mean," Desmond said. "It 
 is fine that he is able to rise so entirely above 
 his personal feelings, and act according to the 
 strict law of justice, in carrying out the trust 
 committed to his hands. I wonder — " And 
 then the speaker paused, as he had paused after 
 the same words when talking to his uncle a 
 short time before. 
 
 Edith glanced at him curiously. "What do 
 you wonder?" she asked. 
 
A MATTER OF JUSTICE 93 
 
 << 
 
 I seem,' Desmond answered, laughing a 
 little, "to have done nothing but wonder and 
 ask questions since I have been here. I've no 
 doubt I am a great nuisance ; but, you see, I am 
 so ignorant. ' ' 
 
 "That's understood," she told him, without 
 any unkind meaning. ' ' You can 't know things 
 unless you have heard them; and, as you were 
 good enough to inform me last night, I am a 
 good story-teller ; so I like to tell you whatever 
 I chance to know of the family affairs . Again, 
 therefore, what were you wondering about?" 
 
 "Something which I hardly think even you 
 can tell me," he replied. "I was wondering 
 what my uncle would do if that high sense of 
 justice, which has made him put a man person- 
 allv obnoxious to himself in the succession to 
 the trust which he holds so sacred, were 
 arrayed against the requirement of that trust. ' ' 
 
 Edith stared. "I don't know what you 
 mean," she said. "How could that be?" 
 
 Desmond flung out his hands in a gesture of 
 a wide ignorance. "That is what I can not 
 tell," he said. "It is an abstract question. 
 One can only — wonder. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You are really a very strange young man, ' ' 
 Edith remarked, much as she had earlier re- 
 marked in the garden. ' ' Things seem to strike 
 you in a way that is unusual, to say the least. 
 I suppose," she added, "that we appear as odd 
 to you as you do to us ; and you are trying to 
 
94 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 understand us, as if we were characters in a 
 novel or a play. ' ' 
 
 "No," Desmond replied, "I find nothing odd 
 in any one except my uncle. And 'odd' is not 
 exactly the word for him. It is more that in 
 him one sees a type of character so strongly 
 marked, so individual, so built on lines that 
 belong to the antique rather than to the modern 
 world, that curiosity and interest are strongly 
 roused; and, imagining certain tests applied, I 
 can only repeat that one wonders what the 
 result would be. ' ' 
 
 "I don't in the least know how you would 
 expect the test to be applied, ' ' Edith said, with 
 a good deal of the wonder of which he spoke in 
 her own tone ; ' ' but I can tell you that nothing 
 on earth — and, like Mom Gracie, I am almost 
 tempted to say, nothing in heaven — could shake 
 his adherence to what his standard of honor 
 demands. He proved that when he sent his 
 only son away. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," Desmond agreed. "It seems foolish 
 to think of any further test after that; and 
 yet—" 
 
 He broke off abruptly; for at this moment 
 the sound of voices made them glance up, to 
 see the lawyer and doctor, whom Desmond had 
 left with his uncle, coming around the gallery 
 which encircled the hall. They were talking 
 and laughing cheerfully together, as they des- 
 cended the staircase — two middle-aged men, 
 
A MATTER OF JUSTICE 95 
 
 both of the highest type of their respective pro- 
 fessions, and evidently intimate friends, — and 
 their cheerfulness was proof that they had left 
 their client and patient in a satisfactory condi- 
 tion. Indeed Dr. Glynn expressed his satisfac- 
 tion when he approached the two young people. 
 
 1 'The Judge's improvement is extremely 
 gratifying; and, considering his age, the most 
 remarkable altogether that I have ever 
 known," he said to Edith. 
 
 "I am sure you must find him much better 
 to-day, ' ' she answered. ' ' It strikes me that he 
 is more like himself than he has been since his 
 seizure." 
 
 "Yes," the doctor agreed. "He is very 
 much better than he was even yesterday. I 
 suppose that we have to thank Mr. Desmond 
 for the improvement. Your arrival has brought 
 great relief as well as pleasure to your uncle," 
 he added, addressing the young man. 
 
 "I am sorry that I could not have brought 
 the relief sooner," Desmond explained; "but 
 I was in remote Eastern Europe when the sum- 
 mons reached me. I do not, however" (he 
 spoke now to the lawyer), "understand why my 
 uncle should have waited for my coming to 
 relieve his mind by signing the will he has 
 signed this morning." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell — a tall man, with a rugged, 
 intellectual face — put out his lower lip in a 
 
96 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 manner very expressive and peculiar to him- 
 self. 
 
 "I represented that to him," he said; "but 
 he seemed very anxious to see you, and, as I 
 inferred, to obtain from you some kind of per- 
 sonal pledge before signing the will. I am 
 glad," he continued, "that you were able to 
 satisfy him fully. The Wargrave trust is 
 nearer his heart than anything else, and it is 
 something that all of us who belong to the old 
 order are anxious to have maintained." 
 
 "It would certainly be a pity if it should 
 lapse," Desmond assented. "I only wish that 
 there was a Wargrave to carry it on. ' ' 
 
 The words evidently surprised and somewhat 
 startled his hearers. They glanced at each 
 other quickly before Mr. Blaisdell said : 
 
 "No doubt we all wish that; but we must not 
 forget that you are a Wargrave — in right of 
 your mother. ' ' 
 
 "And in right of something else," added Dr. 
 Glynn, looking up at the family portraits. 
 "You have the stamp of the race, and that's 
 more than a name. By the by" — his glance 
 suddenly returned to the young man, — 
 "weren't you in that railway wreck yesterday! 
 It would have been a terrible blow to the Judge 
 if you had been killed. ' ' 
 
 Desmond was unable to restrain a slight 
 laugh. "Every one thinks of my escape first 
 with regard to my uncle," he said. "I am glad 
 
A MATTER OF JUSTICE 97 
 
 on his account not to have been killed ; and also 
 on my own. I was fortunately one of the Pull- 
 man passengers, of whom none were injured. 
 I am almost afraid to ask how those who were 
 injured are to-day?" 
 
 "Two more died last night," the doctor 
 answered. "The rest will probably get well, in 
 a more or less maimed condition. There would 
 have been more deaths but for the wonderfully 
 good and intelligent service of the nurse, who 
 appears to have been the only person able to 
 render aid to the injured when the wreck 
 occurred. ' ' 
 
 Desmond looked at Edith. "You know I told 
 you about her, ' ' he said. ' ' She was wonderful. 
 I was with her all the time ; and it struck me — 
 though that may have been because of my igno- 
 rance — that no doctor could have done more or 
 done better than she did. ' ' 
 
 "No doubt you were right," Dr. Glynn told 
 him. "The first things to be done in case of 
 accident are mostly very simple, and any well- 
 trained nurse is thoroughly familiar with them. 
 But this young woman seems to have displayed 
 more than ordinary judgment and skill in sev- 
 eral cases. Dr. Fielding, our head surgeon, was 
 speaking of her in very high terms this 
 morning. ' ' 
 
 "Then," said Edith, "I suppose you will 
 keep her at your hospital?" 
 
 "Oh, that I can't tell! But she is certainly 
 
98 A MATTEE OF JUSTICE 
 
 very useful there just now. Well, Blaisdell, I 
 must be going! Can I take you in to Kings- 
 ford ?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure mamma expects you both to 
 stay to lunch — or dinner, if you prefer to call it 
 that!" Edith exclaimed. "And here she is to 
 tell you so." 
 
 Mrs. Creighton indeed appeared at the 
 moment, full of the hospitable intentions men- 
 tioned. But the doctor declared that, for him, 
 remaining longer was out of the question; and 
 Mr. Blaisdell decided to return with him to the 
 town. As they drove out of the gates of Hill- 
 crest a few minutes later, they met a small but 
 extremely well-appointed automobile just turn- 
 ing in, which paused at sight of them, while the 
 young man driving it uttered the greeting of his 
 day and kind : 
 
 "Hallo! How are you both? I hope the 
 Judge isn't worse?" 
 
 "On the contrary, much better," Dr. Glynn 
 replied. . "I suppose you've heard that young 
 Desmond has arrived?" 
 
 "Yes. Heard also that he was in the railway 
 wreck yesterday and narrowly escaped being 
 killed. That would have been a blow to the 
 Judge ! ' ' 
 
 "Pretty bad," Dr. Glynn agreed, with 
 amused remembrance of Desmond's remark 
 that every one thought of his escape first with 
 reference to his uncle. "But fortunately he 
 
A MATTER OF JUSTICE 99 
 
 was spared, and the Judge seems immensely 
 pleased by his arrival.' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, of course ! Heir of the Wargrave trust, 
 and all that kind of thing." A laughing eye 
 roved over to Mr. Blaisdell. "I suppose, from 
 the conjunction of the legal with the medical 
 profession, that the trust has been settled on its 
 heir!" 
 
 "Your conjecture is correct," Mr. Blaisdell 
 replied. "The Judge has just signed his will, 
 and the Wargrave trust is safe for another 
 generation. ' ' 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders. "I 
 don't envy the inheritor of tied-up property," 
 he remarked. "I want a free hand with what- 
 ever comes to me." 
 
 "I'll be bound he does !" the lawver observed 
 dryly to his companion, as they drove on a 
 moment later. "Nobodv who knows Eobert 
 Selwyn will doubt that. I earnestly hope that 
 the Wargrave property may never come into 
 his hands." 
 
 "He would double its value if it did," Dr. 
 Glvnn observed. "Bobbv has a keen eve to the 
 main chance, and a business abilitv that isn't 
 common in the class he springs from. ' ' 
 
 "To be sure," Mr. Blaisdell agreed. "He 
 would plant factories and villages on the estate 
 — you know how he covets the water-power, — 
 and make it pour money into the Selwyn cof- 
 fers. But meanwhile the Wargrave trust, and 
 
100 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 all that it stands for, would vanish into thin 
 air, and never be heard of again. Now, I think 
 we should all be sorry for that." 
 
 "You and I, and a few other old-fashioned 
 people like ourselves, would be sorry,' ' the 
 doctor said; "but public sentiment, money-mad 
 and progress-mad as it is, would heartily 
 approve. ' ' 
 
 "No doubt you are right,' ' the other 
 assented ; and then silence fell between them, — 
 the sad and slightly bitter silence which now 
 and then overtakes those who know themselves 
 to be out of accord with their time and their 
 surroundings. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Bobby Selwyn, cheerfully 
 conscious of being entirely in accord with both, 
 and superiorly compassionate of those who 
 were not, proceeded on his way, spinning mer- 
 rily around the drive which circled the hill, and 
 announcing his arrival by two or three honks of 
 his horn, although well aware that the sound 
 was detestable to Judge Wargrave. 
 
 "Here comes a motor!" Desmond remarked, 
 stepping to the door at the sound so familiar 
 to modern ears. 
 
 "It's Bobby Selwyn," Edith said, as she 
 followed him, and saw the young man who drew 
 up his car before the portico. ' l How often have 
 you been told not to make that odious noise 
 within the grounds of Hillcrest?" she de- 
 manded severely of the latter, as he sprang out 
 
A MATTEJR OF JUSTICE 101 
 
 and came up the steps. " There isn't the least 
 necessity for it. ' ' 
 
 " There's the necessity of letting you know, 
 without the possibility of mistake, who is com- 
 ing, ' ' he laughed ; ' ' for I am sure I am the only 
 person bold enough to sound a horn within the 
 sacred precincts of Hillcrest. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I shouldn 't call it ' bold enough, ' but incon- 
 siderate enough," she retorted. ."You know 
 that it annoys Uncle George extremely. ' ' 
 
 "But he's well enough again to be slightly 
 annoyed, ' ' the young man answered, still laugh- 
 ing. "At the gate I met Dr. Glynn, who gave 
 such a good account of him that I felt impelled 
 to honk my congratulations before I could utter 
 them in person. So glad to hear that he is much 
 better, and that his mind has been relieved by 
 the arrival of — " 
 
 "Laurence Desmond, yes," Edith said as he 
 paused. She turned toward Desmond. "Do I 
 need to introduce you two!" she asked. "You 
 used to know each other quite well. ' ' 
 
 "And we are kinsmen, besides," Selwyn 
 added. "No, I don't think you need to intro- 
 duce us. I should have known Laurie, as we 
 used to call him when he was a boy, if I had 
 met him on the highway. ' ' 
 
 "I can't say as much for my recollection of 
 you," Desmond said, as they shook hands. 
 "Perhaps my memory is not so good; at least 
 
102 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 I don't think I should have known you on the 
 
 highway. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, it isn't a question of memory so much 
 as of family likeness !" the other remarked. 
 "You are very like the Wargraves. The Judge 
 must have been pleased to see that. ' ' 
 
 "He was," Desmond replied; "and the like- 
 ness must be strong since every one remarks 
 it." 
 
 " It is strong, ' ' Selwyn said, glancing at him 
 keenly. "And of course the old gentleman 
 hopes that it isn't only physical, but that you 
 are a Wargrave through and through." 
 
 "From what I have heard of the Wargraves, 
 I have no objection to hoping so," Desmond 
 answered. "The family characteristics seem 
 very fine. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, they're fine," Bobby Selwyn admitted, 
 in a tone of extremely tempered approval. 
 "Not perhaps entirely suited to the present 
 day, but we needn't — er — enter upon that." 
 
 "No, we needn't," Edith agreed with 
 decision. ' i There is no reason why you should 
 begin to betray at once your highly objection- 
 able opinions, and your personal deterioration 
 from the standards of some at least of your 
 ancestors." 
 
 Her tone, not to speak of her words, might 
 have had a crushing effect upon many men ; but 
 Bobby Selwyn shook his head in smiling 
 protest. 
 
A MATTER OF JUSTICE 103 
 
 "Say what you please of me, but don't reflect 
 upon my poor Selwyn forbears in that manner, 
 Edith," he answered. "I really don't think 
 they are accountable for what you find objec- 
 tionable in my character, although I fear my 
 mother inclines to your opinion." 
 
 * ' I am sure she does, ' ' Edith told him. ' i She 
 is constantly regretting that you are not more 
 of a Wargrave." 
 
 "While she derives great satisfaction from 
 certain results which we may assume to come 
 from the other strain," he commented. "But, 
 then, one doesn't look for consistency in 
 
 woman. ' ' 
 
 ' ' One is quite as likely to find it in woman as 
 in man, I think," said Edith. "You always try 
 to provoke me, Bobby." 
 
 "You are so entertaining when you are pro- 
 voked!" Bobby murmured. 
 
 "But we need not entertain Laurence with 
 our quarrels," said Edith. "Do you want to 
 see Uncle George? Of course he has heard 
 your considerate announcement of arrival." 
 
 "I doubt very much whether Uncle George 
 cares about seeing me," Mr. Selwyn replied; 
 "but we can at least give him the option of 
 doing so if he likes. Kindly let him know that 
 I have called to inquire how he is, as well as 
 to renew my acquaintance with Desmond, and — 
 incidentally — to see yourself." 
 
 "I will take care," Edith assured him with a 
 
104 A MATTER OF JUSTICE 
 
 laugh, "that your seeing me is altogether inci- 
 dental. Now I'll go and send your message up 
 to Uncle George.' ' 
 
 "Is it necessary to be in such haste about 
 that!" 
 
 "Quite necessary, I think, since it will give 
 you an opportunity to apologize without delay 
 for rasping his nerves with a noise he detests. ' ' 
 
 Selwyn lifted his brows, as he met Desmond's 
 eyes, while Miss Creighton entered the house. 
 
 "I suppose," he remarked, "that you have 
 already discovered something of the autocratic 
 qualities of this young lady, who, I may confide 
 to you, is the absolute ruler of Hillcrest and 
 everybody in it." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LAUEENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 The beautiful day had mellowed to a golden 
 afternoon — one of those perfect October after- 
 noons when the earth seems transformed into 
 a magical world of burning color — when Des- 
 mond found himself whirling along the road 
 from Hillcrest to Kingsford in the motor car 
 of his newly discovered kinsman, who, learning 
 after lunch that he intended going into town, 
 insisted upon having the pleasure of taking him 
 there. 
 
 Desmond, on his part, had no objection. He 
 was modern enough to like the swift motion, the 
 sense of power, in the car which, in its ugliness, 
 its utility, and its capability of ruthless action, 
 typifies the spirit of modernity more thor- 
 oughly than any other invention of the time. 
 He was, besides, not averse to seeing more of 
 one who struck him as being as much a product 
 of new conditions as the machine he drove. 
 Certainly there was nothing even remotely sug- 
 gestive of the old South, with its high ideals, 
 its dignity and repose, in the alert young man, 
 with his outspoken materialism, his admiration 
 of " progress/ ' and veiled but unmistakable 
 contempt for all the standards of the past. 
 
 105 
 
106 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 "Yes, it's a pretty country," he temperately 
 remarked, in answer to some expression of 
 admiration from his companion; "and a fine 
 estate, though poorly managed. I hope you'll 
 make a change in the last respect when it comes 
 into your hands." 
 
 To this Desmond replied that he trusted it 
 would be a long time before it came into his 
 hands, and further pointed out that, even when 
 it did so, his power to make changes would be 
 very limited. 
 
 "You are mistaken about that," Selwyn 
 answered. "You will probably have power to 
 do whatever you like, short of alienating any of 
 the property. I have made inquiries ; for, you 
 see, there was a chance — in case anything hap- 
 pened to you — that I might be inheritor. I'm 
 the next of kin after yourself; and, although 
 the Judge dislikes me, I was pretty sure he 
 wouldn't disregard the injunctions of the trust 
 about selecting an heir. ' ' 
 
 Desmond reflected that it was not his place 
 to tell him how sure he might be of this, and 
 merely remarked that he had come very near 
 finding himself the next of kin without any one 
 intervening. 
 
 "If my Pullman had gone over in the wreck 
 yesterday, as it was perilously close upon 
 doing, the way might have been cleared for 
 you, ' ' he added. 
 
 "I'm extremely glad that it wasn't," Bobby 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 107 
 
 handsomely assured him, — "glad not only for 
 your personal escape, and to have the pleasure 
 of knowing you, but glad also to be spared an 
 embarrassing position. If the Judge had been 
 obliged to leave the estate to me, he would have 
 bound it up in every possible way that the law 
 permits, and I'd have no more liberty when it 
 came to me than a legal infant. That wouldn't 
 suit me at all. I'm a keen business man — 
 everyone will tell you that, — and I don't want 
 to handle anything that I can't make the most 
 of, from a business point of view. So you may 
 feel quite certain that I'm not envying you your 
 position as the Wargrave heir; and I'm hon- 
 estly delighted that you seem so well fitted to 
 please the old Judge, who isn't easy to please, 
 I can tell you. ' ' 
 
 Desmond laughed, remembering the expres- 
 sively caustic glances with which Judge War- 
 grave had regarded the speaker during their 
 brief interview. 
 
 "I sincerely hope that I shall please him," 
 he said. "But I can't forget that 1 am neces- 
 sarily an unknown quantity to him; and it is 
 perhaps fortunate that I may not be here very 
 long, since points of difference might possibly 
 arise between us." 
 
 Selwyn flashed a round-eyed stare at him. 
 What do you mean by that?" he asked. 
 
 Aren't you going to stay, and take up the 
 
 1 1 
 
108 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 duties of heir apparent? I know that is what 
 the Judge expects." 
 
 "I hope not," Desmond answered, — "I mean 
 I hope that he doesn't expect anything of the 
 kind; for, if so, I shall have to disappoint him. 
 I have no intention of giving up my profession 
 at the present time, and I am here only on a 
 visit. ' ' 
 
 "Why, that's really too had!" Selwyn ex- 
 claimed, — hut Desmond's quick ear detected 
 something of relief in the voice. "The Judge 
 will be awfully disappointed, I'm confident. 
 And we all hoped you were coming to remain. 
 I can imagine, however, that it might readily 
 seem a trifle dull to you here, after the life 
 you've lived. You are a newspaper man, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 ' ' I am one of the stormy petrels who are sent 
 wherever trouble is brewing," Desmond told 
 him. "In times of war we are called war cor- 
 respondents ; at other times we are ordinary 
 correspondents of the papers with which we are 
 connected. I was in the Balkans, studying con- 
 ditions when my uncle 's summons reached me. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I see!" Bobby's tone was rather 
 vague, — perhaps because he was conscious of a 
 large ignorance regarding conditions in the 
 Balkans, or perhaps because he had just nar- 
 rowly missed collision with a wagon, the driver 
 of which scowled at him with the animositv 
 which the motorist is accustomed to inspiring, 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 109 
 
 and apparently finds a source of keen enjoy- 
 ment. "Here we are in Kingsford!" he 
 remarked. They were, in fact, whirling into the 
 town, without any lessening of speed in con- 
 sideration for the traffic of the streets. "Can 
 I take you to any place in particular, or will 
 you come immediately home with me? My 
 mother will be delighted to see you. ' ' 
 
 "I shall be very glad to call on her a little 
 later," Desmond replied; "but just now I will 
 ask you to be good enough to set me down at 
 the Catholic church.' ' 
 
 "At the — er — " Selwyn's stare this time 
 was wide indeed. 
 
 "Catholic church," Desmond quietly re- 
 peated. "There must be one, since there is a 
 resident priest here." 
 
 "Oh, yes, there's a Catholic church, and a 
 priest too ! ' ' Selwyn said. ' ' I was only a little 
 surprised; but now I remember. You're a 
 Romanist yourself, aren't you?" 
 
 "I'm a Catholic, yes." 
 
 "Beg pardon! The other name slipped out. 
 By George!" — the speaker ruminated, — 
 "that's a point that won't please the Judge." 
 
 "No," Desmond agreed, "it doesn't please 
 him at all; but he is kind enough to overlook 
 what he knows can not be changed. Is this the 
 church?" 
 
 The question was natural, since they had 
 drawn up before a building which, but for the 
 
110 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 cross over it, might have been taken for a fac- 
 tory, with its plain red brick walls and ntter 
 absence of any architectural pretension. 
 
 "This is it," Selwyn answered. "And 
 there's the priest's residence next door. Well, 
 shall I wait for yon, or where can I meet yon? 
 I want to take you back to Hillcrest, you 
 know. ' ' 
 
 ' l Oh, thanks ! You are very kind, ' ' Desmond 
 responded. "But Edith said she would be driv- 
 ing in later, and I will return with her. As soon 
 as I have paid a short visit to Father — what is 
 his name?" 
 
 "Martin, I believe." 
 
 ' l To Father Martin, then, — I will meet you at 
 your own house, where I wish to call on your 
 mother. ' ' 
 
 * i Better let me come for you. It 's a long way 
 from here to our house. Won't half an hour be 
 enough for your visit? All right, ' ' as Desmond 
 nodded assent; "I'll be back in that time." 
 
 The car whizzed away, and the young man 
 left standing on the pavement, after regarding 
 for an instant, with an expression of extreme 
 disapproval, the hideous erection before him, 
 moved forward and entered its open door. 
 However much his aesthetic taste revolted from 
 this manner of housing the Presence that dwells 
 in Catholic sanctuaries, he knew too well what 
 that Presence was to fail in paying his first 
 visit there. And if failure had been possible 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 111 
 
 under other circumstances — for faith is one 
 thing, and fervor another, — it was not possible 
 in the light of that delayed duty of thanks of 
 which he had spoken to Edith Creighton. 
 
 Fervor being considerably less than faith, 
 however, it was not a very long time before he 
 was ringing the bell of the priest's residence. 
 The door was opened by the same tall, spare 
 man, now wearing a cassock, whom he had met 
 at the railway wreck. Recognition was mutual, 
 and Father Martin cordially put out his hand. 
 
 "I am very glad to see you again,' ' he said. 
 ' ' I have been regretting that we parted without 
 my learning your name. ' ' 
 
 Desmond mentioned his name; and when, in 
 response to hospitable invitation, he followed 
 the priest into a pleasant, book-lined study, and 
 sat down, he was struck by something unusual 
 in the personality facing him. It was not only 
 that the sacerdotal stamp was so strongly set 
 on it — that stamp which attracts a Catholic as 
 much as it offends and repels in its aloofness 
 those outside the Church, — but there was an 
 expression at once keen and reserved — the ex- 
 pression of one who observes shrewdly and 
 speaks little — in the deep-set eyes and on the 
 high-featured, thin-lipped countenance. Those 
 eyes now plainly asked, "What can I do for 
 you?" and Desmond made no delay in stating 
 his business. 
 
 "I have come, Father,' ' he said, "to ask you 
 
112 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 to say a few Masses for my intention; and I 
 would also like you to say one or two for the 
 repose of the soul of the man — I don't know his 
 name — who died just after you reached him at 
 the railway wreck yesterday.' ' 
 
 "Yes." The priest elevated his brows 
 slightly, as he glanced at the numeral on the 
 bill handed him. "You want all of this applied 
 in Masses!" he inquired. 
 
 ' ' If you please, ' ' Desmond replied. ' ' I feel, ' ' 
 he explained, "that I owe something more in 
 the way of thanks for my escape from injury 
 or death than my own poor words can express ; 
 and it's a great thing to have a religion which 
 offers one a complete mode of expression." 
 
 A smile curved the priest 's thin lips. 
 
 "It's a convenient thing occasionally," he 
 remarked. "But I don't suppose you alto- 
 gether neglect the duty of personal expression, 
 however poor in form it may be. Your thought 
 of the Eequiem Masses," he added, "is very 
 kind and charitable. The man's name, by the 
 way, was Tracy. You didn't know anything 
 about him, then?" 
 
 "Nothing in the world, except that he asked 
 for a priest, and so was clearly a Catholic." 
 
 * ' And he owed to you the chance to reconcile 
 himself with God before he died, — I heard that 
 later. Well, he got his absolution; and we'll 
 hope it was effective, as he had the intention, at 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 113 
 
 least, to repair whatever wrong he had com- 
 mitted against others." 
 
 "It was most unfortunate his failure to men- 
 tion an essential name," said Desmond. "I 
 couldn't help hearing as much as that, you 
 know. ' ' 
 
 "Of course not. It was indeed unfortunate, 
 since it renders the reparation he desired to 
 make impossible." 
 
 "I have been wondering a little about the 
 matter,' ' Desmond said, — "especially as I lay 
 awake last night; for my nerves were out of 
 order, I suppose, and I found it difficult to 
 sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I waked 
 with a start, to see all the horrors of the wreck 
 before me again, to hear the cries — " he broke 
 off, shuddering slightly. "It was partly to 
 distract my mind by thinking of something not 
 wholly horrible," he went on, "that I fell to 
 reflecting upon the man of whom we speak, and 
 the wonderful expression that came into his 
 face when he saw you. He may have been a 
 poor Catholic, and he was certainly a careless 
 one; for he didn't know even as much as / do 
 about some things — how to make an act of con- 
 trition, for example, — but I wish I could hope 
 that I had half as much living faith as he 
 showed then." 
 
 "It is likely," observed Father Martin, who 
 found the simplicity and frankness of this 
 young man very attractive, "that if you were 
 
114 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 placed in his position, you would discover that 
 you did have it. ' ' 
 
 "I'm afraid not, — at least not in such a 
 degree/ ' Desmond answered. "But to return 
 to my point. I began to wonder about his con- 
 fession, the desire to make reparation for some 
 wrong, the name unintentionally omitted; and 
 it occurred to me that I would ask you if there 
 is no way of finding out what he meant — of sup- 
 plying the name, — and so accomplishing what 
 he desired !" 
 
 The priest shook his head slowly. 
 
 "But he begged you to tell something — to 
 make reparation to some one!" Desmond 
 urged. ' ' Even before you came, he had spoken 
 of a wrong that was on his conscience. It seems 
 to me that if we could help him in this way, now 
 that he is no longer able to help himself, it 
 would be the greatest charity one could do for 
 him. ' ' 
 
 "It would be a great charity, and most 
 desirable in every way, ' ' Father Martin admit- 
 ted. * ' But I don 't see — however, I will think of 
 it further, and consult the bishop. Meanwhile 
 there is no harm in making a few discreet 
 inquiries about his life. Here is all I have been 
 able to learn concerning him." He turned in 
 his chair, took up a note-book from the desk 
 beside which he sat, and glanced at an entry. 
 " 'James L. Tracy/ " he read, " 'travelling 
 salesman for an importing house of wines and 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 115 
 
 liquors in New York.' This is what the letters 
 and papers in his pockets showed him to be. 
 There was, it seems, no personal data of any 
 kind. The house has been communicated with ; 
 but if they can give no information about his 
 family or friends, his body will be buried here. 
 I may add" — he glanced up from the book — 
 "that I said Mass this morning for the repose 
 of his soul, and this sums up all that is known 
 about him at present." 
 
 "I will try to find out something more," 
 Desmond said, with an air of determination. 
 "I can not forget how anxious he seemed that 
 this thing, whatever it was, should be done. He 
 told us — the nurse and myself — before you 
 came, that he wasn't thinking only of absolu- 
 tion for himself, but that there was a wrong on 
 his conscience that he must set right before he 
 died. I can hear his voice now as he said: 'I 
 can't face God with that on my soul.' " There 
 was a brief pause, and then, "Don't think me 
 fanciful, Father," the speaker went on, in a 
 lower tone; "but all last night I had a feeling 
 as if he were in some way influencing, appealing 
 to me. It may have been only my vivid recollec- 
 tion of what he really did say, of his earnest- 
 ness, his urgency; but it seemed to me as if he 
 were saying again, from some vague, remote 
 region — I'm expressing myself very badly but 
 perhaps you'll understand what I mean, — 'You 
 
116 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 helped me before; help me again, who can no 
 longer help myself. ' ' ' 
 
 The voice dropped; but, despite the hesita- 
 tion and evident difficulty with which the words 
 had been uttered, the sincerity and feeling 
 behind them were evident to the priest. He had 
 certainly not expected to find as much percep- 
 tion of spiritual things as they implied in this 
 young man, on whom the habitudes and marks 
 of a world which recognizes nothing spiritual 
 sat so lightly and easily; but he was too wise, 
 in his experience of matters which relate to the 
 mysterious soul of man, to be incredulous. 
 
 "It is possible,'' he said, "that God may 
 have permitted you to be influenced by, or on 
 behalf of, the poor soul; or it may be only a 
 charitable impulse of your own soul. But in 
 either case you can 't go wrong in trying to help 
 him in the manner indicated, — that is, by find- 
 ing out something which would open the way 
 for the reparation he desired to make." 
 
 "You can't give me any clue to work on?" 
 asked Desmond. 
 
 The priest shook his head again, smiling a 
 little. 
 
 "Non possurnus," he said. "Besides, even 
 if I were at liberty to speak, I don't think I 
 could give such a clue. It was all very vague — 
 what he said, — as is generally the case near 
 death. Often one hardly knows what one has 
 or has not heard ; and one gives absolution at 
 
LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 117 
 
 last with only a great hope in the mercy of God. 
 But if you can learn anything that might throw 
 light on the confession, I shall be very glad to 
 be informed of it. You are staying in Kings- 
 ford!" 
 
 "For the present," Desmond answered. "I 
 am a stranger myself, but I have relatives here, 
 some of whom you may know. Judge War- 
 grave is my uncle. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Judge Wargrave!" Father Martin's 
 glance spoke his surprise. "Every one in 
 Kingsford knows Judge Wargrave and esteems 
 him highly. In fact, Kingsford is very proud 
 of him — there are few such representatives of 
 the old social order left, — and there was general 
 deep regret at his late illness. We are all glad 
 to learn that he is better, and — are you the 
 nephew of whose expected arrival we have 
 heard so much?" he broke off with a flash of 
 sudden illumination. 
 
 ' ' I was not aware that much had been said of 
 me, ' ' Desmond replied ; ' ' but I am no doubt the 
 person to whom you allude, since I am Judge 
 Wargrave 's only nephew. ' ' 
 
 "And the heir of the Wargrave trust!" 
 Father Martin considered him now with a 
 regard that was frankly curious. "Yes, of 
 course everybody has heard of that. But how 
 does it come about that you are a Catholic?" 
 
 "Doesn't my name tell you?" Desmond 
 asked. ' ' My father was an Irishman. ' ' 
 
118 LAURENCE MEETS FATHER MARTIN 
 
 "Ah, if you knew the number of Irish names 
 scattered over this country, borne by those 
 whose parents sold their Faith for a mess of 
 worldly pottage, you would not think that told 
 much!" the priest rejoined, a little bitterly. 
 "But I congratulate you on having had a father 
 of a different mettle, and I am very glad to 
 welcome you to Kingsford, Mr. Desmond." 
 
 "I shall not probably be here very long," 
 Desmond began, when a sudden ' ' honk ! honk ! ' ' 
 made him rise with a quick "Pardon" and 
 glance out of the window. Yes, Selwyn and his 
 car were awaiting him; so, bidding the priest 
 good-day, and promising to report anything 
 that he was able to learn about the dead man 
 in whom they were both interested, he took his 
 departure. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MES. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 "Bobby," Desmond said, as he stepped into 
 the waiting car, "will you be kind enough to 
 take me to the shop of your principal under- 
 taker f ' ' 
 
 "Well, by George!" Mr. Selwyn, hand on 
 wheel, paused to stare helplessly. "Where will 
 you want to go next, — to the cemetery?" 
 
 "Not yet," Desmond replied, with a laugh. 
 "It seems odd, no doubt; but I suppose I shall 
 find at the undertaker's the body of a man who 
 was killed in the railway wreck yesterday. ' ' 
 
 "And why on earth should you want to find 
 it? Shouldn't think you'd ever want to be 
 reminded of that wreck again." 
 
 "I've a reason for desiring to learn anything 
 I can about this particular man. I was with 
 him when he died, and he wanted something 
 done. I have just learned from Father Martin 
 that the body is held while efforts are being 
 made to hear from his friends, and I want to 
 find out if they have been heard from. ' ' 
 
 "I see." Without more words Selwyn sent 
 
 119 
 
120 MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 tlie car spinning down the street, flashed 
 around corners, and finally reached the busi- 
 ness part of the town, where he paused before 
 a large furniture shop. "I fancy you'll find 
 what you want here," he said. "There's an 
 undertaking establishment connected with this, 
 and an — er — apartment which bears the awful 
 name of a i mortuary parlor.' " 
 
 He proved to be right. The head of the 
 establishment — a sallow, black-eyed man, whom 
 nature appeared to have fashioned for 
 funereal purposes — came forward, and, in 
 reply to Desmond's inquiries, stated that the 
 "remains" in question were indeed in his 
 mortuary parlor, awaiting the final orders of 
 the railway officials for their disposition. Noth- 
 ing, it seemed, had as yet been heard from any 
 relatives. 
 
 "If you were a friend of the gentleman," he 
 remarked to the young man, "perhaps you 
 would like to look at the corpse. It has been 
 very nicely embalmed and placed in a good 
 casket. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, no! Thanks!" Desmond replied a 
 little hastily; for it is rather a curious fact 
 that cultured human nature is as anxious to 
 avoid all sights and suggestions of death as 
 uncultured human nature is eagerly attracted 
 by them. "I was not a friend, not even an 
 acquaintance of the man," he explained; "but 
 I was with him when he died; and, in order to 
 
MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 121 
 
 fulfil a last wish which he expressed, I should 
 like to know who his friends or relatives are. 
 If any are heard from, may I beg you to com- 
 municate with me! Here is my card, and you 
 will find me at Hillcrest, — the Wargrave place, 
 you know. ' ' 
 
 ' * Oh, yes ! ' ' Mr. Simpson knew very well ; 
 and his manner took an additional shade of 
 empressment as he assured Desmond that he 
 would certainly let him know as soon as any- 
 thing was heard from or about Mr. Tracy's 
 friends or relatives. 
 
 1 ' Well, that being settled/' Selwyn said, as 
 they drove away, '4s there any reason why you 
 shouldn't go to see my mother now! She is 
 expecting you. ' ' 
 
 1 ' On the contrary, I was about to ask you to 
 take me to see her at once," Desmond an- 
 swered. 
 
 Back they whizzed, into the residence part of 
 the town, and on its extreme verge entered the 
 open gates of a large and ornate modern house 
 — a granite and brick imitation of a French 
 chateau, — which stood in the midst of wide, 
 handsome grounds, with a fine view of the open 
 country behind it. 
 
 "I don't think," Desmond remarked, "that 
 this is where you lived when I was here 
 before." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Selwyn replied, as they drew up 
 under the porte-cochkre; "this is where we 
 
122 MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 lived; but it's a different house, you see. We 
 built this a few years ago. It's the finest resi- 
 dence in Kingsf ord now. ' ' 
 
 "I should think it might be," Desmond 
 observed, suppressing an expression of regret 
 for the old Southern mansion, full of unpre- 
 tentious dignity, which had been destroyed to 
 make way for this costly erection without any 
 suggestion of the' country or its past. As he 
 followed his cousin in, and noted how every- 
 thing spoke of wealth, lavishly applied in the 
 most modern manner, he began to understand 
 the light in which Bobby was regarded at Hill- 
 crest. 
 
 It was quite evident, however, that no doubt 
 of himself or of his residence entered the mind 
 of this extremely self-satisfied young gentle- 
 man as he led the way into a luxuriously 
 furnished room, opening on one side from the 
 spacious hall, where they found a rather dis- 
 tinguished-looking woman of middle age, who 
 greeted Desmond warmly. 
 
 "Not 'Mrs. Selwyn,' but Cousin Elizabeth," 
 she corrected him in his greeting. "We are 
 very nearly related, you know. Your mother 
 and I were first cousins ; and Robert here is as 
 much of a Wargrave as yourself, though I am 
 sorry to say he doesn't look it as you do." 
 
 "It's a standing grievance with my mother 
 that I don't resemble her family," Selwyn told 
 him. "And she's shocked when I say that I'd 
 
MES. SELWYN" IS INTRODUCED 123 
 
 rather not resemble them than have to take 
 some of their qualities with their looks." 
 
 "Robert, I am shocked!" his mother de- 
 clared. ' ' There are no Wargrave qualities that 
 you might not be proud to have. ' ' 
 
 The young man shook his head, a rather 
 pugnacious expression on his face, which, with 
 its blunt features, its aggressive chin, its total 
 lack of intellectual character, notwithstanding 
 a certain keen brightness of expression, and 
 general resemblance to the "business" — that is 
 commercial — type, was certainly far removed 
 from the clear-cut distinction and intellectual 
 character of the Wargrave type. 
 
 "Very fine qualities, no doubt, from the ideal 
 point of view," he conceded; "but not the kind 
 that make for success in this day and genera- 
 tion. It's all right as long as they have Hill- 
 crest and its great entailed estate at tijeir back; 
 but fancy the Judge, with all his old-fashioned 
 ideas of 'what is honorable between gentlemen, ' 
 having to come into the modern world and 
 hustle for a living ! ' ' 
 
 "Robert, you know how I detest slang. And 
 I can not endure for you to talk in this way, 
 and imply that you — er — " 
 
 "Have to hustle, according to the new ideas 
 and methods," Robert laughed. "Well, if I 
 hadn't, all I can say is that you wouldn't be as 
 comfortable as you are at present; and I've 
 never heard you object to the comfort." 
 
124 MRS. SELWYtf IS INTRODUCED 
 
 Mrs. Sehvyn flushed slightly, not so much 
 from a consciousness of her own inconsistency 
 in being proud of her son's business success 
 and enjoying its results while deprecating the 
 methods by which it had been achieved, as 
 because, like many other people, she was not 
 pleased to have her inconsistency pointed out. 
 She therefore changed the conversation by 
 addressing Desmond. 
 
 "We are all so glad that you have been able 
 to come to your uncle," she told him. "There 
 seemed a little doubt whether you would care 
 to do so, being so far away. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I promised my uncle a long time ago that I 
 would come whenever he sent a really urgent 
 summons for me," the young man answered; 
 "and therefore I had no alternative, although 
 it was inconvenient for me to leave my work 
 at this time. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, your work!" Mrs. Selwyn lifted her 
 brows. "That would seem of slight importance 
 compared to the Wargrave inheritance, I 
 should think. ' ' 
 
 "But, you see, I had never given a thought 
 to the Wargrave inheritance," he replied. "It 
 was a great surprise to me to find how matters 
 stood, and that my uncle proposed to make me 
 his heir. I did not even know that his son was 
 dead." 
 
 "Did you not?" Something of the shadow 
 came over her face that had fallen on that of 
 
MES. SELWYN IS INTEODUCED 125 
 
 Mrs. Creighton at mention of Harry Wargrave. 
 "Yes, it has been several years since we heard 
 of his death. It was a great shock to the whole 
 family connection; for he was a person whom 
 we all loved, and we had hoped that some day 
 the unexplained breach between his father and 
 himself might be healed. ' ' 
 
 "I don't see how you could have hoped it,'' 
 her son remarked. "The Wargrave qualities 
 that you admire so much were all enlisted on 
 the other side. For a reconciliation, somebody 
 would have to acknowledge himself in the 
 wrong, and no Wargrave could ever do that. 
 I certainly can't imagine the Judge doing it." 
 
 "Well, now do you know, I'm not at all sure 
 that he wouldn't, if he were once convinced that 
 he was in the wrong?" Desmond said. "Of 
 course the difficulty would be in convincing him ; 
 but his sense of justice is so strong that if it 
 were made plain to him that he had wronged 
 any one, I do not believe that he would hesitate 
 at any reparation. ' ' 
 
 "If it were made plain to him!" Bobby 
 repeated. "As you observe, that is where the 
 insurmountable difficulty would come in. But 
 we needn't discuss the point, since — luckily for 
 you — Harry Wargave is dead and buried. ' ' 
 
 "Robert!" 
 
 "There's no good in being hypocritical, 
 mater! It is lucky for him. And I shouldn't 
 be surprised," the speaker went on gloomily, 
 
126 MKS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 "if there was even more luck in store for him." 
 
 Desmond stared a little. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," he said; 
 "though I am prepared to admit that finding 
 so many new and charming relatives is rare 
 good luck." 
 
 "Listen to the blarney on his tongue!" the 
 other chaffed. "No, my boy, I wasn't alluding 
 to the mater and myself, charming as we un- 
 doubtedly are; but to a family effort, which I 
 clearly foresee, to make a match between you 
 and Edith Creighton." 
 
 "Really, Robert — " Mrs. Selwyn began. 
 
 But Bobby waved remonstrance aside. 
 
 "I believe in being open and above board," 
 he stated. "Any one could see it with half an 
 eye. I don't doubt that Cousin Rachel and the 
 Judge have both set their hearts on it. They 
 won't say anything to Edith, for they know her 
 too well. But they'll bring all the pressure they 
 can to bear on Desmond; and he'll be rather a 
 remarkable kind of person if he needs any 
 pressure. ' ' 
 
 Desmond laughed. 
 
 i i This is anticipating things indeed, ' ' he said. 
 "We aren't living in an old-fashioned romance ; 
 and, although Edith is very fascinating, I can't 
 imagine myself yielding either to pressure or to 
 her fascinations. ' ' 
 
 Bobby eyed him sardonically. 
 
 "That shows how much you know about it," 
 
MES. SELWYX IS INTKODUCED 127 
 
 he said. "I'll bet you anything you like that 
 you'll be her abject captive before a week is 
 over — unless" (hopefully) "your affections 
 are already engaged." 
 
 "No," Desmond laughed again. "I can 
 report myself quite heart free." 
 
 "Then in that case there's simply no doubt 
 of it. No man could be closelv associated with 
 Edith Creighton and not fall in love with her, 
 unless he were — " 
 
 "More sensible than you are!" Mrs. Selwyn 
 broke in impatiently. ' ' You really provoke me 
 past endurance by your ridiculous infatuation 
 about that girl. To hear you talk one would 
 think that she was absolutely irresistible, 
 instead of being a very ordinary and badly 
 spoiled person, in my opinion. ' ' 
 
 "But, you see, you are quite alone in that 
 opinion," her son informed her. "Everybody 
 else acknowledges that she is irresistible. I 
 frankly confess that she has made a door-mat 
 of me for a long time, and that the chances are 
 that she will keep on doing so — at least until 
 she promises to marry some other man. If you 
 are the man" (he turned again to Desmond), 
 "I'll try and support it philosophically; but I 
 thought I'd just let you know how matters 
 stand. ' ' 
 
 "You mean," said Desmond, "that you are 
 good enough to warn me that if I fall a victim, 
 
128 MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 as you anticipate, I shall not be without a 
 rival. ' ' 
 
 "Just that," Bobby agreed. "I think it's 
 always well to make things clear, you know; 
 although, with regard to this matter, my 
 mother considers me to be altogether without 
 proper pride. " 
 
 "I certainly do," his mother crisply agreed. 
 "I confess myself unable to understand how 
 you can be so poor spirited as to continue to 
 dangle after a girl who has, by your own 
 account, again and again refused you." 
 
 " 'It's dogged as does it' !" Mr. Selwyn 
 cheerfully quoted. "Some day, perhaps, she 
 will grow tired of refusing, unless the War- 
 grave trust interferes. Meanwhile — 'talk of 
 angels ' — here she comes now ! ' ' 
 
 He bolted from the room as a carriage was 
 heard to drive up to the door ; and Mrs. Selwyn 
 looked at Desmond with the air of one who 
 apologizes for the misbehavior of a child. 
 
 "I hope you won't take Robert's nonsense in 
 earnest," she deprecated. "He really isn't so 
 foolish as he pretends to be. Of course he 
 admires Edith Creighton very much, and I sup- 
 pose he has asked her to marry him. But it's 
 all done in a way that no girl in my time would 
 have considered serious for a moment, and I 
 can't believe that it is serious." 
 
 "If his own account of the affair is to be 
 relied on, it is to be hoped that it isn't serious, 
 
MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 129 
 
 since there doesn't seem much hope of his suc- 
 cess/ ' Desmond said, with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not sure of that either!" Mrs. Sel- 
 wyn returned, in a slightly piqued tone. 
 "Perhaps if he were more serious, she might 
 answer differently; although there's no doubt 
 that she has an opinion of herself that hardly 
 appears to me to be justified. Her stepmother 
 and your uncle have both spoiled her dread- 
 fully, and — well, Edith, how are you to-day, my 
 dear?" 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Selwyn;" Edith 
 answered blithely, as she entered, with Bobby 
 in her train. 
 
 And perhaps it was from the conversation he 
 had just heard that Desmond's eyes seemed 
 freshly opened to her striking beauty, or per- 
 haps the drive in the fresh air had brought the 
 glowing roses to her cheeks, the diamond-like 
 brightness to her glance. She nodded to him 
 gaily. 
 
 ' ' So here you are ! ' ' she said. ' ' I didn 't know 
 whether I should find you or not, but I thought 
 I could pay a little visit to Mrs. Selwyn while 
 waiting. I hope you transacted all your busi- 
 ness satisfactorily!" 
 
 "I transacted it both satisfactorily and 
 speedily, thanks to Bobby and his car," Des- 
 mond answered. 
 
 "Odd kind of business it was!" Bobby com- 
 mented. "First he wanted to go to a church, 
 
130 MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 and then to an undertaker. I thought I should 
 have to end by carrying him to the cemetery. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn looked a little surprised. 
 
 "I never know when Robert is in earnest and 
 when he isn't," she complained. "But did you 
 really want to go to such — er — extraordinary 
 places ? ' ' 
 
 "I really did," Desmond assured her; "and 
 there wasn't anything very extraordinary 
 about it. Catholics are quite in the habit of 
 going to their churches, you know. ' ' 
 
 "Catholics!" The surprise deepened, — 
 became, in fact, somewhat shocked. "Oh, — ah 
 — I remember! Your father was a — " 
 
 "Catholic? Yes. And so am I. But, besides 
 paying a visit to the church, I wanted to see the 
 priest, and make some inquiries about one of 
 the victims of the wreck yesterday." 
 
 ' ' Some one you knew 1 ' ' 
 
 "So far from that, some one I never saw 
 before the accident. But I chanced to be with 
 him when he died. I was able to get the priest 
 for him, and there was something he wanted 
 done, which of course we are anxious — Father 
 Martin and I — to accomplish if possible. That 
 was why I went to the undertaker's, where the 
 body is held, to learn if anything had been 
 heard from his friends or relatives. ' ' 
 
 "It was certainly very good of you," Mrs. 
 Selwyn observed; "for everything connected 
 
MES. SELWYJST IS INTRODUCED 131 
 
 with undertakers and death is so horrible that 
 one shrinks from it as much as possible." 
 
 "But, you see, I came so near being a subject 
 for the undertaker myself, that I can't afford 
 to shrink," said Desmond. "The least I can 
 do is to make every effort to fulfil the wishes of 
 one who was less fortunate than I was." 
 
 "You were certainly very fortunate in escap- 
 ing from so terrible an accident without any 
 injury at all," Mrs. Selwyn agreed. "If you 
 had been killed, it would have been a dreadful 
 thing for — " 
 
 Her son's explosion of laughter, in which it 
 was impossible for Desmond and Edith not to 
 join, obliged her to pause with a rather 
 offended expression. 
 
 "Excuse me, mater!" Bobby gasped. "But 
 Desmond has heard nothing else since his 
 arrival but how dreadful it would have been for 
 his uncle if he had been killed; and you'll admit 
 that it would have been slightly dreadful for 
 him also." 
 
 "I could hardly have meant anything else," 
 Mrs. Selwyn was beginning, in a dignified man- 
 ner, when the sound of a telephone bell ringing 
 sharply in the hall cut into her speech. With- 
 out waiting for the servant whose duty it was to 
 answer such calls, Bobby rose and went to the 
 instrument. His voice being anything but 
 dulcet in tone, what ensued was very audible. 
 
 "Hallo! This is Selwyn! Who is speaking? 
 
132 MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 
 
 Oh, Simpson! Yes. Yes, he's here. I'll call 
 him. ' ' Then, in a louder tone : ' ' Desmond, 
 you're wanted. Simpson, the undertaker," he 
 went on, handing the receiver over as Desmond 
 came up to where he stood, "says he thought 
 he might catch you here before you left town. 
 He's heard something about that dead man 
 you're interested in, since we were in his 
 shop. ' ' 
 
 Yes, Mr. Simpson told Desmond as soon as 
 the latter signified that he was listening, he had 
 just heard from the railway officials that the 
 body of Mr. Tracy was to be forwarded to his 
 sister, Mrs. Sarah Barnes, of Baltimore, Mary- 
 land; and was there anything that Mr. Des- 
 mond would like to see about, in connection with 
 the matter, before the order was carried out? 
 Desmond replied that there was nothing at all, 
 thanked Mr. Simpson, took down Mrs. Barnes' 
 address, and, when the undertaker had rung 
 off, asked Central to give him the Catholic rec- 
 tory. A moment later Father Martin's voice 
 answered, and he communicated the news he 
 had received. 
 
 "I knew you would be interested in hearing 
 at once, Father," he said, "since it may be the 
 means of learning something about the man's 
 past life." 
 
 "It may," the priest replied, "and I am 
 much obliged to you for telling me, though I 
 shall no doubt hear from Mr. Simpson a little 
 
MRS. SELWYN IS INTRODUCED 133 
 
 later. I will write to his sister, who, if she is 
 a Catholic, will undoubtedly be glad to learn 
 that her brother made his peace with God 
 before he died." 
 
 "And will you kindly let me know if there is 
 anything in her reply to throw light on his — 
 dying request!" Desmond asked. 
 
 "Yes," the quiet tones answered, "I will let 
 you know as soon as I hear from her; but I 
 hardly expect any light on the point you 
 mention. ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 LAUKESTCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 
 
 When, a few days later, Sunday came around 
 in the weekly procession of days, Desmond 
 drove into Kingsford with his aunt and Edith, 
 dropped them at the Episcopal church — an 
 edifice of severely ecclesiastical Gothic archi- 
 tecture, with spire as lofty as the doctrines 
 preached in it, — and then, with a somewhat 
 chastened spirit, took his own way to the rect- 
 angular building, without grace of form, either 
 outward or inward, which enshrined the living 
 Mysteries of the ancient Church from which 
 both architecture and doctrines had been 
 derived. Vainly questioning why it should be 
 so hideous, since simplicity does not of neces- 
 sity mean ugliness, he went in, dropped on his 
 knees before the Tabernacle, and tried to 
 abstract his mind from the details of ingenious 
 bad taste around him. To a certain degree he 
 had succeeded, when a touch on his arm made 
 him lift his head from his hands with a start. 
 A pretty, curly-haired boy, in cassock and lace- 
 trimmed cotta, stood beside him. 
 
 "You're Mr. Desmond!" he whispered; and 
 
 134 
 
LAUREXCE CALLS UP MISS LANDOX 135 
 
 then, as Desmond nodded, ' ' Father Martin says 
 will yon please come to his honse after Mass; 
 he wants to speak to you. ' ' 
 
 Desmond nodded again, the boy hurried back 
 to the sacristy, and a few minutes later Mass 
 began. 
 
 Perhaps it was because everything around 
 him was so little conducive to devotional feeling 
 that, in endeavoring to forget these things — in 
 sending his mind back to the splendid fanes of 
 the Old World, where he had seen the great 
 Sacrifice offered with all imaginable pomp of 
 worship, or to simple chapels, full of the spirit 
 of faith, where the people knelt on the floor in 
 humble devotion, — he grasped as never before 
 the idea of the unity of this stupendous action. 
 Not many Masses, but just one continuous 
 Mass, — one continuous Sacrifice offered to 
 Almighty God, under conditions as diverse as 
 the habits of men, but the same in essence as 
 the same in form. That figure, wearing strange, 
 archaic garments, which stood at the altar, was 
 merely a unit in the long succession of figures 
 ever standing before an altar, ever offering the 
 same Victim in the same manner, which 
 stretched back to the upper room in Jerusalem, 
 or higher yet to Calvary, where alone Priest 
 and Victim were one. Vision after vision rose 
 before him, — scenes in the catacombs, in the 
 marvellous Ages of Faith, in the world-wide 
 Church of to-day; and as in imagination his 
 
136 LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 
 
 thoughts swept the globe, seeing ever the same 
 altar, the same figure, he realized not only the 
 majestic unity of that which was taking place 
 before his eyes — the mysterious Miracle of 
 miracles, — but he was able to feel that it mat- 
 tered little whether one knelt under Michael 
 Angelo's great dome, before the supreme altar 
 of Eome, or in the poorest and ugliest of the 
 churches which materialized, art-blind America 
 builds for the King of kings. 
 
 Nevertheless, when he found himself at last 
 in Father Martin's little study, struck by the 
 aspect of this unpretending apartment, and by 
 the refined face of the priest, Desmond could 
 not forbear a question. 
 
 "How do you endure it?" he asked, with a 
 gesture toward the church, — "all the ugliness, 
 the rampant bad taste ? ' ' 
 
 The thin, ascetic lips curved into a smile. 
 
 "At first it was rather hard to endure,' ' the 
 priest confessed. "But I have grown accus- 
 tomed to it now, and hardly see the things that 
 seem to you so dreadful. Of course they are 
 dreadful; but where there's no remedy, you 
 know, even dreadful things must be endured 
 philosophically. ' ' 
 
 "But is there no remedy?" 
 
 The smile was whimsical now. 
 
 "Do you see any, short of a complete con- 
 flagration? The church is new, was built by 
 my predecessor a few years ago. He was an 
 
LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 137 
 
 excellent man, and the people adored him. But 
 you can judge for yourself what his ideas of 
 ecclesiastical art were." The speaker paused 
 meditatively, and arranged his cassock over his 
 knees. ' ' Fortunately, ' ' he observed, "one can 
 go to heaven without aesthetic cultivation. In 
 fact, it is sometimes a misfortune to have that 
 cultivation, I am inclined to think. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, no!" Desmond disagreed. "What is 
 needed in this country, and needed desperately 
 I should say, are priests who have such cultiva- 
 tion, and who will suffer under these awful 
 erections until they are swept away. There 
 might be a fire here some day," he added 
 hopefully. 
 
 "Don't use a torch, I beg!" Father Martin 
 laughed. " It is better to have this church than 
 none at all. And now let us come to the subject 
 for which I asked to see you. I have had a 
 letter from Mrs. Barnes, — the sister of Tracy, 
 you know. ' ' 
 
 "Ah!" Desmond was interested at once. 
 "And is she able to throw any light on his 
 dying request?" 
 
 The priest shook his head. 
 
 "No — or else she does not wish to do so. 
 She is rather noncommittal on the point; in 
 fact, ignores it, and only thanks me for letting 
 her know that her brother remembered his 
 religion before he died. It appears that he had 
 forgotten it for a long time." 
 
138 LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDOX 
 
 "So I inf erred/ ' Desmond remarked. 
 
 "But," Father Martin went on, "this is not 
 so much what I wished to tell you as that I have 
 had another visitor, who came to inquire about 
 the man and about his dying request — of which, 
 oddly enough, she seemed to know." 
 
 "She?" 
 
 "Yes, it was the trained nurse, who did such 
 admirable work at the time of the accident. 
 Her name is Miss Landon." 
 
 Desmond stared for a moment, and then, "I 
 can tell you how she knew," he said. "Before 
 you arrived, the man was talking to both of us 
 — saying that he wanted a priest, not only to 
 obtain absolution for himself, but to repair a 
 wrong he had done another person. And she 
 was with him, you know, while I went to send 
 the message. So she certainly heard as much 
 as that; but it is rather singular she should 
 have been interested enough to come and in- 
 quire about it. ' ' 
 
 "Particularly as she does not appear to be 
 the kind of person to be afflicted with curiosity 
 in acute degree." 
 
 "Not at all the kind of person, I should say. 
 May I ask what reason she gave for the 
 inquiry ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't remember that she gave any. She 
 simply explained that she had learned the 
 man's name from the published list of those 
 who were fatally injured in the wreck, and, 
 
LAUEENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 139 
 
 knowing the reason why he wished to see a 
 priest — she seemed to think it was the only 
 reason, — came to ask if I would tell her what 
 the matter was which had been on his con- 
 science. ' ' 
 
 "Naive!" Desmond commented, as they 
 laughed together. "Of course she meant no 
 harm; one has to allow enormously for the 
 ignorance of even intelligent people outside the 
 Church. But the question is, why did she wish 
 to know? It looks as if she had some knowl- 
 edge of Tracy. And yet the man was clearly a 
 complete stranger to her that day. ' ' 
 
 "She intimated that she had some knowl- 
 edge, — not of the man personally, but of some- 
 body bearing the name; and she evidently 
 wished to learn if the victim of the wreck was 
 the Tracy of whom she knew. ' ' 
 
 "And you were not able to help her in 
 deciding ? ' ' 
 
 "Naturally not in the smallest degree, since 
 all that I know of the man — and that I can 
 assure you is extremely little — was learned 
 under the seal of confession. But I mentioned 
 having written to his sister, and she asked me 
 to let her know when I heard from the latter. 
 It struck me, therefore, when I received this," 
 (he turned and took up a letter from the desk 
 beside him) "that if you still feel the interest 
 which you expressed the other day in this man, 
 and his thwarted reparation — " 
 
140 LAUKENCE CALLS UP MISS LA^DON 
 
 "You may take for granted that I feel just 
 the same interest, " Desmond said a little 
 hastily. "The impression of which I spoke 
 when I saw you before was too strong to be 
 forgotten, even if it stood alone. But it has 
 been renewed more than once. I can not escape 
 the feeling — though it may, of course, be all 
 imagination — that some outside influence, 
 something apart from myself, is urging me to 
 action in this matter.' ' 
 
 "Well, then," Father Martin resumed, "I 
 was going to say that if you were still inter- 
 ested, you might like to take this letter to Miss 
 Landon, and find out, perhaps, what she knows 
 of Tracy, — of some Tracy, at least. Her knowl- 
 edge might prove the clue needed for the 
 fulfilment of his last request, but I could not 
 ask more than she volunteered to tell. It's 
 possible, however" (he smiled as he looked at 
 the attractive personality before him), "that 
 she might volunteer more in talking to you, or 
 perhaps you would not object to asking — " 
 
 "Not in the least," Desmond assured him 
 cheerfully. "I'll ask her to tell me all that she 
 knows, and explain why it is that I want the 
 information. I don't think she'll refuse when 
 I make her understand that it may be the clue 
 needed to fulfil the poor devil's dying wish, and 
 repair whatever wrong was on his conscience. 
 Is this Mrs. Barnes' letter? Do you mean me 
 to read it?" 
 
LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 141 
 
 "Of course," Father Martin replied. "I 
 should like to hear how it strikes you. ' ' 
 
 "It strikes me," Desmond said, after he had 
 read the letter, "that there is some knowledge 
 suppressed on her part. If she had no idea of 
 anything in her brother's life calling for 
 reparation, she would be quick to say so. But 
 she doesn't say so, you'll observe; and, more- 
 over, she expresses no surprise or concern : she 
 simply puts the matter aside, and thanks you 
 for letting her know that he died within the 
 Church. Now I take it that to give her this 
 consoling information was not your chief object 
 in writing to her. " 
 
 "So far from that, I told her distinctly that 
 I was anxious to obtain some knowledge of her 
 brother's life for the reason which I mentioned; 
 and I asked certain questions which she has not 
 answered. ' ' 
 
 "And clearly does not intend to answer. 
 Well, I will take this letter to Miss Landon and 
 find out what she knows. When can I report 
 the result to you?" 
 
 "When are you going to see her?" 
 
 i ' Immediately, I think. ' ' 
 
 "Then you can call here after you leave the 
 hospital, or any time this afternoon that suits 
 you. Our services are not until evening. ' ' 
 
 When Desmond left the priest's house a few 
 minutes later, he expected to find the Wargrave 
 equipage waiting for him ; but since there was 
 
142 LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 
 
 no sign of it, he walked on down the qniet 
 street, under an archway of golden maple 
 boughs, toward the Episcopal place of worship. 
 The congregation were just issuing from the 
 pointed Gothic doorway as he approached, and 
 he soon perceived his aunt and Edith, with Sel- 
 wyn in close attendance on them. 
 
 " Hallo! Here's our Papist !" was Bobby's 
 cheerful salutation at sight of him. "Your 
 rites appear to be shorter than ours," he re- 
 marked, not without a tinge of envy. 
 
 "Considerably shorter,' ' said Desmond. 
 "I've been talking to Father Martin for at 
 least half an hour, and was rather afraid" (he 
 spoke to his aunt) "that you might be waiting 
 for me. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, no!" she replied; "we are never earlier 
 than this in coining out. I am always able to 
 tell Hiram exactly when to be here with the 
 carriage, and yonder he comes now. ' ' 
 
 "I'll ask you to excuse me from going with 
 you," Desmond said, as the carriage drew up 
 beside them. i ' I have something to do in town 
 this morning ; but I will return to Hillcrest this 
 afternoon. ' ' 
 
 "When shall we send for you?" she inquired. 
 
 But before Desmond could answer, Selwyn 
 interposed. 
 
 "Don't send at all. I'll bring him out in my 
 car. I know the Judge doesn't like either 
 horses or servants to be called upon much on 
 
LAUKENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 143 
 
 Sunday, and the beauty of an automobile is that 
 it's always ready for use without disturbing 
 anybody. ' ' 
 
 Here Desmond remarked that he had 
 intended to walk; and that nothing would give 
 him more pleasure than to do so, the day being 
 so fine. 
 
 "Well, that's not my idea of pleasure," Sel- 
 wyn observed. "Tramping five miles over 
 dusty roads! No, no! The motor's the thing 
 to put one where one wants to go. You really 
 ought to have a car at Hillcrest, Cousin 
 Rachel ! ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Creighton shook her head, as she was 
 assisted into the waiting carriage, and sank 
 back on its luxurious cushions. 
 
 "Never while my brother lives," she said. 
 "He adores his horses as much as he detests 
 what he calls the last invention of the devil. 
 There's no denying that they are very con- 
 venient, however; and so if you'll bring Lau- 
 rence out this afternoon — " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'll certainly bring him out!" 
 Bobby assured her, as he handed Edith to her 
 seat. "Too bad you won't both stay, take 
 dinner with us, and let me whirl you home when 
 you are ready to go," he added regretfully. 
 
 "I'm afraid there would be too much whirl 
 about it for mamma," Edith laughed. "Her 
 admiration of automobiles is tempered with a 
 good deal of fear ; and, personally, I prefer the 
 
144 LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 
 
 pleasure of motion behind these dear horses to 
 a frenzied, breathless rush in your car. We'll 
 look for you both. ' ' 
 
 The carriage rolled away down the golden 
 archway of the street, and Bobby heaved a sigh 
 as he looked after it. 
 
 "The Judge has made Edith almost as rabid 
 about some things as he is himself,' ' he com- 
 plained. ' ' The idea of a modern girl not liking 
 automobiles ! ' ' He mused darkly for a moment 
 on such unaccountable perversity; and then, 
 brightening again, "Look here!" he said. 
 "What are you staying in town for? I mean, 
 have you anything you really want to do, or is 
 it just for a little change of scene? Hillcrest is 
 delightful, but I can imagine life there becom- 
 ing a trifle monotonous. ' ' 
 
 Desmond laughed. 
 
 "I'm not seeking change of scene on account 
 of the monotony of Hillcrest," he said. "I 
 really have something to do in town. I want 
 to pay a visit at the hospital." 
 
 Bobby regarded him with a surprise in which 
 incredulity was largely mingled. 
 
 "You are either a very odd chap," he 
 remarked, "or all this is a joke, — the kind of 
 places you want to visit. Now, whom are you 
 going to see at the hospital?" 
 
 "I am going to see one of the nurses. Her 
 name, if you wish to know, is Miss Landon." 
 I didn't wish to know, but I remember the 
 
 i i 
 
LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 145 
 
 name. She's the nurse of the railway wreck. 
 The newspapers say she saved a lot of lives." 
 
 1 i I think it likely that she did save some ; and 
 there's a matter connected with the man Tracy 
 who was killed, whose body you remember was 
 at the — er — " 
 
 " Mortuary parlor? Yes, I remember. " 
 
 "That I want to see her about. By the by, 
 I suppose I had better make an appointment. 
 Where's the nearest telephone station?" 
 
 ' ' Just around the corner, ' ' said Selwyn. 
 
 A little later, when Desmond, after calling up 
 the hospital and asking for Miss Landon, pres- 
 ently heard himself answered, he was startled 
 by an effect as singular as it was unexpected. 
 It seemed to have to do with the timbre of the 
 voice which struck on his ear; but he was 
 conscious that it was not altogether due to this, 
 exquisite as it was. He was well aware that the 
 great difference in voices is never so percep- 
 tible as when they are heard, disembodied as it 
 were, over the telephone. But he had never 
 before heard a voice which seemed to convey 
 so much of personality as that which spoke to 
 him now. It was not only that it was beauti- 
 fully distinct and clear, with a crystalline 
 quality which suggested the water of a moun- 
 tain spring, but there were, he felt assured, 
 forces of character behind it — forces both of 
 reserve and strength, — which were as unusual 
 as they were striking. And yet the words 
 
146 LAUKENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDOK 
 
 which this voice uttered could not have been 
 more simple, so that the effect which startled 
 him did not proceed from them. 
 
 "This is Miss Landon," it said. "Who is 
 asking to speak with me ! ' ' 
 
 "Laurence Desmond," the owner of that 
 name replied. "I don't know whether you 
 remember me, Miss Landon, but I was with you 
 in the railway wreck.' ' 
 
 "Oh, it is you! 11 the crystal voice returned. 
 "I did not know your name, but I certainly 
 remember yourself. What can I do for you, 
 Mr. Desmond?" 
 
 "You can be kind enough to give me a little 
 of your time," Desmond answered. "I want, 
 with your permission, to call to see you ; and I 
 shall be glad if you will let me know at what 
 hour you will be at liberty to receive a visitor. ' ' 
 
 There was a slight pause, and a shade of 
 more crystalline coolness seemed to come into 
 the voice when it answered : 
 
 ' ' I am afraid that I shall hardly be at liberty 
 to receive a visitor at all. I have very little 
 time for social — " 
 
 ' ' Pardon me ! ' ' Desmond broke in hurriedly. 
 "But I should have mentioned at first that my 
 visit has more than a social purpose. One 
 might call it business. I have been asked by 
 Father Martin — the Catholic priest, you know, 
 — to convey a letter to you, — a letter from the 
 
LAURENCE CALLS UP MISS LANDON 147 
 
 sister of Tracy, the man who was killed in the 
 wreck. ' ' 
 
 "0 — h!" The pause was longer now, as if 
 to consider this information ; and then the cool, 
 clear tones said : * * In that case it will give me 
 pleasure to receive you. I am at liberty from 
 four to five o'clock this afternoon. If you call 
 at any time during that hour you can see me. ' ' 
 ' ' I will call at four o 'clock, if that suits you. ' ' 
 "It suits me perfectly. " 
 ' ' Thanks, very much ! Good-bye ! ' ' 
 As he hung up the receiver, Desmond added 
 to himself : 
 
 "By Jove, that was a close call! Only the 
 mention of the Tracy letter kept her from 
 declining to see me. I ought to have remem- 
 bered that it would seem a piece of cheek for me 
 to propose to pay her a visit without any 
 explanation of a reason for doing so. But with 
 what a princess-like tone the permission was 
 given! There's something extraordinarily 
 striking and uncommon in the character behind 
 that voice. And what a voice it is ! Either I'm 
 developing wonderful psychical qualities, or 
 else it indicates — yes, Bobby, I've just finished; 
 made an appointment with Miss Landon for 
 this afternoon, and I am now at your service. ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 LAUEENCE EENEWS ACQUAINTANCE WITH 
 
 MISS LANDON 
 
 On the stroke of the hour of which he had 
 spoken, Desmond rang the door bell of the hos- 
 pital and asked for Miss Landon. He was 
 shown into a small reception room, which 
 luckily chanced to be empty; and here after a 
 few minutes the nurse came to him. 
 
 That she was a nurse there was no mistaking 
 now, as she entered, in her spotless white 
 uniform, the crisp muslin cap resting on the 
 soft masses of her brown hair. The dress was 
 extremely becoming to her, accentuating the 
 fairness and purity of her skin, which was of 
 an ivory-like fineness of texture, with very little 
 color, but that little of a wild-rose delicacy of 
 tint, and the translucent clearness of her gray 
 eyes. It occurred to Desmond, as he looked at 
 her, that it would be rather an exquisite thing 
 to have such a presence as this, so eloquent of 
 all things refreshing and healing, about one's 
 sick bed; and he felt almost inclined to envy 
 the patient thus favored. In manner she was 
 as quiet and self-possessed as when he had seen 
 
 148 
 

 i i 
 
 i i 
 
 LAUBEXCE MEETS MISS LAXDON 149 
 
 her last among the dying and dead of the rail- 
 way wreck. But when she held out her hand in 
 greeting, she smiled quite charmingly. 
 
 How do you do, Mr. Desmond?'' she said. 
 I am glad to see you again. ' ' 
 
 I 'm very glad to hear it, ' ' Desmond replied ; 
 for I was afraid, when I first spoke to you 
 over the telephone, that you were not going to 
 allow me the pleasure of seeing you at all. ' ' 
 
 If he said this in order to discover if she 
 would exhibit any confusion over her refusal, 
 he was speedily assured to the contrary. The 
 gray eyes met his with perfect calmness. 
 
 "I hardly think that requires an explana- 
 tion, ' ' she told Mm. 
 
 "No," he said, "it requires no explanation 
 from you: but it would require an apology 
 from me if I had ever thought of offering to 
 call simply because I felt that I should like to 
 meet you again. But I hope you understand 
 that I did not think of such a thing; although 
 I was certainly glad when Father Martin 
 offered me the chance to — renew our acquaint- 
 ance, may I say?" 
 
 "I suppose one might call it an acquaint- 
 ance, ' ' she replied ; ' ' although it was rather an 
 unusual kind of one. And it was good of you to 
 care about meeting me again. I should have 
 thought that you would want to put everything 
 connected with that awful wreck out of your 
 mind. ' ' 
 
150 LAURENCE RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 "Not you!" he answered quickly. "I could 
 never want to put out of my mind anything so 
 wonderful as you were. One would have to be 
 even a duller person than I am not to recognize 
 heroism when one sees it; and, having recog- 
 nized it, who could wish to forget it ? ' ' 
 
 The wild-rose color deepened a little on her 
 cheeks, but the gray eyes continued to meet his 
 with quiet steadiness. 
 
 "You really must not talk in that way, 
 although I know you mean it kindly, ' ' she said. 
 "It is absurd to speak of heroism in connection 
 with the simple things I was able to do." 
 
 ' ' Simple ! ' ' he repeated. * ' Oh, well ! I sup- 
 pose simplicity is a note of heroism. At all 
 events, if it w T as simple to do what you did — to 
 handle those crushed, mangled creatures, to 
 bind their awful wounds, to hold that poor 
 woman's hand while she died in agony, — then 
 I can only say that simple things are the hard- 
 est, as well as the best worth doing, among the 
 things of this world. ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps they are, in a certain sense, the 
 best worth doing," she said. "At least there is 
 a great deal of tangible satisfaction in relieving 
 the sufferings of the body. The wounds of the 
 spirit go much deeper, of course ; but one could 
 never be sure of relieving them." She paused 
 for an instant. "And yet, do you know," she 
 added, "it has occurred to me, since the 
 accident of which we are talking, that if one 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 151 
 
 could be sure — as sure as one is in the case of 
 bodily ailments — of there being a way to relieve 
 them, what a wonderful thing it would be ! ' ' 
 
 Desmond glanced at her curiously. 
 
 "What has made you think of that?" he 
 asked. 
 
 ' ' Why, the death of that man Tracy, of whom 
 you have come to speak," she answered. "I 
 can not forget how his physical sufferings, 
 which must have been very great, were com- 
 pletely subordinated in his mind to the suffer- 
 ing of — I suppose one should say, his soul. 
 And he seemed so certain, — so absolutely cer- 
 tain of the power of the priest to relieve that 
 suffering ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes, he was certain!" Desmond said. 
 "He was a Catholic, you see." 
 
 "And are all Catholics as certain as that?" 
 
 * ' All who have faith are. ' ' 
 
 She seemed to reflect upon this for a moment. 
 
 "It is strange," she said then. "I suppose 
 I have known all my life that Catholics did 
 believe such things. Yet I never realized in the 
 least what it meant until I saw that man. I 
 could not forget it: his absorption in the 
 thought of his soul in the face of sudden, ter- 
 rible death. It wasn't as if he had been a 
 spiritual kind of person. One could see how 
 very far from that he was." 
 
 "Very far," Desmond agreed. "One saw at 
 a glance that he belonged to an extremely com- 
 
152 LAURENCE RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 mon class of worldly, careless men, who, when 
 they are in health, forget that they have souls 
 at all." 
 
 "And he was more than merely worldly and 
 careless," she went on. "We know from him- 
 self that he had something on his conscience; 
 and if he was the man I think him to have been, 
 it was a heavy wrong indeed. ' ' 
 
 "Will you tell me," Desmond asked, "what 
 you know of the man, and why you should 
 imagine that you are aware of what was on 
 his conscience? Your knowledge might be a 
 great help in enabling Father Martin to fulfil 
 his last request, and make reparation for the 
 wrong of which he spoke. ' ' 
 
 "I suppose you know that I went to Father 
 Martin when I saw the name of Tracy in the 
 published list of victims of the accident ?" she 
 said. ' ' But he would give me no information. ' ' 
 
 "He couldn't, you know," Desmond told her. 
 
 "Couldn't he?" She looked a little puzzled. 
 "But what was the good, then, of the man's 
 asking him to repair the wrong, if he can not 
 speak of it?" 
 
 "You don't understand," Desmond said. 
 "He could speak to the person or persons 
 directly affected by the confession, but not to 
 any others. He has no warrant to make the 
 matter public, even if he knew who those per- 
 sons are. But he doesn't know." 
 
 "No?" 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 153 
 
 He was startled by the energy of her tone, by 
 the intense disappointment which seemed to lie 
 behind, and be expressed by it. Plainly some- 
 thing in this matter touched her very nearly, 
 and Desmond felt his desire to learn what it 
 was sensibly increasing. 
 
 "No," he echoed, "he doesn't know. And he 
 is extremely anxious to learn anything that 
 would throw light on that confession. You see, 
 it was this way." He described in a few words 
 what he had overheard, and in that manner 
 learned of the pathetic failure of the dying man 
 to mention an essential name. "If that name 
 could be supplied," he continued, "it might 
 make the reparation possible. Of course we 
 can't tell. It all rests with Father Martin, and 
 he can say nothing to us. But it is possible — " 
 
 ' i It seems to me absurd ! ' ' she burst out. ' ' It 
 is like a puzzle without a clue. He can not 
 speak unless he knows something, which he can 
 not learn unless he speaks. Don't you see how 
 absurd it is?" 
 
 "I see that it might appear so to you," said 
 Desmond. "But it isn't really so. It is a 
 necessity arising from the inviolability of con- 
 fession. Father Martin must be absolutely 
 sure of what he is doing before he can reveal 
 a word of what that poor dying creature told 
 him. ' ' 
 
 "But how is he to be made sure?" 
 
 "Ah, that I can't tell! I wish I could. He 
 
154LAUEEXCE EENEWS ACQUAINT ANCE 
 
 * 
 
 hoped to learn something from the man's sister, 
 but that hope has been disappointed. Here is 
 the letter he has just received/' — he drew it 
 from his pocket as he spoke. "He asked me to 
 bring it to you, because he promised to let you 
 know when he heard from her. ' ' 
 
 She took the letter from his hand ; and as she 
 opened and read it, he allowed his gaze to dwell 
 on her with a consciousness of pleasure in the 
 singularly harmonious details of her personal 
 appearance. It was not beauty, in the ordinary 
 sense of the term, which charmed the eye; but 
 something more delicate and elusive, — some- 
 thing like the crystalline tone of her voice, — a 
 quality which, as far as words can express it, 
 was as if the finely finished physique were a 
 rare instrument, perfectly fitted to express that 
 nobler part of our complex human being which 
 dwells in mind and soul. When she presently 
 lifted the dark-lashed lids of her eyes and 
 looked at him again, he was sure that he had 
 never met a gaze which expressed feeling and 
 thought so lucidly. 
 
 "There is nothing here of what we want to 
 know," she said. "Yet it appears to me that, 
 although the writer meant to tell nothing, she 
 has in some subtle fashion betrayed that she is 
 withholding knowledge that might be useful if 
 it were communicated. ' ' 
 
 "I thought you would perceive it," Desmond 
 said. "The letter, with its studied evasion of 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 155 
 
 the questions which Father Martin asked, does 
 give just that impression. He felt it, / felt it, 
 and now you feel it. But I don't see what we 
 are to do. The woman can't be forced to 
 speak." 
 
 "Perhaps she can be," the girl said slowly. 
 "At least I shall try." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes. Don't you understand that 1 am 
 deeply interested in this? You can't suppose 
 that I would have taken such a step as to go to 
 the priest and ask him what I did, if I had not 
 had a grave reason for doing so?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I felt quite sure that you 
 must have had such a reason," Desmond 
 replied; "and I may as well confess that both 
 Father Martin and I have hoped that you 
 would tell us — or at least tell him — what that 
 
 reason is.' 
 
 >> 
 
 "But what should I gain by telling him? 
 she asked. "It is something of which I do not 
 wish to speak unless there were an object to be 
 gained by doing so : unless I were sure that the 
 man who lost his life in the wreck was the man 
 connected with the matter of which I know. I 
 hoped to learn at least as much as this from the 
 priest, but he would tell me nothing. ' ' 
 
 "He couldn't," Desmond repeated. "I wish 
 you would believe that, because then you might 
 see that you who can speak should do so. And 
 if you supplied the missing link in the confes- 
 
156 LAURENCE RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 sion, Father Martin might see his way to fulfil 
 the man's request that reparation for the 
 wrong he had committed should be made. Con- 
 sider," the young man went on, leaning for- 
 ward in his earnestness, "that this poor 
 creature can not help himself now, that he did 
 what he could before he died, and that it is for 
 us to do what we can to assist him in his present 
 helplessness and suffering." 
 
 He stopped rather abruptly; for he saw 
 gathering amazement in the eyes gazing so 
 steadily at him. 
 
 "You talk," the girl said, "as if you knew 
 something about him. What do you know?" 
 
 "Of the man personally, nothing," he 
 answered. ' i I never saw or heard of him until 
 he lay before us dying. ' ' 
 
 "And yet you speak as if you were vitally 
 interested in fulfilling his last request. What 
 difference can it make to you whether it is ful- 
 filled or not!" 
 
 He did not answer immediatelv; for he had 
 
 «/ 7 
 
 not the least intention of telling her what he 
 had told Father Martin, — of the strong impres- 
 sion he had received that help was asked of him 
 by or for the soul that, as he said, could no 
 longer help itself. He did not wish to be con- 
 sidered either a visionary or a spiritualist, and 
 he knew well that outside the Church there is 
 little or no real belief in the continued existence 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 157 
 
 of the individual spirit after death. He hesi- 
 tated a little, therefore, before he said : 
 
 "Surely you recognize a duty of charity, — a 
 double duty, one may say, since it includes aid 
 for the dead and reparation to the living. ' ' 
 
 If Miss Landon did not echo Edith Creigh- 
 ton's words, and exclaim, "What an extraordi- 
 nary young man you are ! ' ' her look said it very 
 plainly. 
 
 "You seem to be talking in a language 
 different from any with which I am familiar," 
 she said. ' ' It has never occurred to me to think 
 of aiding the dead. ' ' 
 
 * ' Ah, that is where the Catholic is different ! ' ' 
 he answered. ' ' The dead are to us as living as 
 they ever were, and to help them in any way is 
 an imperative duty. ' ' 
 
 "Just as you said it was an imperative duty 
 to drop everything else and make a tremendous 
 effort to get a priest for that man before he 
 died?" 
 
 "Yes, just so. It all comes, you see, from 
 the Catholic conception of the value of the 
 soul." 
 
 "I see." As she gazed at him it was evident, 
 from the wonder in her eyes, that new and 
 strange ideas were unfolding before her. "I 
 confess that I have never given a thought to 
 Tracy 's soul, ' ' she said. * l And, if it is existing, 
 you think that it is suffering still?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
158 LAUKENCE EEISTEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 "I'm afraid there isn't much doubt of it,' 
 he replied. "We have to expiate, you know — 
 or, rather, of course you don 't know. And, ' ' he 
 added quickly, ' ' I feel as if I should not be talk- 
 ing of these things ; because it looks as if I were 
 religious or devout, and I'm really nothing of 
 the kind. ' ' 
 
 She laughed a little, and he noted that the 
 sound was as musical as her speech. 
 
 "Oh, I think you must be!" she said. "At 
 least you must be aware that it is very unusual 
 for a young man to know as much about relig- 
 ious matters as you do." 
 
 "It isn't the least unusual among Catholics," 
 he assured her. "In fact, it would be a very 
 ignorant schoolboy, who has studied his cate- 
 chism, who did not know as much as, or more 
 than, I do. But all this is beside the point, 
 which is, will you tell Father Martin what you 
 know of Tracy, — that is, of some Tracy?" 
 
 She considered for a minute before answer- 
 ing, while he watched her closely. Then she 
 shook her head. 
 
 "I think not," she said slowly. "I would 
 not wish to speak of what I know unless I were 
 sure that this was the man connected with it. 
 But will you tell me one thing : if the missing 
 link in his story, the name he did not mention, 
 were supplied, would Father Martin feel him- 
 self at liberty to speak, and tell what he 
 knows ? ' ' 
 
WITH MISS LANDOX 159 
 
 "Yes," Desmond answered. "I am sure that 
 lie would be glad to speak to those who are con- 
 cerned in learning the truth, whatever it may 
 be. Indeed, I can assure you that he is ex- 
 tremely anxious to have the opportunity. He 
 has a duty to perform. That is why I am 
 appealing to you." 
 
 "In that case I see clearly what I must do," 
 she said. ' * I must learn beyond doubt whether 
 this man was the Tracy of whom I know." 
 
 ' i How will you learn this ? ' ' 
 
 "By going directly to his sister, and asking 
 her one or two questions which she can not 
 refuse to answer, and which will establish his 
 identity. May I keep this letter for the 
 address? Thank you! And thank Father 
 Martin, please, for sending it to me. Kindly 
 tell him also that if I discover anything which 
 I think would help him in his difficulty, even if 
 it does not help me in mine, I will let him 
 know. ' ' 
 
 "And when," Desmond asked, a little 
 startled by the rapidity of her decision, "will 
 you be able to see the woman ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Not for some time yet, ' ' she replied, regret- 
 fully. ' ' I have a patient whom I can not leave 
 for a week or two. But then I will go." 
 
 "And will you certainly return?" 
 
 There was more anxiety in his tone than he 
 was aware of ; for he was surprised to feel how 
 much he should regret it if this girl, who had 
 
160 LAURENCE RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 so strangely entered his life, now passed com- 
 pletely out of it. She looked at him with some- 
 thing of the same surprise with which she had 
 asked why he was interested in Tracy. It was 
 evident that the question in her mind was, 
 "What is that to you?" But she did not utter 
 it. Instead, she said : 
 
 "I think that I shall certainly return. The 
 reason for which I was coming here when the 
 accident occurred remains in force; but on 
 account of the accident, and the demands it has 
 made upon me, I have not been able to do any 
 of the things for which I came. I shall come 
 back on account of those things, even if I find 
 that the man who was killed was not the Tracy 
 of whom I know. ' ' 
 
 "And if you find that he was that Tracy ?" 
 
 "Then I will not be able to return quickly 
 enough to satisfy my impatience to tell Father 
 Martin what I know, and learn if it fits into 
 what he knows. ' ' 
 
 "I hope that it will," Desmond said fer- 
 vently. "And I believe that it will. I can not 
 tell you why, but I do believe it. ' ' 
 
 "I wonder why you should!" Miss Landon 
 remarked. 
 
 "Well, for one thing, because we seem so 
 strangely connected together, that dead man, 
 you and I," he said. "There we were, perfect 
 strangers to each other; yet I got a priest for 
 him, and you kept him alive until the priest 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 161 
 
 came. Don't you see how fitting it would be if 
 he, on his part, had something to tell which con- 
 cerned one or both of us ? " 
 
 " Fitting? Oh, yes, if it were a story we were 
 putting together!" she replied. "But even in 
 that event I think we should be told that we 
 were working 'the long arm of coincidence ' too 
 far in imagining anything of the kind. ' ' 
 
 "I know," Desmond returned, contemptu- 
 ously. l i There 's a lot of what the English call 
 rot talked about the improbability of the long 
 arm of coincidence acting in certain cases. I 
 have not reached a patriarchal age by any 
 means, but I have seen some astonishing things 
 in my own experience of what we call coinci- 
 dence, but for which I can't help thinking that 
 a wider and higher vision may have another 
 name. ' ' 
 
 ' ' In other words, you really think that — er — 
 Providence orders these strange happenings?" 
 
 "I can't see much use in a Providence that 
 doesn 't order things, ' ' he replied. ' ' And as for 
 talking about a difference between important 
 affairs and trifles, why, we can't possibly tell 
 until the end of everything what is important 
 and what is trifling. It's like this, that things 
 are so linked together in ways unknown to us 
 that one 
 
 . . . can not stir a flower 
 Without troubling a star. " 
 
 "You have certainly given me a good many 
 
162 LAURENCE RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 
 
 new ideas/ ' Miss Landon said, as, with a glance 
 at the clock, she rose from her seat. "It 
 seems ungrateful that in return I should have 
 to send you away. But I must now go back to 
 my patient. You will be sure to tell Father 
 Martin how much I am obliged to him for send- 
 ing me this letter ; and please believe also that 
 I am deeply obliged to you for bringing it. ' ' 
 
 "There isn't the shadow of an obligation on 
 the last score,' ' Desmond assured her. "As I 
 told you, I was only too glad of an excuse to 
 come, and — you won't think me presumptuous, 
 I hope — mayn't I come again?" 
 
 She shook her head, though the sweetness of 
 her smile softened the refusal. 
 
 "I think not," she said. "You are really 
 very interesting, and it is kind of you to want 
 to come. But a hospital is not the place for 
 social visits. It would excite remark, and — er 
 — in short, you must excuse me. ' ' 
 
 "But a hospital nurse isn't a cloistered 
 nun," he remonstrated. "And I — do forgive 
 me my persistence ! — I can not be satisfied to 
 say good-bye without some hope of seeing you 
 again. ' ' 
 
 "You forget your belief in the Providence 
 that overrules coincidence," she reminded him, 
 as she held out her hand. "If we are destined 
 to meet again, we shall meet. Isn't that what 
 you believe? I don't mind saying that I hope 
 
WITH MISS LANDON 163 
 
 we shall. But we must — leave it to Provi- 
 dence.' ' 
 
 "I'd really rather not," he objected hastily. 
 "I mean, I would rather we arrange it 
 ourselves.' ' 
 
 "Under the circumstances, that is impos- 
 sible," she said, a little more coolly and quite 
 firmly. "Thank you again for coming, and 
 good-bye! 
 
 >> 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 JUDGE WARGRAVE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 It was three weeks later that Desmond sat 
 one morning before the bright library fire — for, 
 as the season advanced, the mornings grew 
 frosty, — glancing over a newspaper which had 
 arrived in the mail that reached Hillcrest 
 before breakfast. During these three weeks he 
 had found it very pleasant to drop into the 
 position of the son of the house, to enjoy the 
 easy social life and customs of the country, to 
 go shooting with Bobby Selwyn (only the day 
 before they had been out all day on one of the 
 remote parts of the plantation), to realize more 
 and more how delightful Edith Creighton was ; 
 and also to understand (helped thereto, per- 
 haps, by Selwyn 's hints) that nothing was 
 nearer his uncle's heart than the hope that he 
 would fall in love with the charming girl, and 
 that the desirable and obvious thing (evidently 
 expected by every one) of their marriage would 
 result. 
 
 He fancied, from an amused gleam in her 
 eyes now and then, that Edith perceived this 
 as clearly as himself; but if so, she did not 
 
 164 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 165 
 
 allow it to introduce the least element of con- 
 straint into their association, which was as 
 frank and agreeable as possible. They were 
 almost constantly together; and he was now 
 waiting for her to get into her habit, while the 
 horses, ordered when they left the breakfast 
 table, were brought out, in order that they 
 might ride in the lovely autumn morning to an 
 outlying farm of the estate, where a tenant was 
 to be seen on behalf of his uncle. Already 
 the stamping of the horses on the gravel out- 
 side had reached his ear; and when the door 
 suddenly opened, he looked up, expecting to see 
 Edith's graceful figure. Instead, Mrs. Creigh- 
 ton entered hurriedly. 
 
 "Laurence," she said, in a tone as hurried as 
 her movements, "I am anxious about your 
 uncle ! ' ' 
 
 Desmond stared at her in surprise ; for it had 
 not been many minutes since he had left her at 
 breakfast, as serene and cheerful as usual; yet 
 she now appeared more disturbed in manner, 
 and apparently in mind, than he had ever 
 before seen her. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he inquired, starting 
 quickly to his feet. "What has occurred to 
 make you anxious about him?" 
 
 "Something which Virgil has just told me," 
 she answered. "You know his mail is always 
 sent up on his breakfast tray, and Virgil says 
 that this morning there was a letter which 
 
166 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 seemed to disturb him very much. After read- 
 ing it, he scarcely touched his breakfast; in 
 Virgil's words, 'just sat staring at the letter,' 
 and did not answer when he spoke to him. Of 
 course, it may have been merely preoccupation 
 of mind, but I can't help fearing — " 
 
 ' ' Another stroke 1 ' ' 
 
 "Yes. The doctors have warned me that any 
 mental agitation might bring one on. And what 
 could have been in that letter ? ' ' 
 
 Feeling himself unable to conjecture, Des- 
 mond made a practical suggestion. 
 
 Why not go and find out!" he asked. 
 I was wondering if perhaps it would be well 
 for you to go, ' ' she suggested. 
 
 "I think not," he returned. "It strikes me 
 that it would be altogether better for you to 
 see him." 
 
 "Then I'll go," she said. But, nevertheless, 
 she lingered, handling nervously various small 
 articles on the mantel-shelf bv which she stood. 
 "I can't imagine who could have written any- 
 thing to upset him so much," she reflected 
 aloud. "His business affairs are all in perfect 
 order, so far as I know ; and it couldn't possibly 
 be anything about the old trouble. ' ' 
 
 "Are vou sure of that?" Desmond asked. 
 Standing on the other side of the fireplace, he 
 glanced into the over-mantel mirror as he 
 spoke, and met her eyes. Struck by the deepen- 
 ing of their troubled expression, he added 
 
 
THE JUDGE EECEIVES A LETTER 167 
 
 quickly: " Don't you really think that, instead 
 of worrying yourself with conjectures, it would 
 be better to go at once and learn what is the 
 matter f" 
 
 "Yes; I am going now," she replied hastily. 
 She turned toward the door, but paused before 
 reaching it and looked back at him, as if struck 
 by a sudden recollection. "There was a tele- 
 phone call for you yesterday from the Catholic 
 priest in Kingsford," she said. "When told 
 that you were absent, he asked that you would 
 call him up on your return. I forgot to give 
 you the message when you came in last 
 evening. ' ' 
 
 "Thanks for remembering to give it now!" 
 Desmond said. "I don't suppose the matter is 
 of importance, but I'll call him up without 
 further delay." 
 
 They left the room together ; and while Mrs. 
 Creighton went upstairs, Desmond took down 
 the receiver of the telephone in the hall. He 
 got the priest's house almost immediately, and 
 Father Martin's voice answered the summons. 
 
 ' ' This is Desmond, Father, ' ' he said. ' i I was 
 absent yesterday, so missed your call, and have 
 just heard that you asked me to call you up on 
 my return. I'm very sorry for the delay, but 
 hope it hasn't mattered." 
 
 "I hope so, too," the priest's deep, quiet 
 tones replied; "but I am not sure. I was very 
 anxious to communicate with you yesterday; 
 
168 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 and, since my message was urgently expressed, 
 I thought I should certainly hear from you in 
 the course of the day or evening. I was expect- 
 ing a call up to midnight. ' ' 
 
 Desmond felt distinctly startled. It was 
 again the voice — that strangely expressive, 
 disembodied voice of the telephone — which told 
 more than the words. Yet the words were 
 significant enough; for clearly it was a matter 
 of importance which had kept the priest wait- 
 ing and hoping to hear from him up to mid- 
 night. 
 
 "I'm extremely sorry," he repeated; "but, 
 as IVe already mentioned, I received your 
 message only a minute ago. What did you wish 
 to say to me!" 
 
 "I wished," Father Martin answered, "to 
 communicate some information which concerns 
 you in a certain degree. It is about that man — 
 Tracy, you know — " 
 
 "Oh, about Tracy! YouVe learned some- 
 thing, and it concerns me!" 
 
 "Indirectly, yes. But in a more direct man- 
 ner it concerns — another person. I wished to 
 ask your advice about the best way to com- 
 municate with that person. I regret now that I 
 did not wait longer. But, since I did not hear 
 from you, and since I understood that your 
 absence might be of indefinite duration, I 
 mailed a letter late last night." 
 
 Desmond was conscious of growing cold. An 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 169 
 
 instinct amounting to a certainty was in his 
 mind as he asked: 
 
 "To whom was the letter addressed ?" 
 
 ' ' It was addressed to Judge Wargrave, ' ' the 
 grave tones replied; "but when the mail is 
 delivered at the house, you can, if you like, 
 withhold it from him until I see and talk to 
 you. ' ' 
 
 Even over the telephone the groan which 
 responded was audible. 
 
 " It is too late ! ' ' the young man said. i ' The 
 letter has already been given to him. But I 
 will see you as soon as possible, and — excuse 
 me ! I must go. Good-bye ! ' ' 
 
 It was necessary to close the conversation in 
 this abrupt fashion; for Mrs. Creighton was 
 calling him from the upper gallery, with a note 
 of unmistakable panic in her voice. 
 
 ' ' Laurence ! — Laurence ! ' ' she cried. 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Eachel, I'm coming!" he 
 answered, as he flung the receiver into its 
 holder and dashed for the staircase. 
 
 Hearing the cry, Edith came flying from her 
 chamber, which opened on the gallery; and 
 together they ran to where Mrs. Creighton was 
 standing, with pale face and startled eyes. 
 
 " It is as I feared ! ' ' she exclaimed when they 
 reached her. ' ' He has had another stroke, — lie 
 is unconscious ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Then the first thing to do is to get the doc- 
 
170 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 tor," Desmond said quickly. "I'll go and 
 telephone for him. ' ' 
 
 "No, no!" Mrs. Creighton caught his arm as 
 he was turning to run downstairs. "You must 
 come with me. Edith, go and call Dr. Glynn. 
 Beg him to come instantly." 
 
 While Edith flew to obey the order, Desmond 
 found himself led — for his aunt kept fast hold 
 of his arm — toward his uncle's apartment. 
 
 "I want you here before we call any one 
 else," she told him agitatedly. 
 
 A moment later they were entering the large, 
 pleasant room with which by this time Des- 
 mond had become very familiar ; for of late he 
 had spent several hours every day there, talk- 
 ing, reading aloud, or playing cribbage with the 
 old man, who seemed to find constantly increas- 
 ing pleasure in his companionship. But instead 
 of the alert, intellectual personality he had 
 learned to know so well, there was now a 
 motionless figure lying back in the great winged 
 chair, with eyes closed, face flushed, and 
 breathing distinctly stertorous. 
 
 "So I found him," Mrs. Creighton whis- 
 pered, although aware that she might have 
 shouted vainly in the unconscious ear. ' ' I tried 
 to rouse him; but when I couldn't succeed, I 
 knew what had happened, and I ran and called 
 you. Speak to him! See if you can make him 
 hear. ' ' 
 
 Notwithstanding his conviction of the futility 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 171 
 
 of the effort, Desmond spoke to the silent figure 
 again and yet again. Then he looked at his 
 aunt and shook his head. 
 
 "It is useless, " he said. "We can not rouse 
 him. ' ' 
 
 "And this is what has done it!" she said, 
 pointing to an open letter which the nerveless 
 fingers still held. "It is why I wanted you to 
 come before any one else. Do you think we 
 should read this letter?" 
 
 Desmond hesitated an instant before an- 
 swering. If he had known no more about the 
 letter than Mrs. Creighton knew, he would 
 probably have said that it was advisable to read 
 it, not only in order to learn what had produced 
 such an effect, but also to discover if it con- 
 tained anv matter which demanded attention 
 from Judge Wargave 's family or legal adviser. 
 But since they had talked in the library, he had 
 learned enough about the letter to make him 
 feel disinclined to touch it ; and in his mind the 
 thought rapidly formulated : "I had better see 
 Father Martin before looking at it myself, or 
 allowing any one else to do so." Aloud, he 
 said : 
 
 "I don't think that we should read it now. 
 Later it may become a duty to do so ; but, until 
 the doctor has seen my uncle, we don't know 
 how serious this attack may be. If it is not 
 serious, if he rallies as he did before, he might 
 consider that we had taken a liberty in reading 
 
172 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 something which may be altogether private and 
 personal.' ' 
 
 "You are right," Mrs. Creighton agreed. 
 1 ' That is my feeling also ; for he has never per- 
 mitted any one to take liberties with his private 
 affairs. We had better, therefore, just put it 
 away. Will you take it from him 1 ' ' 
 
 But when Desmond attempted to draw the 
 paper from the hand which held it, a strange 
 thing happened. Judge Wargrave's eyes 
 opened, an angry light flashed through their 
 dull, glazed expression, and an inarticulate 
 murmur of protest came from his lips. Then, 
 evidently recognizing the face that bent over 
 him, his expression changed ; there was another 
 inarticulate murmur, but in a different tone, 
 and the grasp of the hand relaxed, permitting 
 the letter to be drawn away, after which the 
 eyes closed again. 
 
 "He knew you!" Mrs. Creighton cried. 
 "And since it was you, he was willing for you 
 to take the letter. Perhaps he wanted you to 
 read it." 
 
 "I hardly think so," Desmond answered. 
 "I fancy that he simply felt it would be safe 
 with me. So for the present this is what we 
 will do with it." He folded the sheet of paper, 
 slipped it into its envelope which lay on the 
 open desk near by, and placed it in a small 
 drawer below the pigeonholes. He then closed 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTEE 173 
 
 and locked the desk. "What shall I do with the 
 key?" he asked, glancing at his aunt. 
 
 She pointed to a lower drawer. 
 
 ' * That is where he always keeps it, ' ' she said. 
 
 It was as Desmond opened the drawer and 
 dropped the key into it, that Edith entered the 
 room. 
 
 "I was lucky enough to catch Dr. Glynn at 
 his office,' ' she said; "and he is coming out 
 immediately. How is Uncle George? Ah" — as 
 she saw the motionless figure in the great chair, 
 — ' ' it is just such a seizure as the other ! Can 
 you rouse him at all? Does he know any one?" 
 
 "He seemed to know Laurence a moment 
 ago," Mrs. Creighton answered; "but it was 
 only a gleam of consciousness. Try if you can 
 rouse him." 
 
 But Edith tried in vain. Although she laid 
 her soft hand on the Judge's brow, smoothing 
 back the silvery, silken hair, and called his 
 name in her most caressing tones, there was not 
 the faintest sign of consciousness; and Des- 
 mond felt quite sure that nothing short of his 
 touch upon the letter could have stirred a chord 
 of the dormant brain. 
 
 When Dr. Glynn arrived a little later, heard 
 the details of the seizure and examined the 
 patient, he looked very grave. 
 
 "There has been a shock which has produced 
 another cerebral hemorrhage, ' ' he said. "What 
 will be the result, it is impossible to tell. It 
 
174 THE JUDGE EECEIYES A LETTER 
 
 seems too much to hope that a man of Judge 
 Wargrave's age can rally again as he rallied 
 from the other stroke. He may recover to some 
 degree, but I fear that he will never be himself 
 again. Meanwhile he needs very careful atten- 
 tion, and I would suggest a trained nurse for 
 him. ' ' 
 
 It was the natural, one might almost say the 
 inevitable, suggestion of the present time ; but, 
 nevertheless, Desmond started as he heard it. 
 For it made him once more recall the railway 
 wreck, and how he had then asked Hester Lan- 
 don if she would be willing to take a private 
 case should she be requested to do so. His 
 uncle had, of course, been in his mind when he 
 asked the question; and, natural as this also 
 was, it seemed to him now another strange link 
 in the sequence of events which connected the 
 master of Hillcrest with that tragic occasion. 
 He had a sudden, vivid picture of the uncon- 
 scious figure of the man who lay dying on the 
 ground, with the priest and himself standing 
 over him, — a picture which was a companion to 
 that of the other unconscious figure lying back 
 in a chair, with a letter in its fingers. He 
 remembered what he had said to the nurse when 
 he saw her last of the mysterious manner in 
 which we act blindly upon each other in this 
 mysterious life. And then he paused, wonder- 
 ing, yet feeling sure, what would come next. 
 
 It was Mrs. Creighton who was speaking. 
 
THE JUDGE EECEIVES A LETTER 175 
 
 "Whatever you think best, doctor/ ' she said; 
 "but we managed very well before, you know." 
 
 "The Judge rallied in a surprising manner 
 and in a surprisingly short time before," the 
 doctor answered. "This is a more serious 
 attack, and I shall be better satisfied if I know 
 that the case is in the hands of a professional 
 nurse.' ' 
 
 "Can you, then, send us a nurse from the 
 hospital ?" Mrs. Creighton asked. 
 
 "From the hospital? No," Dr. Glynn 
 replied. "We have no nurses to send out. But 
 there chances to be in Kingsford just now a 
 young woman who is one of the best nurses I 
 have ever met with. She is Miss Landon, — the 
 heroine of the railway wreck, you remember ? ' ' 
 he added, glancing at Desmond. 
 
 "I remember extremely well," Desmond res- 
 ponded; while he said to himself that the 
 manner in which things proceeded, as if in a 
 prearranged drama, was positively ridiculous. 
 "I am sure that whoever secures Miss Lan- 
 don 's services will be fortunate," he went on. 
 "But is she not at your hospital?" 
 
 "Not at present," the doctor replied. "On 
 the recovery of the patient of whom she was in 
 charge about a week ago, she left the hospital 
 (although we should have been glad to keep 
 her) and went away — to Baltimore, I believe. 
 But she has returned to Kingsford; for I met 
 her on the street only yesterday, and she told 
 
176 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 me that she expects to remain for some time. 
 So it is possible that I may be able to get her 
 for you. Shall I endeavor to do so ? " 
 
 ' 'If you please," Mrs. Creighton, to whom 
 the question was addressed, replied ; i ' although 
 I don't know what Virgil will think of finding 
 himself supplanted. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Virgil will not be supplanted ! ' ' Dr. 
 Glynn assured her. "He will have as much to 
 do for the Judge as ever, but you and Miss 
 Edith will not have such demands upon your 
 time and strength as you had before." 
 
 "So far as I am concerned, I have no desire 
 to be relieved of the demands," Edith said; 
 "but I am aware that a trained nurse will be 
 able to do things much better than I can, and I 
 suppose one must be modern at all costs. But 
 what Uncle George will think, if he ever 
 recovers enough to be aware of this modern 
 invasion, is what I don't know." 
 
 "Sufficient to the day is the — er — difficulty 
 thereof," the doctor returned. "And, in order 
 that our dear old friend may have a chance to 
 ^recover, he must have the best attention of 
 every kind. I think he will be quite satisfied 
 with what we have done, if he is spared to come 
 to himself again." 
 
 "I am sure of it, doctor," Mrs. Creighton 
 said. "So kindly let us know as soon as pos- 
 sible if the nurse of whom you have spoken can 
 come. ' ' 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 177 
 
 A few minutes later, when Dr. Glynn was 
 stepping into his carriage, Desmond, who had 
 gone out with him, said : 
 
 "I shall be much obliged if you will give me 
 Miss Landon's address, doctor. I am going 
 into Kingsford immediately on a matter of 
 business, and I should like to see her person- 
 ally, and tell her how glad we shall be if she 
 will come. ' ' 
 
 The doctor drew out his note-book. 
 
 "I took down her address when I met her 
 yesterday,'' he said. "She is at Mrs. Gray's 
 boarding-house, 29 East Broad Street. But, 
 unless you wish to do so, you need not trouble 
 to see her; for I am going directly to her, and 
 I will promptly telephone Mrs. Creighton if she 
 can come, as I have little doubt but that she 
 can." 
 
 It was probably the instinct which had so 
 curiously developed in him lately which made 
 Desmond feel that there was doubt neverthe- 
 less, though he did not say so. 
 
 "I infer that you think the case very 
 serious, ' ' he remarked. 
 
 "Why, yes," Dr. Glynn answered. "A 
 second seizure of this kind in a man of Judge 
 Wargrave's years could not be other than ex- 
 tremely serious. I doubt if he will ever recover 
 consciousness again. If he does, he will most 
 probably have lost the power of speech alto- 
 gether." He paused a moment. "It was very 
 
178 THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 unfortunate that the letter which produced this 
 condition should have been allowed to reach 
 him," he said. 
 
 "Most unfortunate," Desmond agreed. 
 "But, since no one has exercised any surveil- 
 lance over his mail, it would have been difficult 
 to prevent its reaching him. ' ' 
 
 "Hum!" The doctor cleared his throat 
 significantly. "If anything of this kind was to 
 have been feared, there should have been some 
 surveillance," he commented. "There has 
 evidently been a great shock. I am an old 
 friend of Judge Wargrave, as well as his 
 physician," he broke off abruptly; "so I don't 
 think that I intrude in asking what the letter 
 contained. ' ' 
 
 "We do not know," Desmond replied, with a 
 sense of gratitude for the impulse which had led 
 him to decide as he did about the letter. 
 "Neither my aunt nor myself felt that we had 
 a right to read it. ' ' 
 
 Dr. Glynn lifted his eyebrows, evidently 
 much surprised. 
 
 "I should not have been so scrupulous," he 
 said, a little dryly. "It may contain something 
 which you ought to know; and I fear that the 
 Judge will never be in a condition to attend to 
 business of any kind again. ' ' 
 
 "In that case, we will of course examine it," 
 Desmond said. "But for the present we have 
 
THE JUDGE RECEIVES A LETTEE 179 
 
 simply laid it aside. If ray uncle recovers suf- 
 ficiently to ask for it — " 
 
 The doctor shook his head as he stepped into 
 his carriage. 
 
 "There is nothing more unlikely than that he 
 will ever even remember it, ' ' he said. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 FATHER MARTIN TELLS MISS LANDON'S STORY 
 
 Father Martin showed traces of strong 
 agitation when he met the young man who 
 presently dismounted at his door. 
 
 "What has happened?'' he demanded at 
 once. "I have been wretched ever since you 
 broke off at the telephone. I could hear a 
 woman's voice screaming for you, and I knew 
 something dreadful had occurred. Have I 
 killed Judge Wargrave 1 ' ' 
 
 "Not quite," Desmond answered; "but the 
 matter contained in your letter proved such a 
 shock to him that it has brought on another 
 stroke of apoplexy, which may prove fatal. ' ' 
 
 The priest groaned. 
 
 "How hard it is to know what to do!" he 
 said. "If I could only have reached you 
 yesterday — " 
 
 "But why not have waited until you could 
 reach me?" Desmond asked, although aware of 
 the futility of the question. "You might have 
 known that I would communicate with you as 
 soon as I received your message." 
 
 1 1 But I could not tell when you would receive 
 
 1 80 
 
MISS LANDOX'S STORY 181 
 
 it," Father Martin replied. "And after I had 
 waited many hours, I said to myself that there 
 was really no reason for waiting ; that I was, in 
 a certain sense, shirking responsibility by 
 bringing you into the matter ; that, after all, my 
 duty was plain: I had only to deliver a mes- 
 sage, to tell a few facts to one whom they con- 
 cerned. And it seemed to me that the sooner 
 this was done the better. * There has been too 
 much delay already/ I thought. 'What if this 
 man, who is old and frail, should die without 
 knowing what I have to tell him! It might 
 make a difference in many things, and I could 
 never forgive myself if it occurred through my 
 neglect of duty. ' So, after a prayer, I went out 
 and mailed the letter I had written.' ' 
 
 "Well," Desmond said — they were by this 
 time in the study, sitting opposite to each other, 
 — ' ' it may have been the right thing to do ; but 
 there is, unfortunately, no doubt of the effect it 
 has produced. Yet I don't know that if I had 
 received your message, I could have advised a 
 better manner of proceeding. I could only have 
 urged caution, considering my uncle's con- 
 dition. But if you had to tell whatever it 
 was — " 
 
 The priest nodded. 
 
 "I had to tell it," he said. "In a case of 
 conscience, one has no discretion: the repara- 
 tion of wrong must be made to those who are 
 concerned. But I thought that, as a member of 
 
182 FATHER MARTIN TELLS 
 
 the family and your uncle's heir, you might, 
 perhaps, have prepared him for the communi- 
 cation which it was necessary for me to make." 
 
 "It would have thrown a responsibility on 
 me, which I think I am rather glad to be 
 spared," Desmond said frankly. "And in any 
 event the shock would probably have been 
 great, the effect perhaps the same." He 
 hesitated a moment, and then asked : ' ' Can you 
 tell me anything about it ? " 
 
 "Yes, I can tell you," the priest answered. 
 "And it is easier because you know something 
 already. It relates to the confession of that 
 man Tracy, who — and really this is odd — owed 
 the chance to make his confession to vou. ' ' 
 
 "The confession which has — probably — 
 killed my uncle ! ' ' Desmond exclaimed. ' ' Don 't 
 you see that it is almost terrible, the way I am 
 linked with this thing? But for my effort, as 
 you say, the man would not have had the oppor- 
 tunity to make his confession, which in its 
 immediate result at least — " 
 
 But Father Martin's lifted hand stayed his 
 words. 
 
 "What do we really know of results, either 
 immediate or remote?" the priest asked. 
 "You did your duty, and you should be glad to 
 feel that vou have been an instrument in the 
 hands of God, not only to save that man's soul, 
 but also — see here! Don't you think it better 
 for your uncle to be struck down as he is, than 
 
MISS LANDON'S STORY 183 
 
 to have died ignorant of a great wrong done to 
 his son, certainly by others, and perhaps by 
 himself?" 
 
 Desmond started. 
 
 "So that was it!" he said, in an awed tone. 
 ' ' There was a wrong done to Harry Wargrave, 
 and this man knew of it ! ' ' 
 
 "Knew of it, profited by it, stood back and 
 let the other suffer for his own wrongdoing ! I 
 can not give you details, because he did not give 
 them himself (you remember how far gone he 
 was when the confession was made). But it 
 seems that, being in a position of trust in a 
 business house, he had used his friend, an 
 employe like himself, as a cat's-paw, so that 
 forged cheques and various embezzlements 
 were traceable only to him." 
 
 "To Harry Wargrave?" 
 
 "Yes, to Wargrave, whose name, however, 
 was missing from the confession as Tracy made 
 it." 
 
 "Then how have you been able to supply it?" 
 Desmond inquired with astonishment. 
 
 ' ' That is where the story grows rather extra- 
 ordinary," Father Martin replied, — "almost 
 too extraordinary for belief, indeed, if we 
 priests were not accustomed to extraordinary 
 things; in other words, to the entrance of a 
 supernatural agency into the affairs of human 
 life. Of course it may have been merely owing 
 to what is called coincidence that there was on 
 
184 FATHER MARTIN TELLS 
 
 the train a person possessing a knowledge of 
 the events of which we have spoken in Tracy's 
 life, although she had never seen the man — " 
 
 "You are talking of Miss Landon, — the nurse 
 who kept him alive until you came 1 ' ' 
 
 Again Father Martin nodded. 
 
 "Just so," he said. "To keep him alive was 
 her part, and God has given her a great reward 
 for her charity.' ' 
 
 "In God's name what has she to do with it?" 
 Desmond asked. 
 
 "It appears that she has very much to do 
 with it," the priest answered; "so much, in 
 fact, that she assured me that she would have 
 given anything short of her immortal soul to 
 secure the confession which in his last hour 
 Tracy made, unsolicited. Being aware that the 
 man who died as a result of the accident had 
 a wrong on his conscience which he desired to 
 confess, she came to me as soon as she learned 
 his name (you've already heard this), and 
 begged me to tell her what he had said. To tell 
 her was, of course, impossible ; but I promised 
 that, if she could convince me that she had a 
 right to know the substance of the confession, 
 I would give it to her. Well, you remember the 
 letter you carried to her. It was soon after 
 that she came to me again and told me she was 
 going to Baltimore to see Tracy's sister. I 
 asked what she expected to gain by this, since 
 it was clear from the woman's letter to me that 
 
MISS LANDON'S STOEY 185 
 
 she had no intention of throwing light on any- 
 discreditable acts in her brother's life. Miss 
 Landon replied that she would make no effort 
 to obtain information of the kind from her. 'It 
 is probable that I know much more than she 
 does about the events we are concerned with in 
 her brother's life, if he was the man I think 
 him to have been,' she said. 'I shall ask Mrs. 
 Barnes only to establish his identity, and shall 
 not ask that directly. I shall explain my visit 
 by telling her that I am the nurse who assisted 
 her brother at the time of his death, and that, 
 on hearing his name, I wondered if he were a 
 Tracy of whom I had known. She will be 
 forced to tell me then exactly who he was, and 
 that is all I want to learn.' — 'Is it all that I 
 shall want to learn!' I asked; and she an- 
 swerod: 'I think it is. I think that when I 
 come back and tell you what I know of the man 
 — granting that he is the man I believe him to 
 be, — you will find that my story fits into his 
 story as a key into the wards of a lock, and you 
 will be readv to tell me all that I need to know 
 of what he said before he died. ' ' ' 
 
 The priest's voice fell, and there was a pause 
 in the quiet study for a minute or two, — a pause 
 that seemed filled with electrical suspense to 
 Desmond, as he found himself somewhat con- 
 fusedly realizing the full meaning of what he 
 had just heard. Father Martin gave him time 
 to do this. He looked down, smoothing with 
 
186 FATHEE MAKTIN TELLS 
 
 his hand his soutane over his knees, and did not 
 glance up until the young man spoke, in an odd, 
 quick voice. 
 
 1 i Father,' ' he said, "do you understand that 
 all this can have but one meaning, — that the 
 person who talks in this way must have been 
 very closely connected with Harry Wargrave 1 ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I understand it," the priest answered. 
 "I have understood it from the time she 
 returned and told me her story, which, as she 
 had promised, fitted into Tracy's confession 'as 
 a key into the wards of a lock.' Hearing it, I 
 could not have any doubt that the missing link 
 of evidence was supplied; that her relation and 
 his relation of certain things was substantially 
 the same ; that the name she furnished was the 
 name he had failed to give, and that I was 
 bound to fulfil his last urgent request and tell 
 the truth to those whom it concerned. ' ' 
 
 "I may suppose, then, that you told it to 
 her?" Desmond hazarded. 
 
 Father Martin opened his hands with an 
 expressive gesture. 
 
 "There was no necessity to tell her any- 
 thing, ' ' he said. ' i She knew more than I did, — 
 details at which Tracy had merely hinted in his 
 hurried declaration. She did not want infor- 
 mation from me, but merely an acknowledg- 
 ment that the man had revealed certain facts, 
 and had requested that reparation for the 
 wrong of which he had been guilty should be 
 
MISS LANDON'S STORY 187 
 
 made by a statement of these facts. What she 
 desired — it seemed to be all she desired — was 
 that this statement should be made as soon as 
 possible: that the father of the man who had 
 been wronged should know before it was too 
 late the truth about his son." 
 
 "And so you wrote the letter which has — " 
 "Nearly killed Judge Wargrave, — yes. I do 
 not wonder that when he learned what long and 
 terrible injustice he has done to his son — he, not 
 another, for we owe faith to those whom we 
 love as well as to God, — the blow was over- 
 whelming. But I regret very much that I did 
 not at least consult you before dealing it. For, 
 as I told Miss Landon, you are clearly one of 
 those who have a right to hear the substance of 
 Tracy's confession." 
 
 "You told her that? And she—?" 
 "Was more surprised than I can readily 
 express to you; for it appears that she had 
 never heard of your relationship to Judge 
 Wagrave. ' ' 
 
 "Of course not," Desmond said. "How 
 would she have heard of it? She knows no one 
 in Kingsford, I fancy; and it's almost unneces- 
 sary to say that I never thought of mentioning 
 it to her on the single occasion when I have seen 
 her since the railway wreck. ' ' 
 
 "The strangeness of your connection with 
 the matter seemed to strike her with great 
 force, ' ' Father Martin went on. ' l She repeated 
 
188 FATHER MARTIN TELLS 
 
 more than once : 'It is almost incredible that he 
 should have been brought into it, — he who is to 
 take the place of the man who was cast ofT ! ' " 
 
 "She knows that, then!" 
 
 "As I have told you, she knows everything. 
 IVe little doubt, though we did not enter into 
 the subject, that she knows as much as you do 
 about the Wargrave trust." 
 
 "But how does she know all this?" the young 
 man demanded vehemently. "In brief, who is 
 she?" 
 
 "It was no part of my duty to ask," the 
 priest replied; "and she volunteered no infor- 
 mation about herself. This struck me very 
 much; for most people are only too ready to 
 offer information about themselves on all 
 occasions. But the manner in which this girl 
 told her story was — well, extraordinary. It 
 was so detached, dispassionate, and devoid of 
 one personal word. When she finished her 
 clear-cut and circumstantial account of the 
 relations and transactions between the two men 
 a quarter of a century ago, she asked me if it 
 agreed with Tracy's story. I told her that it 
 agreed in every particular. ' Then, ' she said, ' if 
 you are convinced that I have supplied the 
 name which was lacking in his confession, I call 
 upon you to fulfil your promise, and make the 
 reparation he desired.' — 'What exactly do you 
 wish me to do?' I asked, in order to see what 
 she would say. — 'I wish you,' she said, 'to let 
 
MISS LANDON'S STOEY 189 
 
 Judge Wargrave know the truth about his son. 
 And I would urge you to do this immediately; 
 for he is an old man, and likely, I have heard, 
 to die at any time. ' I knew that she was right 
 about this — I mean about his age and precari- 
 ous state of health, — so I promised that I would 
 not delay my communication. And that is one 
 reason why I acted with what appears to you 
 unnecessary haste.' ' 
 
 "I am not prepared to say that it was un- 
 necessary," Desmond responded. "And the 
 consequences might have been unavoidable 
 under any circumstances. For I can well 
 imagine that the agony of mind which a man 
 like my uncle would feel in learning that he had 
 been guilty of such injustice toward his son 
 might produce the effect it did, no matter what 
 precautions had been taken in communicating 
 the facts. But the tragic thing is that nothing 
 seems gained: he is unconscious now, and the 
 doctor says may never regain consciousness." 
 
 "Ah, well!" the priest sighed. "We can 
 only do our duty, and leave the rest to God. It 
 will be sad if he is never able to repair any 
 practical injustice which may have been 
 done — " 
 
 He paused, as a sudden exclamation escaped 
 Desmond's lips. The young man was looking 
 at him with a startled gaze. 
 
 ' i I have not thought of that before, ' ' he said. 
 "If there has been practical injustice done to 
 
190 FATHER MARTIN TELLS 
 
 any one, it must be repaired. I know my uncle 
 well enough to be sure that he will do this if he 
 is able. If he is not able, the duty will fall upon 
 the family, and particularly — " 
 
 "Upon you?" Father Martin was regarding 
 him keenly. 
 
 "Yes, upon me," Desmond went on; "for his 
 will, if he dies without changing it, constitutes 
 me the head of the family. ' ' 
 
 "And do you think that, if he lives, he will be 
 likely to change this will 1 ' ' 
 
 "I can think nothing without knowing 
 more, ' ' the young man said. ' * And I can learn 
 more only from the person who seems to hold 
 in her hands the key to much besides Tracy's 
 story. ' ' He rose as he spoke. ' ' I will go to her 
 now," he said. 
 
 "Yes, that will be best," Father Martin 
 agreed. He, too, rose and held out his hand. 
 "I am sorry for you," he observed. "Your 
 inheritance has brought you trouble very 
 early. ' ' 
 
 "It is not my inheritance yet, thank God!" 
 the other returned. "And I can assure you 
 that it never will be my inheritance, if it rests 
 in any degree upon injustice to another. I 
 made up my mind to that from the first. ' ' 
 
 " I do not think, ' ' the priest said reflectively, 
 "that this young woman, whatever her relation 
 to Judge Wargrave's son may have been, is 
 here to make any claim on account of that rela- 
 
MISS LANDON'S STORY 191 
 
 tionship. From first to last, her manner lias 
 impressed me with a sense of singular personal 
 detachment. She wished, as a matter of justice, 
 that the truth should be made known to one 
 whom it deeply concerned, but she has appa- 
 rently no intention of coming forward herself. ' ' 
 
 "Fate has settled the matter, however," Des- 
 mond said a little grimly. "She must come 
 forward, and she must explain who she is. I 
 am going to ask that question now. Thank you, 
 Father, for being so frank with me. And good- 
 bye I" 
 
 "I am ready to be more frank — that is, to 
 go into more detail — whenever you desire," 
 Father Martin detained him to say. "If the 
 improbable, almost the impossible, should hap- 
 pen, and Judge Wargrave ask to see me, I need 
 hardly tell you that I shall be glad to respond 
 to his summons at any time. If you read my 
 letter—" 
 
 ' ' I did not read it, ' ' Desmond told him. 
 
 "No?" Father Martin looked almost as 
 much surprised as Dr. Glynn had looked at the 
 same statement. "I should have expected you 
 to do so, ' ' he said. "Well, in the letter I simply 
 informed him that, through the confession of a 
 dying man, whose name I mentioned, I had 
 come into possession of certain facts which 
 completely exonerated his son from a charge of 
 dishonorable conduct. I put this mildly, out of 
 regard for his feelings; but the charge was 
 
192 MISS LAXDOX'S STORY 
 
 really of forgery and defalcation. And I added 
 that I would take pleasure in giving all neces- 
 sary particulars, whenever he was able to allow 
 me to visit him." 
 
 "I do not see how you could have put the 
 matter more considerately, " Desmond said, 
 with a note of grateful appreciation in his tone. 
 " There would seem to be nothing in such a 
 communication to affect him so terribly, unless 
 one remembers the long mental suffering it 
 recalled, and the flood of regret and remorse 
 which no doubt overpowered him." 
 
 "That was it," the priest said gravely. 
 "Their ideal of personal honor was scarcely 
 less than an idol to the men of Judge War- 
 grave's generation; and it produced a Spartan 
 sternness toward those who violated its re- 
 quirements. This spirit upheld him as long as 
 he believed his son guilty of such violation ; but 
 when the revelation of the truth came, and he 
 recognized that a code less stern would have 
 been more truly just, why, then it is easy to 
 believe that the proud old heart broke, before 
 some obscure bloodvessel was ruptured in the 
 brain." 
 
 Desmond nodded. 
 
 "I think it must have been so," he said. 
 "Pray for him, Father. And again good-bye! 
 I am anxious to see Miss Landon as soon as 
 possible." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 MISS LANDON'S SECEET IS EEVEALED 
 
 Desmond felt himself fortunate in that the 
 parlor of the boarding-house into which he was 
 ushered was empty; for, aware that boarding- 
 house parlors are frequently otherwise than 
 empty, and that there is scant possibility at 
 any time of securing undisturbed privacy in 
 them, he had been revolving in his mind, as he 
 went from the priest's house to Mrs. Gray's, 
 what means he could adopt to secure private 
 speech with Miss Landon, since private speech 
 was, by the needs of the case, imperatively 
 required. He had decided that he would ask 
 her to take a walk with him, in the hope of 
 finding some quiet spot where they might talk. 
 But, being doubtful how she might receive the 
 suggestion, it was with a great sense of relief 
 that he found himself awaiting her in an apart- 
 ment which left much to be desired in the 
 aesthetic regard, but nothing at all in the morn- 
 ing stillness which wrapped it. 
 
 Into that stillness she entered, without, as it 
 were, disturbing it, so soft was her light tread, 
 so quiet her restrained and graceful move- 
 
 193 
 
194 MISS LAND01TS SECRET IS REVEALED 
 
 ments. Except for this bearing, there was no 
 professional sign about her; for the white 
 uniform of the nurse had been laid aside, and 
 in her well-fitting cloth skirt and silken blouse 
 she was again the girl whose air of distinction 
 had attracted his notice in the Pullman before 
 the awful crash came which had thrown them, 
 both literally and figuratively, together. It was 
 this air of distinction which struck him now, as 
 she came into the room, her head lifted high on 
 its slender throat, and her eyes very clear and 
 shining ; while she, on her part, looked with new 
 interest at the tall young man who advanced to 
 meet her, his face vivid with eager pleasure. 
 
 "Providence has brought us together again, 
 you see," were his first words, when he took the 
 hand which she appeared in no haste to offer; 
 "and I understand now why I felt so certain 
 that it could not be otherwise. ' ' 
 
 Her gaze seemed to challenge him as she 
 asked : 
 
 "What do you understand?" 
 
 "That we are connected by more than our 
 chance association," he replied. "I have just 
 left Father Martin ; I have heard his story, and 
 I have come to beg you to be good enough to tell 
 me who you are/' 
 
 She drew her hand from his clasp, and her- 
 self stepped back a little, while he was con- 
 scious of a spiritual as well as bodily recoil. 
 
 "It does not appear to me," she answered — 
 
MISS LAKDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 195 
 
 and all its quality of crystalline coolness was in 
 her voice, — ' ' that it concerns you to know who 
 I am." 
 
 "That is inaccurate as well as unkind/' he 
 returned; "for you must be aware that it con- 
 cerns me very much. You have heard who I 
 am." 
 
 "Yes" (the voice was still more cool and 
 clear now) : "you are Judge Wargrave's 
 nephew and heir." 
 
 "We will, if you please, leave the question 
 of heirship aside," he said. "It is because I 
 am Judge Wargrave's nephew, and therefore 
 a member of his family, that I am deeply inter- 
 ested in what I have learned of Tracy's con- 
 fession and the matter with which it deals. 
 You have furnished the key to that confession, 
 have made its revelation possible, and thereby 
 cleared my cousin's name from a charge of the 
 most serious dishonor. Would it not, then, be 
 very strange if I did not desire to know how 
 you were able to do this, — or, as I put it bluntly 
 at first, who vou are ? ' ' 
 
 She did not answer immediately; and so 
 strong was the impression of resistance which 
 her attitude, her firmly-set lips and shining 
 eves conveyed, that he would not have been 
 surprised if she had not answered at all. But 
 presently she said, in the tone of one who makes 
 a reluctant concession : 
 
 "Perhaps it does concern you to know by 
 
196 MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 
 
 what right I have interfered in this matter. 
 And you must not suppose that there is any 
 reason why I should not tell you, except — " 
 
 "Except that you think I am presumptuous 
 in inquiring?" 
 
 "No. I have admitted that I recognize your 
 right to inquire. You are, as you have just 
 stated, a member of the family, and no doubt it 
 seems to you that I — " 
 
 With one of the impulses which sometimes 
 overtook him, and were due, perhaps to his 
 Celtic blood, Desmond suddenly extended his 
 hand and caught hers again in a firm grasp. 
 
 "You are a member of the family also!" he 
 asserted. "I am sure of it. And it is plain 
 that you are closely related to Harry War- 
 grave. Won 't you tell me how ? ' ' 
 
 The impetuous demand seemed to break 
 down the barriers of her resistance. With a 
 catch in her voice, like a sob repressed, she 
 said: 
 
 ' ' I am his daughter. ' ' 
 
 "I knew it!" he exclaimed almost exultantly. 
 "I felt convinced of it as soon as I heard 
 Father Martin's story. And why should you 
 have hesitated to acknowledge it, — why?" 
 
 "Oh!" (she wrenched her hand from the 
 clasp which this time did not surrender it 
 willingly, and sank into a chair), "because I 
 would sooner die than identify myself with a 
 
MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 197 
 
 family which disowned himV she cried pas- 
 sionately. 
 
 ' ' But I had no part in disowning him, ' ' Des- 
 mond reminded her. He drew up another chair 
 and sat down before her. "I had never even 
 heard his story until after I came — until after 
 we came to Kingsf ord, a few weeks ago. Then 
 I was filled with the keenest sympathy for him. 
 I felt instinctively that there must have been a 
 mistake, and that possibly a great wrong was 
 done." 
 
 "You seem to feel a great many things 
 instinctively, ' ' she said. "But those who 
 should have felt that — his own father first of 
 all — did not feel it; and so he was cast out as 
 unworthy to belong to them, — he, the very soul 
 of honor, the finest, highest — " 
 
 Her voice broke, but she bit her lip fiercely, 
 and Desmond saw that she was struggling hard 
 to retain self-control. After an instant she 
 regained it sufficiently to go on quietly, almost 
 coldly : 
 
 "I can not allow myself to speak of these 
 things. I have determined that I will not do 
 so. It is unnerving and — and it serves no pur- 
 pose. I came here to make an effort to find a 
 necessary clue to those happenings which 
 wrecked my father's life in its beginning. I 
 had little or no hope of success ; but I promised 
 myself, when I first heard his story, that I 
 
198 MISS LAXDOX'S SECRET IS EEVEALED 
 
 would make this effort, and I knew that I could 
 never be satisfied until I had made it — " 
 
 "But why," Desmond interposed, "did you 
 come to Kingsford, since the events of which 
 you speak happened elsewhere 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' Because this was his home, ' ' she answered ; 
 ' * and I thought that here would probably be my 
 best chance to obtain some knowledge and trace 
 of the man who had ruined him by casting the 
 weight of his own misdeeds upon his life; 
 reckoning, with good reason, that in the case of 
 Harry Wargrave money would be repaid, 
 prosecution waived, and the whole affair 
 hushed up. So I came, in fulfilment of a sacred 
 duty to the dead, but with a hopelessness like 
 despair in my heart ; and then — then the man I 
 wanted, and knew not where to find, was flung 
 across my path, broken, dying — " She paused 
 and looked at Desmond, with her wide, sad gaze 
 full of wonder. "It was strange," she said in 
 an awed tone, — "so strange that one is con- 
 strained to think — " 
 
 "That it was due to something more than 
 accident," he finished. "I don't know whether 
 or not you heard Tracy tell me that, only a few 
 minutes before the accident occurred, he had 
 left the Pullman, in which he was traveling, to 
 see and talk with a man in one of the ordinary 
 cars." 
 
 "I did not hear him say so, but that also was 
 strange. And you think — " 
 
MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 199 
 
 "I don't venture to think anything except 
 that life and death are in God's hand, and that 
 even our limited vision can perceive that a 
 great deal was gained by this man's death. Of 
 course I don't mean only from our point of 
 view," he added hastily. "We must suppose 
 that his soul would be the first consideration 
 with the higher powers, and the chance was 
 given him to save it — to make the restitution 
 which was more essential for him than for us, — 
 at the same time that much was given to you 
 which you could never have gained for your- 
 self." 
 
 "Very much," she assented, — "all that I 
 ever hoped for, in fact — the wiping away of 
 dishonor from my father's name, and the power 
 to prove to the stern judge who sentenced him 
 to banishment and lifelong pain that he had 
 condemned an innocent man, and lost a son who 
 would have been the crown and honor of his 
 life." 
 
 She restrained herself admirably, but the 
 deepening tones of her voice as she uttered the 
 last words conveyed to Desmond's ear all the 
 strong emotion of her soul. He leaned toward 
 her. 
 
 "Have you heard the effect of that knowl- 
 edge V ' he asked. ' * Have you been told what it 
 has done to Judge Wargrave?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "I have been told. It 
 is a just retribution. But I am sorry — " 
 
200 MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 
 
 "For him?" Desmond queried a little 
 eagerly, as she broke off. 
 
 She shook her head. "No," she answered. 
 * ' I could not be sorry for him, whatever he suf- 
 fered. I was about to say that I am sorry to 
 hear that his physical condition makes it impos- 
 sible for him to realize the full meaning of what 
 he has learned." 
 
 There was a short silence. Still leaning 
 forward, Desmond turned his gaze downward, 
 and considered this utterance, while he 
 appeared to study the pattern of the carpet 
 under his feet. When he looked up presently 
 his face was set in grave lines. 
 
 "It is very natural that you should feel in 
 this way, ' ? he said. ' ' But while you have seen 
 the suffering on one side, have you never 
 thought of the suffering on the other? You 
 have let your mind dwell on the stern judge; 
 but have you never thought of the father 
 deprived of his only son, with his pride in him 
 turned to bitterness, and his affection denied 
 expression? And has it never occurred to you 
 that it was, perhaps, harder for the father to 
 be forced to act as a judge than even for the 
 son to be condemned unjustly?" He paused; 
 but as she did not speak — only sat back in her 
 chair, grasping its arms, while she regarded 
 him steadily — after a moment he went on. "I 
 think, ' ' he said, ' ' that if you saw him now, you 
 would be quite sure how much he has suffered. 
 
MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS HEVEALED 201 
 
 And as for the brevity of the last stroke — the 
 brevity you regret, — why, you know we are told 
 that sometimes the mind is able to review the 
 events of a whole lifetime in an instant ; and so 
 I think that all the suffering of all these long 
 years may have been present to him, and given 
 added force to the last sharp blow which — 
 killed. ' ' 
 
 "He is not dead?" she questioned sharply. 
 
 "It amounts to death, does it not, when the 
 light of the mind goes out?" he questioned in 
 turn. "It has gone out in this case so com- 
 pletely that the doctor who has seen him gives 
 little hope that it will ever revive in any degree 
 again." 
 
 "Perhaps you are aware," she said after an 
 instant, "that Dr. Glvnn has been here to ask 
 me to take charge of the case as a nurse.' 
 
 "Yes," Desmond replied. "I knew that he 
 meant to come. What answer did you give?" 
 
 "Is it necessary to inquire? You must know 
 that there was only one answer possible from 
 me." 
 
 "You mean that you refused to go?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly I refused to go." 
 
 "Ah!" Desmond resumed his study of the 
 carpet for a minute. Then, lifting his glance to 
 her again, "Although you have been good 
 enough to refrain from saying so, I am sure 
 that you have considered me very presumptu- 
 ous several times already," he said. "Well, I 
 
202 MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 
 
 am going to be still more presumptuous now. 
 I am going to beg you to reconsider that refusal 
 and go to Hillcrest. ' ' 
 
 She stared at him ; the dark brows knitted in 
 a frown over her dilated eyes. 
 
 i i Are you mad 1 ' ' she demanded in a low tone. 
 
 "Not in the least," he assured her. "I was 
 never more sane. For don't you see what a 
 wonderful opportunity this is for you to do 
 something so fine that I believe the whole extra- 
 ordinary occurrence has been to make it pos- 
 sible ! It is an opportunity such as could come 
 only once in a life ; and if you lose it — but you 
 won't, you can't lose it! — you will never cease 
 in time, or perhaps in eternity, to regret it." 
 
 "I think you must be mad!" she said, still 
 staring at him. "You certainly regard things 
 in the most amazing way. Now, what do you 
 mean by saying that this is an opportunity for 
 me to do something so fine that I shall never 
 cease to regret losing it?" 
 
 "Don't tell me that you do not understand 
 exactly what I mean," he replied. "It is not 
 possible that nature made you in the mould it 
 has without giving you the power to appreciate 
 the highest possibilities in human conduct. 
 And here is a possibility so high that it fairly 
 dazzles one. It means that, representing the 
 man who was unjustly banished from his 
 father's house, you can go back to that house, 
 to return benefit for injury; to give service to 
 
MISS LANDOX'S SECRET IS REVEALED 203 
 
 one stricken down by the knowledge of his own 
 terrible mistake; to offer — if you are great 
 enough for that, and I believe you are — the for- 
 giveness which Harry Wargrave might have 
 wished to offer the father who indeed judged 
 him wrongly, but to whose teaching and 
 example he owed the qualities for which you 
 admired and loved him. Isn't this worth 
 doing, and aren 't you strong enough to do it ! ' ' 
 
 She gasped under the appeal of his energy, 
 the flashing eagerness of his eyes. 
 
 "I don't know," she faltered. "I have not 
 thought of it like that." 
 
 "Then think of it now," he urged. "It is, I 
 repeat, the opportunity of your life, — the great 
 opportunity to do the heroic thing, which most 
 of us spend our lives without ever finding, or 
 without its finding us. And it is woe to us, 
 isn't it, if when such an opportunity comes, we 
 can not rise to it? But you can — you will, — I'm 
 certain of that. For what else, indeed, have 
 you been brought here? To hear of Tracy's 
 confession, — to clear your father's name? 
 Even those things are, I believe, of secondary 
 importance to the great work of charity which 
 calls you now. So come to Hillcrest, — come!" 
 
 But she shrank back as if frightened. 
 
 "It is impossible!" she declared. "I can 
 not. ' ' 
 
 "You can and you must!" he returned 
 imperatively. "You dare not refuse the 
 
204 MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS EEVEALED 
 
 demand which is made upon yon. For you 
 can't tell what is meant by it. It isn't as if you 
 had made, or even sought, the opportunity to 
 do this: to enter your father's home, to take 
 what is your rightful place — " 
 
 "No, no!" The denial was vehement now. 
 "It is a place I would not take if it were offered 
 me, — I mean if I were asked to go in my true 
 character; but to go in a false character — " 
 
 "There is nothing false about it," he inter- 
 rupted. "You are a nurse, and the doctor 
 himself selected you and offered you the case. 
 Nothing is asked of you except to go just as 
 you would go to any other patient. No one will 
 know who you are unless you choose to tell — " 
 
 "I shall never choose to tell," she said 
 proudly. 
 
 "However that may be," he continued, "the 
 point is, that, absolutely without your seeking, 
 the opportunity of which I have spoken is pre- 
 sented to you. And, besides its greatest pos- 
 sibilities, it offers many things which I should 
 think would appeal to you very strongly. Here 
 is this old man whose days are so nearly num- 
 bered, your father's father, your own nearest 
 relative, whom I take for granted you have 
 
 never seen — " 
 
 ' l Of course I have never seen him. ' ' 
 "And would you not like to see him? No?" 
 as she shook her head. "But he is worth seeing, 
 I assure you; and if you saw him you would 
 
MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 205 
 
 understand much that is now dark to yon with 
 regard to the mysterious forces of character. 
 "Well, you must want to see the house in which 
 your father was born, where he grew to man- 
 hood, where he is loved and remembered still. 
 And you can do all this in the most easy and 
 natural manner. Oh," the speaker broke off 
 impatiently, "why are we wasting time in talk- 
 ing, when it is obvious that the thing is 
 ordained, that you have no choice — that you 
 must go ! ' ' 
 
 She caught her breath sharply. 
 
 "You put things in a way which seems to 
 make them irresistible,' ' she said. "And you 
 know how to appeal to what tempts me 
 strongly. For I confess that I have longed to 
 enter my father's old home, to see the rooms in 
 which he lived, the scenes he has described. But 
 there appeared to be no way of doing this con- 
 sistently with my own self-respect. But now 
 you show the way, and I — I — " 
 
 "Will take it?" 
 
 "How can I say? The higher demands you 
 have made — the higher way to which you have 
 pointed — I can not meet them, or take that." 
 
 "Then let us put those demands — which, by 
 the way, were not demands, but only counsels 
 of perfection — aside," he told her. "I haven't 
 a doubt that you will meet them ; but we '11 leave 
 them for the present—" 
 
 "To Providence?" 
 
206 MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 
 
 "Yes, to Providence. One is quite safe in 
 leaving them there. And you'll come!" 
 
 His tone was eagerly insistent, but she hesi- 
 tated still. At length she said slowly : 
 
 "If — if I think of it, will you promise 
 solemnly to tell no one who I am f It is only on 
 that condition I would take the matter into 
 consideration." 
 
 "Don't take it into consideration ! ' ' he urged. 
 "Decide at once." He rose to his feet, and 
 involuntarily she rose also. ' i Go and telephone 
 Dr. Glynn immediately. Tell him that you have 
 reconsidered your decision, and that you will 
 go to Hillcrest as a nurse." 
 
 "And if I do, will you promise to keep the 
 secret of my identity?" she repeated. 
 
 As they stood face to face, glance meeting 
 glance, he understood clearly that, unless he 
 gave the pledge required of him, she would not 
 go; and all his ardent soul was set upon her 
 going. 
 
 "Yes, I promise on my honor to hold the 
 secret as long as you desire me to do so," he 
 answered. "But I hope — " 
 
 She cut short his words. 
 
 "Hope only that neither of us may regret 
 this," she said. "You have overborne my 
 decision, and by your appeals induced me to 
 consent to something which it is quite possible 
 I shall regret. But the die is cast. I will go. ' ' 
 
MISS LANDON'S SECRET IS REVEALED 207 
 
 "I do not believe that you will ever regret 
 it," lie assured her earnestly. "I believe that 
 you will one day thank me for forcing your 
 decision, as I now thank you for listening to and 
 heeding my appeals." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MISS LANDON ACTS AS JUDGE WAEGEAVE 'S NUESE 
 
 "The nurse has arrived,' ' Mrs. Creighton 
 announced at lunch a few hours later; "and I 
 am very much pleased with her appearance. ' ' 
 
 Edith looked up with an air of surprise. 
 
 "How does her appearance possibly mat- 
 ter f ' ' she asked. ' ' They strike me as machines, 
 these trained nurses, who all do exactly the 
 same things in exactly the same way, and who 
 look so much alike that it is difficult to differ- 
 entiate them. ,, 
 
 ' ' Oh, my dear, you are mistaken about that ! ' ' 
 observed Mrs. Selwyn, who had made her 
 appearance at Hillcrest as soon as the news of 
 Judge Wargrave's stroke reached Kingsford; 
 and who, in fulfilment of the duty of a near 
 relative, was spending the day, and incidentally 
 worrying Mrs. Creighton with many sugges- 
 tions drawn from a long semi-invalid experi- 
 ence. There were people ill-natured enough to 
 say that it was because Mrs. Selwyn had 
 absolutely nothing to do, plenty of money, and 
 a rather empty mind, that she devoted so much 
 time and attention to her various bodily ail- 
 
 208 
 
MISS LANDON ACTS AS NURSE 209 
 
 ments, and was understood to have spent a 
 small fortune on their treatment. But, however 
 this might be, there was no doubt of the exten- 
 sive nature of the experience, from the vantage 
 ground of which she now went on : ' ' I have had 
 so many nurses in attendance on me, you know ; 
 and I can assure you that there's the greatest 
 possible difference in them." 
 
 "I should rather think so," her son, who was 
 also present, chimed in emphatically. ' * There 's 
 all the difference in the world. Some are young 
 and pretty, and not at all averse to a little flirta- 
 tion ; while others are as prim as you please, or 
 as grim as dragons. The mater has had an 
 interesting assortment of them about her, as 
 she says; and I know almost as much about 
 them as if I had been trained in a hospital 
 myself. There was that pretty little Miss 
 Archer, mother, you know — " 
 
 "I know that you distracted her attention 
 and turned her head to such a degree that I had 
 to get rid of her," Mrs. Selwyn cut him short 
 very dryly. "But I have had some admirable 
 nurses, and I hope that one of that kind has 
 been secured for dear Cousin George." 
 
 "Laurence can tell you; he knows her," the 
 irrepressible Bobby observed, with a nod 
 toward his cousin. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn glanced at the latter a little 
 curiously, and asked, 
 
 "How does that come about?" 
 
210 MISS LANDON ACTS 
 
 Desmond, conscious of a sense of restraint 
 which he hoped did not appear in his manner, 
 explained how he had been thrown with the 
 nnrse in question at the time of the railway 
 wreck, in which she had done such good service. 
 
 "So that's who she is — the heroine of the 
 wreck, as the newspapers called her !" Mrs. Sel- 
 wyn said, with much interest. "Why, Rachel, 
 I congratulate you on getting her." 
 
 "It was Dr. Glynn who got her," Mrs. 
 Creighton replied. "When he proposed a 
 nurse — you know how doctors are these days : 
 they always want a trained nurse, even when 
 there isn't the least need for anything of the 
 kind— " 
 
 "But there's always need," Mrs. Selwyn 
 interrupted in the tone of one who knows. "No 
 uninstructed person can possibly take care of a 
 case as a trained nurse can. ' ' 
 
 "I'm old-fashioned, I suppose," Mrs. 
 Creighton acknowledged; "but I think that 
 those who are nearest the patient can often take 
 better care, even if it isn't quite so scientific. 
 But what I was going to say is, that of course 
 when Dr. Glynn proposed a nurse, I told him to 
 send whom he pleased, and he has sent Miss — 
 
 er— " 
 
 "Landon," said Desmond, at whom she 
 looked interrogatively. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Landon. I confess I dreaded her 
 coming. We have never had a nurse in the 
 
AS JUDGE WARGRAVE'S NURSE 211 
 
 house, and IVe seen how dictatorial they can 
 sometimes be. Why, in the case of Mrs. Somer- 
 ville, the nurse positively would not allow the 
 members of the family to enter her room, 
 except occasionally, one at a time, and then only 
 for a minute or two — " 
 
 "But that was a desperate case of typhoid, 
 my dear," Mrs. Selwyn broke in again; "and 
 the nurse acted by the doctor's orders." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Creighton, with rising 
 color, "I don't want any nurse, or doctor either, 
 ordering me out of a sick room where I have a 
 right to be. And I can tell you," she added 
 with a smile, "who feels just as I do about the 
 matter, and that is Virgil." 
 
 "Virgil! Oh, of course!" Bobby laughed. 
 "He's been the Judge's body-servant so long 
 that he'll naturally resent any trained nurse 
 coming to instruct him what to do. ' ' 
 
 "I had to be very diplomatic in telling him 
 that she was coming, ' ' Mrs. Creighton went on ; 
 ' ' and I saw that the idea of being superseded in 
 any way hurt him so much that I said a word 
 or two to the nurse before she went in to the 
 room. 'He's an old and faithful servant,' I 
 told her ; ' and if you can spare his feelings, and 
 let him still do as much as possible for his 
 master, I shall be glad. ' ' ' 
 
 "And she took it well?" Bobby queried. 
 "Many nurses wouldn't. I've had them look 
 at me in the most superior manner when I 
 
212 MISS LANDON ACTS 
 
 ventured to make any suggestion, and intimate 
 loftily that they knew their own business.' ' 
 
 "She took it very nicely indeed,' ' Mrs. 
 Creighton replied. "In fact, she seemed sym- 
 pathetic. ' Faithful service is too rare a thing 
 to slight,' she said. 'I promise you that I will 
 spare his feelings in every possible way.' And 
 when I took her into my brother's room, she 
 spoke to Virgil in — well, really in a charming 
 manner. 'I have come to help you take care of 
 your master,' she told him; and it wasn't the 
 words so much as the tone that seemed to set 
 all fear of friction at rest. ' ' 
 
 "Where have you put her?" Edith inquired 
 a little abruptly. 
 
 Mrs. Creighton appeared to hesitate for an 
 instant, and then she said : 
 
 "Lhave put her in the unoccupied chamber 
 of the wing. It seemed the best place. ' ' 
 
 Desmond was conscious of a thrill of sur- 
 prise, which ran around the table. 
 
 "In Cousin Maria's room?" Mrs. Selwyn 
 gasped slightly. "But I thought that nobody 
 has ever — " 
 
 "Occupied it since she died?" Mrs. Creigh- 
 ton finished the arrested sentence. "That is 
 quite true. There has never been a reason why 
 any one should. We have chambers enough for 
 ordinary use, and my brother would not have 
 allowed any one to be put so close to him as 
 long as he was in his usual health. But now 
 
AS JUDGE WARGRAVE'S XURSE 213 
 
 yon can see that the closeness to his chamber, 
 and the isolation of the suite from the rest of 
 the house, make it the best place for the nurse 
 to be." 
 
 "Yes, it's clearly the best place," Mrs. Sel- 
 wyn agreed. "But will Cousin George like it, 
 if he recovers enough to — er — know any- 
 thing?" 
 
 Mrs. Creighton shook her head, while her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "I fear we need scarcely take that into con- 
 sideration," she said. "But if he should 
 recover enough to know, I am sure he would 
 understand why I made the arrangement. One 
 could always rely on his reasonableness." 
 Then she glanced around the table and gave the 
 movement to rise. 
 
 A few minutes later, Desmond waylaid her 
 in the hall, and, with some hesitation, inquired 
 what arrangements had been made about Miss 
 Landon's lunch. 
 
 "I asked her to join us," Mrs. Creighton told 
 him; "but she declined. She had lunched in 
 Kingsford, she said; and then she inquired if 
 her meals could not be served in the sitting- 
 room of the suite where she is. 'I should much 
 prefer this, if it does not give too much trouble, ' 
 she added. Of course I assured her that it 
 would give no trouble at all. And I was very 
 glad that she suggested it herself; for I hesi- 
 
214 MISS LANDON ACTS 
 
 tated to make the suggestion, and yet it is much 
 the best — indeed, the proper thing.' ' 
 
 "Why should it be the proper thing !" Des- 
 mond asked a little sharply. He had a sense of 
 growing hot, and involuntarily he lifted his 
 eyes to the Wargrave portraits hanging on the 
 walls. It occurred to him to wonder what those 
 whom they represented would think of their 
 direct descendant, the daughter of the rightful 
 heir of the old house, being served with her 
 food apart, like an inferior. 
 
 Meanwhile his aunt glanced at him with 
 surprise. 
 
 "Surely that is obvious/' she replied. "It 
 is always more or less disagreeable to have at 
 one's table a person who is neither a member of 
 the household nor an invited guest; and, 
 although many nurses are ladies in birth and 
 breeding — " 
 
 "Miss Landon is a lady, I assure you," Des- 
 mond could not refrain from interposing. 
 
 "It is easy to believe that," Mrs. Creighton 
 assented, though the surprise of her tone 
 became slightly accentuated. "I was very 
 much struck with her appearance. There's an 
 unusual air of refinement — one might almost 
 say distinction — about her; but, nevertheless, 
 she is a stranger, who comes to the house 
 merely in a professional capacity. And if she 
 prefers to keep strictly within her place and 
 
AS JUDGE WAEGRAVFS NURSE 215 
 
 duties, I consider it a proof of good sense on 
 her part." 
 
 Unable to contradict this, which seemed also 
 obvious, Desmond said nothing. But he still 
 gazed at the portraits on the wall; and the 
 thought still in his mind was, what would they 
 say if they knew? Then he started, for his aunt 
 was speaking again : 
 
 "There's a look about the girl which strongly 
 recalls some one whom I have known," she was 
 saying reflectively. "I can't think who it is she 
 resembles so much, unless — Oh!" She broke 
 off abruptly, and stood silent for a minute, 
 staring at Desmond, who quickly lowered his 
 gaze from the portraits and stared, a trifle 
 apprehensively, at her. "How very strange!" 
 she murmured presently, as if to herself. 
 
 "What is strange?" he inquired; and, from 
 hot, he now found himself turning cold. He 
 was afraid of what might come next, — what 
 question might be asked him. 
 
 But Mrs. Creighton seemed absorbed in the 
 consideration of her discovery. 
 
 "I have suddenly thought who it is she 
 resembles so strikingly," she said. "It is my 
 sister-in-law, my brother's wife; and it's surely 
 an odd coincidence that she should come here to 
 nurse him, and be the first person to occupy her 
 room since she died. ' ' 
 
 "It is odd," Desmond agreed, while wonder- 
 ing what she would say if she knew exactly how 
 
216 MISS LANDOX ACTS 
 
 odd it was. "But are you quite sure — about 
 the likeness V 9 he added. 
 
 "I'm perfectly sure," Mrs. Creighton re- 
 plied. "As soon as I saw her I knew that she 
 reminded me of some one I had seen before; 
 but I couldn't place the resemblance — you know 
 how elusive those things are, — but now I see it 
 clearly. She has Maria's features, and the 
 eyes — well, the eyes are simply marvellously 
 like hers. I — I feel as if it were almost un- 
 canny, as the Scotch say. It's as if Maria 
 herself had come back to nurse your uncle. ' ' 
 
 A sudden thought struck Desmond. 
 
 "Do you think he will see the likeness, if he 
 ever regains consciousness?" 
 
 "I don't believe he could help seeing it," 
 Mrs. Creighton answered. "I am quite sure 
 that Virgil saw it, he stared at her so 
 curiously. ' ' 
 
 "And what effect do you think it would have 
 on my uncle I ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I can't tell!" She looked at him help- 
 lessly. i ' But you know the doctor doesn 't think 
 he will ever regain consciousness ; or, if he does, 
 that he will ever really be himself again. ' ' 
 
 "Doctors don't know everything," Desmond 
 stated incontrovertibly. "My own opinion is 
 that as he rallied before in the most surprising 
 manner, so he will rally again, though perhaps 
 in less degree. But you had better ask Dr. 
 
AS JUDGE WAEGBAVE'S NURSE 217 
 
 Grlynn what effect the perception of such a like- 
 ness would probably have on him." 
 
 "I will. I'll ask him as soon as he comes. 
 But I shall not speak of it to any one else. I'm 
 a little curious to find if Elizabeth Selwyn will 
 notice it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Has she seen my uncle since she came ? ' ' 
 
 "Not yet. But she will expect to see him 
 before she goes ; and she is such a near relative 
 that I can't refuse to take her to his room for a 
 few minutes. Then she will see the nurse also." 
 
 "And she will be certain to notice her criti- 
 cally, for she seems to take a fascinated interest 
 in everything that relates to sickness — " 
 
 "She is a perfect hypochondriac," Mrs. 
 Creighton observed, in the unfeeling fashion of 
 many relatives of these habitual invalids whose 
 ailments are somewhat invisible to the ordinarv 
 eye. "Yes, she will certainly notice her; and if 
 she sees the resemblance — " 
 
 "Why, then we'll conclude that it must be 
 very striking," Desmond said. "You won't 
 bring her up immediately, I imagine 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, no, not until she is ready to go ! And 
 Heaven only knows" (with a w T eary sigh) 
 ' ' when that will be ! " 
 
 "If it rests with Bobby, it will be soon, I 
 think. I heard him ask her if she was going 
 into Kingsford with him, and she said 'Yes.' " 
 
 "Bobby!" Mrs. Creighton glanced with a 
 rather vexed air through the open hall door. 
 
218 MISS LANDOX ACTS 
 
 " Don't you see him out yonder on the terrace 
 with Edith? When he is with her he knows 
 nothing of the lapse of time. ' ' 
 
 "Edith knows, however," Desmond laughed; 
 "and you may trust her to bring him in soon. 
 Now, if you've no objection, I will go up and 
 see how my uncle is." 
 
 His aunt made no objection, but she looked 
 intently after the agile figure as it mounted the 
 staircase. The thought came to her that very 
 soon — no one could tell how soon — this young 
 man would be the master and owner of the old 
 house of her fathers ; and, conscious as she was 
 of his pleasant qualities, she was just now still 
 more conscious that he was essentially a 
 stranger. "What do we really know of him!" 
 she said to herself ; and then, with another sigh, 
 she went to rejoin her waiting guest. 
 
 Desmond meanwhile took his way upward, 
 around the gallery, and into the corridor of the 
 wing containing his uncle's apartments. As he 
 entered the last, his pace involuntarily slack- 
 ened, until he found himself standing still 
 before a door he had never entered, — the door 
 of a chamber which had never been occupied 
 since Judge Wargrave's wife, Harry War- 
 grave's mother, was borne out of it dead. The 
 overwhelming strangeness of the events which 
 had brought the daughter of the banished son 
 back to occupy that room, seemed to clutch him 
 like a hand out of the unseen world. He won- 
 
AS JUDGE WAEGRAVE'S XURSE 219 
 
 dered how much the dead mother and son knew 
 of what was going on in this their earthly 
 home; and when the door at which he was 
 gazing suddenly and softly swung open, he 
 would not have been surprised if their figures 
 had appeared. 
 
 But, instead, it was a figure with which he 
 felt himself already familiar — Hester Landon 
 in her nurse's dress. She paused abruptly at 
 sight of the young man standing so motionless 
 before the door ; and, as their glances met, each 
 was conscious that words were altogether in- 
 adequate to express their poignant sense of the 
 situation. It was Hester who presently spoke. 
 
 "Well, here I am, you see," she said. 
 
 "Yes, I see," he answered — and could say no 
 more. What more, indeed, was there to say? 
 For at this instant he felt that to see was 
 enough, — to take in through the eyes all the 
 charm of the cool, gracious, healing presence. 
 The pause lasted for a moment, and then she 
 made a gesture of her hand toward the room 
 she had left. 
 
 "Do you know where I am lodged?" she 
 asked. 
 
 i ' Yes, ' ' he answered again. * ' I have heard. ' ' 
 
 "Had you anything to do with ordering or 
 suggesting it f ' ' 
 
 "Nothing, — absolutely nothing," said Des- 
 mond. "It is part of the mysterious strange- 
 ness of the whole thing. ' ' 
 
220 MISS LAXDON ACTS 
 
 "I don't think you can imagine how 
 mysteriously strange it seemed to me when I 
 was led, without knowing anything about where 
 I was going, into a room where my father's 
 picture was the first object on which my eyes 
 fell — as if he were welcoming me ! — and where 
 everything else seemed as familiar as if I had 
 known it in another existence. For I had heard 
 him describe it so often — his mother's 
 chamber. ' ' 
 
 ' 'You could have knocked me down with a 
 feather when I heard my aunt announce that 
 she had put you there," Desmond said. "And 
 yet one sees how naturally it came about. It is 
 the convenient, one might say the inevitable, 
 place for you to be. But that doesn't make it 
 less strange that you are the first person to 
 occupy the room since she — your grandmother 
 — went out of it." He looked at her with a 
 sudden gleam in his eyes. "It's as if, despite 
 yourself, you had come home and taken your 
 rightful place," he said. 
 
 "Don't talk in that way," she answered a 
 little coldly, "or you will make me regret that 
 I have come. And — and, as it is, I am glad to 
 be here ! ' ' 
 
 "I knew you would be glad," he said. "But 
 I must tell you that my aunt is very much 
 struck by your resemblance to your grand- 
 mother. ' ' 
 
AS JUDGE WARGRAVE'S NURSE 221 
 
 She fell back against the doorway by which 
 she stood. 
 
 "No?" she gasped, extremely startled. 
 
 He nodded emphatically. 
 
 "Yes. She says it almost seems as if his wife 
 had come back to nurse my uncle. ' ' 
 
 The startled expression deepened on Hester 
 Landon's face, as she still leaned back, looking 
 at him with wide eyes. 
 
 ' ' I never thought of that, ' ' she said in a low 
 voice ; ' ' and yet I should have done so, for my 
 father often told me how much I looked like his 
 mother. It was a great pleasure to him. But 
 now — do you think she suspects who I am?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I'm sure she doesn't. The idea 
 hasn't even remotely occurred to her. But she 
 is a little doubtful how the resemblance will 
 affect mv uncle." 
 
 "Yes." It was the nurse now, who spoke 
 quickly. "Of course that must be considered. 
 Will she consult the doctor about it ? " 
 
 "She has promised to do so as soon as he 
 comes. But I fancy the doctor will say that 
 there's little hope of his ever again being in a 
 condition to recognize a likeness." 
 
 "Nevertheless, any possible danger should be 
 guarded against," she said firmly. "I will 
 speak to Dr. Glynn myself, and if he thinks 
 best, will get him to send another nurse to take 
 my place." 
 
 Desmond was now startled. 
 
222 MISS LANDON ACTS 
 
 "Ok, don't do that!" lie exclaimed. "I'm 
 sure the matter is not so serious. At all events, 
 let the doctor decide. ' ' 
 
 "The doctor does not know all the circum- 
 stances," she reminded him. "It's not as if it 
 were merely a chance resemblance. We know 
 that it is more ; and he, if he ever regains con- 
 sciousness, may feel it." 
 
 "Let us at least wait until there is danger — 
 I should say hope — of his regaining conscious- 
 ness," Desmond urged. "It would be intol- 
 erable if you had been brought here in this 
 extraordinary manner only to turn around and 
 go away at once. ' ' 
 
 i i I had better go away than to be a source of 
 danger, had I not?" 
 
 " It is absolutely impossible that you could be 
 a source of danger," he declared. "I'm as 
 certain as — as that I exist that you have been 
 brought here for a purpose which is not yet 
 accomplished. ' ' 
 
 "And what do you take that purpose to be?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I can't tell," he replied. "I don't mean 
 any irreverence when I say that I am not in the 
 confidence of Providence. But I'm quite sure 
 that it is Providence which has brought you 
 here, and which has something for you to do 
 that neither you nor I can yet clearly perceive. ' ' 
 
 She regarded him suspiciously. 
 
 "I only hope," she said, "that you will not 
 
AS JUDGE WARGRAVE'S NURSE 223 
 
 attempt to interpret or assist the designs of 
 Proividence in any way. ' ' 
 
 "You need have no fear of that," he told her. 
 ' ' My promise binds me to inaction. Yet I may 
 be permitted to feel satisfaction in your pres- 
 ence, and interest, deep interest, in what may 
 result — " 
 
 "Nothing will result," she interrupted, 
 "beyond what you see: a nurse fulfilling ordi- 
 nary duties. Which reminds me that I am not 
 fulfilling them at present. I was on my way to 
 my — patient when I ran upon you, standing and 
 staring like a statue at my door." 
 
 "I was thinking," he explained, "how 
 strange it was that it should be your door. But 
 if you are going to your patient, may I go with 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she answered. "No one can 
 disturb him, you know. " She moved across the 
 corridor; and as she laid her hand on the 
 opposite door, she turned and looked again at 
 Desmond. "This, too, is strange," she said, — 
 ' * that I should have the right to enter here. ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE JUDGE EECOGNIZES THE LIKENESS 
 
 It would have been difficult for Desmond to 
 give, even to himself, a coherent account of the 
 feelings with which he followed the girl whom 
 he knew as Hester Landon into his uncle's 
 chamber. He would probably have described 
 his condition as one of mental chaos, so fast did 
 one thought follow and displace another, so 
 incapable did he find himself of realizing the 
 situation he had helped to bring about. It was 
 with a sense of almost incredulous amazement 
 that he regarded the figure which preceded him 
 into the room. Harry Wargrave's daughter! 
 Was he dreaming? It seemed that he must be. 
 
 But when, having crossed the floor, he paused 
 by the great, carved mahogany bed, and looked 
 down at the motionless form extended upon it, 
 he was conscious of one controlling thought 
 which brought all other thoughts into the 
 coherence of order — an intense conviction that 
 something more than chance had governed the 
 events which led to this conclusion; which 
 brought the nurse, in her garb of service, to the 
 side of the grandfather who had never seen 
 
 224 
 
THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES LIKENESS 225 
 
 her ; who, having spent his life in administering 
 and worshipping justice, was now struck down 
 by the crushing revelation of his own injustice 
 toward his only son. The young man glanced 
 across to where she stood, this girl so strangely 
 led to her father's home. With her arm around 
 one of the carved bedposts, she was gazing 
 steadily at the figure lying before them, — the 
 face with its clear-cut features, set like sculp- 
 tured marble; and the long, thin, scholarly 
 hands folded on the breast. He wondered what 
 she was thinking; and, as he wondered, she 
 spoke, very quietly : 
 
 1 ' What a noble face it is ! I am glad to have 
 seen it." 
 
 "I knew that you would be," Desmond 
 answered. He glanced around quickly to see if 
 Virgil, who had been in the room when they 
 entered, was still present; but Virgil, whose 
 feelings were not yet placated toward the 
 invader of his domain, had noiselessly with- 
 drawn. So he was able to go on, a little 
 eagerly: " Don't you feel, in looking at this 
 face, that whatever error he committed was 
 through the very excess of his great qualities?" 
 
 " My father used to say something of the 
 kind," she replied slowly. "He always ad- 
 mired, understood, and — yes, forgave. You 
 were right in divining that. But I — ah, let us 
 not talk of it here! It does not seem right, 
 though he knows nothing of what we say. ' ' 
 
226 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 Nothing indeed; there could be no doubt of 
 that. But for the regular breathing, he might 
 have appeared dead, so entirely was the soul a 
 helpless captive in a body which, like a broken 
 instrument, refused to do its work, — to express 
 either thought or feeling. And, regarding this 
 immovable repose, it was easy to believe that 
 it might pass into the deeper repose of death, 
 without even a glimmer of renewed conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 But if such consciousness should come ! Des- 
 mond suddenly threw back his head and looked 
 up at a picture which hung over the bed, where 
 the eyes of the occupant must open immediately 
 upon it. It was a very charming picture, — the 
 extremely well-painted portrait of a girl in her 
 bridal dress. All in white, with the fleecy veil 
 swept back from her face, and her soft hair 
 crowned with orange blossoms, she stood, 
 three-quarter length, so that the slim grace of 
 her young figure showed, looking out of the 
 canvas with lucid, smiling eyes, — eyes so per- 
 fectly reproduced in another face that he was 
 not surprised Mrs. Creighton had recognized 
 them at once. He might have wondered that he 
 had not recognized them himself, but for the 
 fact that since his boyhood he had not seen this 
 portrait until to-day. But now — as his gaze 
 dropped from the canvas to the girl standing 
 beneath it, all in white also, with the same out- 
 line of feature, the same slender grace of form 
 
THE LIKENESS 227 
 
 — lie involuntarily uttered an exclamation 
 which made her glance at him quickly. He 
 pointed to the picture over her head. 
 
 "Have you observed that?" he asked. 
 
 "I observed it as soon as I came into the 
 room," she answered, "and recognized it 
 immediately. For I have often heard my father 
 speak of that also, and say — " 
 
 ' ' How much you are like it ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes. Do you perceive the likeness?" 
 
 "A blind man might perceive it," he told her, 
 with a touch of pardonable exaggeration. i ' You 
 spoke a little while ago of your right to be here. 
 You carry the right in your face. ' ' 
 
 She shook her head, lifting it with an air of 
 pride, as, Desmond felt instinctively, the gentle, 
 smiling girl of the portrait never would have 
 lifted hers. Clearly there was a harder strain, 
 whether from nature or training, in this other 
 girl, to whom she had handed down her features 
 and her eyes. 
 
 "I found no right whatever on that," she 
 said coldly. "I am only sorry that I did not 
 realize sooner how strong the resemblance is, 
 and I would not have come. Now I am sure 
 that it will be well for me to go as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 Desmond turned his eyes to the insensible 
 face lying on the white pillows before them. 
 
 "The only possible reason for your going," 
 he said, ' ' would be a fear of harming him. But, 
 
228 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 since I see him, I do not think that anything will 
 ever again have power to harm Mm; I don't 
 believe that he will ever regain consciousness. ' ' 
 
 "It is by no means certain that he will not, ' ' 
 she said. "I have seen cases like this, where 
 consciousness returned very unexpectedly. 
 When Dr. Glynn comes — " 
 
 She paused abruptly, for at this moment 
 steps and voices were heard in the corridor 
 outside. The door of the chamber opened, and 
 Mrs. Creighton, accompanied by Mrs. Selwyn, 
 entered. 
 
 "Ah, Laurence, you are here still!" the 
 former said, in discreetly lowered tones, as they 
 approached the bed. "We have come to see 
 how my poor brother is. I suppose there is no 
 change in his condition, Miss Landon?" 
 
 "None at all since you saw him last." 
 
 "One can hardly hope for any — yet," Mrs. 
 Creighton said, with a sigh. "But my cousin, 
 Mrs. Selwyn, did not wish to leave without 
 seeing him. This is Miss Landon, the nurse 
 who has taken charge of the case, Cousin 
 Elizabeth." 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn, whose attention since she 
 entered the room had been absorbed by the 
 sight of Judge Wargrave, and who was now 
 regarding him with sorrowful intentness, 
 looked up at these words. Desmond, watching 
 her closely, saw her eyes suddenly expand when 
 they fell on the nurse. She stared for an 
 
THE LIKENESS 229 
 
 instant, and then, extending her hand, grasped 
 Mrs. Creighton 's arm. 
 
 " Rachel!" she exclaimed, " don't you 
 observe — it's the most astonishing thing I ever 
 saw! — how much Miss Landon resembles 
 Cousin Maria, — how much she is like that 
 portrait?" 
 
 Mrs. Creighton, who had evidently given no 
 thought to the portrait up to this time, now 
 glanced at it quickly, and from it to the girl 
 standing beneath it. She also was plainly 
 startled by the likeness between the two. 
 
 ' ' There is — some resemblance," she said. "I 
 observed it when I first saw Miss Landon. But 
 it is — er — more striking in this dim light, and 
 on account of her dress. ' ' 
 
 "It's — amazing!" Mrs. Selwyn declared, 
 still staring at the girl. "I've never seen any- 
 thing like it, in the way of a chance resem- 
 blance. And — and, Rachel, how do you think it 
 will strike Cousin George — if he ever recovers 
 consciousness?" 
 
 "We must ask the doctor — " Mrs. Creighton 
 was beginning, when the nurse quietly inter- 
 posed : 
 
 "That seems unnecessary. I think there is 
 no doubt that I should leave, if my resemblance 
 to this portrait is indeed so strong." 
 
 "It is very strong," Mrs. Creighton mur- 
 mured. And then she turned to Desmond: 
 "Don't you see it, Laurence?" 
 
230 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 1 1 Oh, yes, I see it ! " he replied, a little reluc- 
 tantly, since nothing was further from his wish 
 than that Hester Landon should go away. ' * But 
 we can hardly imagine that my uncle will ever 
 recover sufficiently to recognize a likeness of 
 the kind. And, in any event, Dr. Glynn is the 
 person to decide — " 
 
 "Of course I never meant anything else," 
 Mrs. Creighton said. "I should be very sorry 
 if Miss Landon thought that I intended to imply 
 any desire for her to go. ' ' 
 
 "I did not think so," Miss Landon assured 
 her. "But we are agreed that no risk of any 
 shock to Judge Wargrave should be run. I am 
 sure Dr. Glynn will be of that opinion, and I 
 shall ask to be relieved from further duty when 
 he comes." 
 
 "That seems a pity," Mrs. Selwyn observed. 
 "I'm confident that you are a very good nurse. 
 I have had much experience with nurses — hav- 
 ing had two operations performed, as well as 
 many severe illnesses, — and I can tell a really 
 good nurse as soon as I see her. There's a 
 clearness of look and a coolness and steadiness 
 of manner, — you have it all, and I think it 
 would really be a great pity to deprive Judge 
 Wargrave of your excellent services because of 
 a resemblance which, after all, may not be as 
 strong as we fancy, and which he may never 
 see at all. ' ' 
 
 "I agree with you heartily," Desmond said, 
 
THE LIKENESS 231 
 
 conscious of more cordial feelings for Mrs. 
 Selwyn than he had ever known before. "In 
 fact, I don't think we ought to entertain the 
 idea of Miss Landon's going away on such a 
 fanciful ground, unless Dr. Glynn says that it 
 is absolutely necessary. And I'm quite sure," 
 the speaker ended confidently, "that he won't 
 say anything of the kind. ' ' 
 
 Miss Landon gave him a glance which he 
 readily interpreted as one of extremely doubt- 
 ful approval; and, turning, bent over her 
 patient, who had suddenly stirred a little. 
 
 "I think that he is sufficiently aware of the 
 talking to be disturbed by it," she then said, 
 addressing Mrs. Creighton. "It will, perhaps, 
 be better not to discuss the matter further — 
 here. I will come into the sitting-room, if there 
 is anything else you would like to say to me." 
 
 "There is nothing — nothing at all," Mrs. 
 Creighton answered quickly. "Cousin Eliz- 
 abeth, I think it will be best for us to go now. 
 Laurence, I almost forgot to tell you that Bobby 
 wants to see you before he leaves. ' ' 
 
 They all filed out of the room; but as Des- 
 mond held the door open for the two ladies, 
 Mrs. Selwyn paused for an instant and glanced 
 back at the silent figure on the bed, watched 
 over by the portrait hanging above, and its 
 living reproduction below. Her eyes, when 
 they met his, had an awe in them which he com- 
 prehended through sympathy. 
 
232 THE JUDGE EECOGNIZES 
 
 "It's — the most astonishing thing!" she ex- 
 claimed, when they found themselves walking 
 down the corridor outside. "I don't know how 
 it affects you, Rachel, but I don't mind confess- 
 ing that it gave me a turn I haven't got over 
 yet when I looked up and saw — it seemed as if 
 I saw Cousin Maria herself standing by the 
 bed!" 
 
 "It was rather startling," Mrs. Creighton 
 acknowledged; "and the reason why I didn't 
 mention the resemblance to you was because I 
 wanted to find if it would strike you as it struck 
 me when I first saw the girl. I couldn't imme- 
 diately place the likeness. I only knew that she 
 reminded me of some one I had seen; but it 
 flashed upon me who it was before I saw her 
 again; and then — in that room — in that white 
 dress — well, the resemblance was simply amaz- 
 ing. No one who ever saw my brother's wife 
 could have failed to be struck by it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Not possibly, ' ' Mrs. Selwyn agreed. ' ' Who 
 is the girl? Does anybody know anything 
 about her?" 
 
 Mrs. Creighton shook her head. 
 
 "It hasn't occurred to me to inquire anything 
 about her personally," she said. "Dr. Glynn 
 simply recommended her as a good nurse, but 
 I think she is a stranger in Kingsford. Didn't 
 I understand that she was one of the passengers 
 on your train, — the train that was wrecked, 
 Laurence?" 
 
THE LIKENESS 233 
 
 Desmond, assenting briefly, was unable to 
 refrain from adding that it was extremely 
 fortunate for the other passengers that she had 
 been one of them. 
 
 "No doubt she is a good nurse,' ' Mrs. Selwyn 
 remarked. "As I said to her a few minutes 
 ago, I have had so much experience that I can 
 tell at a glance whether a nurse is competent or 
 not. She looks as if she would be admirably 
 competent; but it is surely strange that she 
 should have come to nurse Cousin George. It 
 almost makes one feel — er — a little super- 
 stitious." 
 
 ' ' There is nothing to be superstitious about, ' ' 
 Mrs. Creighton declared, in apparent forgetful- 
 ness of her own remarks to Desmond not long 
 before. ' * Very likely we are fanciful. The like- 
 ness probably isn't as strong as we think. It 
 may have been only the white dress and her 
 standing under the portrait which made it seem 
 so remarkable." 
 
 By this time they were descending the stair- 
 case; and Edith, who was with Selwyn in the 
 hall below, caught the last words, and turned 
 with a look of surprise to Desmond when he 
 joined them. 
 
 "What are they talking about?" she asked. 
 ' * Who was standing under a portrait in a white 
 dress?" 
 
 "Miss Landon the nurse," he replied. "You 
 
234 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 know the portrait of my uncle's wife in her 
 bridal dress which hangs over his bed?" 
 
 "That lovely picture? I should think I did 
 know it well ! It is the thing I should most like 
 to possess in Hillcrest. But what has the nurse 
 to do with it!" 
 
 A wild impulse to say what she had to do with 
 it — in other words, to explode a bombshell in 
 the family circle — seized Desmond. But, aware 
 of the obligation which bound him to restrain 
 this impulse, he only answered, a trifle shortly : 
 
 "Nothing, except that she resembles it 
 strikingly. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Resembles it, — resembles that picture ? Oh, 
 nonsense!" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I am not giving you my own impression," 
 he said. "Naturally, that would be of slight 
 value. But my aunt and Mrs. Selwyn were both 
 so much struck by the likeness that they are 
 discussing it yet." 
 
 "That doesn't signify much," Edith re- 
 turned. "People often see resemblances in the 
 oddest manner where they don't exist at all. 
 I won't believe that a mere stranger, coming 
 into the house by chance, can resemble my 
 favorite picture. Why, that girl, as she is 
 painted there, looks as fine and high-bred as a 
 princess, — a very flower of aristocratic con- 
 ditions! And to talk of an ordinary trained 
 nurse resembling her! 
 
 >> 
 
THE LIKENESS 235 
 
 Wilder and stronger grew Desmond's 
 impulse to speak, — so wild and strong, indeed, 
 that he was forced to keep his lips closed to 
 prevent his tongue from betraying him. And 
 so it was Selwyn who answered the young 
 ladv's scornful words. 
 
 « 
 
 "But there are a good many trained nurses 
 in these days who might be described as flowers 
 of aristocratic conditions," he reminded her. 
 "There's General Singleton's daughter, and 
 Miss Brooke — one of the Brookes, you know, — 
 and Miss Carteret — " 
 
 "I know," Edith cut him short impatiently. 
 "But the fact that those girls have gone into 
 nursing, partly under pressure of necessity and 
 partly because it's a fashionable fad, doesn't 
 make trained nurses, as a class, other than 
 people who, however estimable, are certainly 
 not flowers of aristocratic conditions, and 
 whose training tends to harden them in a very 
 unpleasant manner." 
 
 "Oh, I say!" Bobby deprecated. "I really 
 don't think that's the case — except with a few, 
 of course." 
 
 "The stamp of their training — a training 
 which must harden — is on them all," Edith 
 insisted. "And, therefore, I'm positive that to 
 talk of a resemblance between this nurse and 
 that lovely picture is simply absurd." 
 
 Desmond looked at her quickly, and as she 
 met his glance she was struck by the restrained 
 
236 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 excitement which it showed. But his manner 
 was quiet enough as he said : 
 
 "You are so contemptuous of our opinions — 
 of your mother's and Mrs. Selwyn's as well as 
 of mine, — that I challenge you to come and see 
 for yourself whether or not there is a likeness 
 between Miss Landon and that portrait. ' ' 
 
 "Very well." She took up the challenge 
 promptly. "Shall Bobby come also?" 
 
 "There's no reason why he shouldn't. And 
 probably he would like to see my uncle. ' ' 
 
 "I hadn't thought of it," Bobby said can- 
 didly. "But I wouldn't mind seeing the nurse 
 and the portrait; so, if you're sure I won't 
 disturb the Judge — " 
 
 "He is unconscious, you know," Desmond 
 said, "and can hardly be disturbed, — although 
 it will be well to refrain from talking in his 
 chamber. ' ' 
 
 "Are those the nurse's orders?" Edith 
 asked. "I suppose she feels it necessary to 
 assert her authority in some way. But, as a 
 matter of fact, one could talk, if one liked, with- 
 out the faintest danger of disturbing him. I 
 was with him just before she came, and I know 
 that it was impossible to rouse him in the least 
 degree." 
 
 Having learned by this time that, despite her 
 many charming qualities, Miss Creighton was 
 not one with whom it was wise to argue, Des- 
 mond held his peace, and, together with Selwyn, 
 
THE LIKENESS 237 
 
 followed her upstairs. She led them into the 
 Judge's sitting-room, where his great chair 
 stood pathetically empty, beside his closed 
 desk; and where Virgil, with face set in deep 
 lines of sadness, rose from a seat by the window 
 as they entered. Edith paused, hesitated, and 
 looked interrogatively at Desmond. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better send and ask the 
 nurse to come and speak to us," she said. "It 
 is only courteous to recognize her authority in 
 the sick-room before taking Bobby in. Virgil, 
 will you go and tell the nurse that Miss Creigh- 
 ton would like to see her for a moment !" 
 
 Virgil, in well-trained silence, disappeared 
 into the adjoining chamber; and there was a 
 short interval, in which no one spoke, but in 
 which Desmond, whose nerves were on edge, 
 was unpleasantly conscious of Selwyn's tat- 
 tooing on the back of a chair. Then the 
 portiere which hung over the door was drawn 
 back, and Hester Landon entered. As the folds 
 of the curtain fell behind her white-clad figure, 
 throwing it into relief as she paused, Desmond 
 was again struck by the impression of some- 
 thing cool, fresh and delicate — of all exquisite 
 potentialities of healing — which she produced. 
 He stepped forward quickly, before Edith could 
 speak. 
 
 "You must pardon us for troubling you so 
 soon again, Miss Landon,' ' he said. "But Miss 
 Creighton wishes to take Mr. Selwyn" (he 
 
238 THE JUDGE RECOGNIZES 
 
 indicated Bobby, who bowed) "in to see Judge 
 Wargrave, and she thought it best to consult 
 you before doing so. Edith, I believe you have 
 not met Miss Landon?" 
 
 Despite her somewhat supercilious attitude 
 of mind toward trained nurses, Edith was 
 incapable of treating anybody with discourtesy. 
 Indeed, according to the code of manners in 
 which she had been educated, courtesy was par- 
 ticularly due to one who was in any degree a 
 social inferior. She thought Desmond's inter- 
 ference rather uncalled for, but her manner left 
 nothing to be desired in graciousness when she 
 said: 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Landon? I have 
 heard so much of you, of your noble work in the 
 railway wreck, that I am very glad you have 
 come to help us take care of my dear uncle. We 
 would like to see him for a few minutes, if you 
 are quite sure our presence will not disturb 
 him. ' ' 
 
 "I am sure that your presence will not," 
 Hester answered, with her quiet nurse's man- 
 ner; "but it is possible that talking might 
 disturb him a little, — at least, as Mr. Desmond 
 knows, it seemed to do so when Mrs. Creighton 
 and Mrs. Selwyn were here a short time ago." 
 
 "Yes," Desmond told Edith, "it certainly 
 seemed so. We were talking about the — er — 
 portrait over the bed, and he stirred as if our 
 voices annoyed him." 
 
THE LIKENESS 239 
 
 Edith lifted lier brows. She was plainly 
 incredulous, but did not express her opinion. 
 
 "We will not talk at all," she assured the 
 nurse. "Mr. Selwyn simply desires to look at 
 him. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Selwyn, conscious of having no such 
 desire at all, nevertheless murmured something 
 which sounded like acquiescence ; and Miss Lan- 
 don, again drawing back the portiere, invited 
 them by a gesture to enter the chamber. 
 
 A moment later they stood silently grouped 
 about the bed on which the recumbent figure 
 lay, with so much majestic calm in the lines of 
 the chiselled face, the quietly extended limbs, 
 the folded hands, that the incapacity of illness 
 was almost forgotten. For even in this ex- 
 tremity of physical weakness, the strong char- 
 acter, the dominant will, the keen intellectual 
 force which had made Judge Wargrave 
 throughout his life such an impressive person- 
 ality, still asserted themselves, and still had 
 power to inspire in those who saw him some- 
 thing so closely approaching to awe that even 
 Bobby Selwyn, after gazing for a moment with 
 a look of unusual gravity on his countenance, 
 drew back and whispered to Desmond : 
 
 "Seems incredible he isn't able to rouse 
 himself. One can't associate the idea of 
 incapacity with him! You feel as if he had will 
 enough to do anything, — to open his eyes if he 
 
240 THE JUDGE KECOGNIZES 
 
 liked, and say something — er — conclusive, you 
 know. ' ' 
 
 "I'm afraid," Desmond responded, in 
 equally low tones, "that he has said something 
 conclusive indeed. I wonder, by the by, what 
 it was, — his last utterance? One would like 
 one's last utterance to be noble and dignified, if 
 possible; at least his should have been so." 
 
 "But last utterances aren't often, I believe," 
 Bobby said; and then abruptly, in an uncon- 
 sciously louder tone : ' ' Oh, by George ! ' ' 
 
 Desmond seized his arm warningly, but he 
 did not heed; he was staring at the portrait, 
 and from it at the nurse, whose face turned 
 quickly toward him with a look of admonition. 
 But Selwyn lost the admonition in studying the 
 resemblance which struck him with such over- 
 whelming force that he forgot everything else. 
 
 ' ' Never saw anything like it ! " he announced 
 in tones which rang through the silence of the 
 hushed room. "It's simply astounding, how 
 much alike — " 
 
 But the nurse's lifted hand now stopped his 
 words. Judge Wargrave, at sound of that loud 
 "By George!" had stirred, as if responding to 
 the call of his own name ; and when the strident 
 tones went on, he opened his eyes. There was 
 an instant's pause while the nurse bent over 
 him. His gaze settled on her face and rested 
 there — at first blankly, then gathering expres- 
 sion as the light of understanding came slowly 
 
THE LIKENESS 241 
 
 Into it. And then — while those who stood by, 
 motionless as statues, held their breath in sus- 
 pense — there followed a flash of recognition: 
 the lips unclosed, the tongue seemed struggling 
 to speak, and finally, with great effort, uttered 
 one word: 
 "Maria!" 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE JUDGE 'S ILLUSION 
 
 "It is," said Dr. Glynn, "one of the most 
 gratifying tilings I have ever known that the 
 Judge should have recovered consciousness in 
 any degree so soon. ' ' 
 
 He spoke to Mrs. Creighton, on whom, how- 
 ever, his cheerfulness did not appear to have an 
 entirely reassuring effect. 
 
 "But, doctor," she demurred, "how about 
 his mind? That was perfectly clear as soon as 
 he rallied at all from the other attack. But 
 now — you have heard that he imagines the 
 nurse to be his wife ! ' ' 
 
 "An entirely temporary condition," the doc- 
 tor replied. "The mind has not altogether 
 cleared yet, and therefore confuses persons as 
 well as names ; but I believe that it will clear — " 
 
 "And that he will be quite himself again ?" 
 
 "W-e-11" — the word was drawn out slowly, 
 — "perhaps not quite himself as we have known 
 him. We could hardly expect that. But he will 
 recover the use of his faculties to a certain 
 degree ; and it is not likely that he will continue 
 to mistake the nurse for his wife. What a 
 
 242 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 243 
 
 really remarkable resemblance, by the by, 
 there is between Miss Landon and the portrait 
 of Mrs. Wargrave ! I scarcely wonder that, in 
 his present condition, the Judge should confuse 
 one with the other.' ' 
 
 "There is a very strong likeness," Mrs. 
 Creighton agreed. "Before he roused, we were 
 all struck with it, and were inclined to think 
 that it would be well for Miss Landon to go 
 away, because we feared just what has hap- 
 pened — a shock to him. ' ' 
 
 "But there hasn't been any shock," the 
 doctor interposed positively. "On the con- 
 trary, the recognition of the likeness has had a 
 distinctly stimulating and beneficial effect. 
 Miss Landon spoke to me herself about going 
 away: she seemed to have an impression that 
 you desired it." 
 
 "Oh, she is mistaken about that! Or, if I 
 expressed any desire of the kind, it was only 
 because I feared the effect of the likeness on 
 my brother. But I always said we must ask you 
 whether she should go or stay." 
 
 "I told her to stay; in fact, I would not hear 
 of her going. In the first place, we could not 
 replace her as a nurse without trouble and 
 delay and, in the second place, the Judge would 
 probably miss her and be distressed and irri- 
 tated. Anything likely to have that effect on 
 him must be carefully avoided. If he is kept 
 perfectly quiet in mind and body for a few days 
 
244 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 now, I have every hope that he may rally 
 again. ' ' 
 
 ' 1 1 am very glad to hear it, — very grateful ! ' ' 
 Mrs. Creighton observed, in a tone of deep feel- 
 ing. "It is more than I expected." 
 
 "It is much more than / expected," the 
 doctor frankly replied. 
 
 It was indeed a fresh proof of the strength 
 and vitality of Judge Wargrave that, after his 
 unexpected and somewhat startling recovery of 
 consciousness, he did not again relapse into 
 unconsciousness so deep that he could not be 
 roused. There was, it is true, a difficulty in 
 this rousing, as if the soul had withdrawn to 
 some inner citadel of the senses, from which it 
 came forth reluctantly and with an effort. But 
 it did come forth when summoned by a voice 
 that he knew. And to every one except Des- 
 mond it was strange that no voice had such 
 power to rouse him from the coma-like condi- 
 tion into which for several days he fell as soon 
 as the demand upon his attention was over, as 
 the voice of the nurse. That the only name his 
 tongue seemed able to pronounce was that by 
 which he called her — the name of the wife of 
 his youth, — was, they agreed, not so strange; 
 but his response to her voice was a matter of 
 astonishment to all, and of distinct resentment 
 to Edith. 
 
 "You would think," she said to Desmond, 
 "that Uncle George would respond to the voice 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 245 
 
 of some one whom he knows and loves rather 
 than to that of a mere nurse. I don't — I really 
 don't understand why this stranger should 
 come in and take the first place with him in this 
 manner. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do understand!'' Desmond told 
 her. "You know it is because — " 
 
 "Of an accidental resemblance to his wife? 
 Of course I know that ; but, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, I don't see the likeness as the rest of 
 you do; and I don't think it accounts for the 
 manner in which he responds to her voice." 
 
 "Perhaps there is a similarity of voice as 
 well as of face," Desmond suggested, feeling 
 himself the worst of hypocrites, since he was 
 perfectly convinced that such a similarity must 
 exist by inheritance. 
 
 "It seems to me more probable that it is 
 merely the association of the voice with the 
 face," Edith remarked reflectively. "But, in 
 any case, it is strange and — disagreeable. I 
 wish that Dr. Glynn had never brought the 
 nurse here. There's really no need of her at 
 all, and it is a pity mamma had not sent her 
 away before poor Uncle George roused to con- 
 sciousness and mistook her for his wife." 
 
 "Then you would have missed a very 
 dramatic moment," Desmond observed. "I 
 shall never forget how we all waited to see what 
 would be the result of Bobby's exclamation, — 
 holding our breath while my uncle opened his 
 
246 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 eyes and the light came into them as he saw 
 Miss Landon. Then when he called her 
 ' Maria ! ' in a tone such as I am sure no one but 
 his wife ever heard from him before, one felt 
 one's self wonderfully moved. 
 
 "I didn't!" Edith declared. "I felt dis- 
 gusted. ' ' 
 
 Desmond could not restrain a laugh, although 
 it was a trifle nervous. 
 
 "I believe that you are positively jealous of 
 the nurse, ' ' he said. 
 
 "I am jealous for Uncle George," Edith 
 returned, — "jealous that he should be wasting 
 his deep and rare affection on a mere — " 
 
 "You must remember," Desmond inter- 
 rupted hastily, "that he is not wasting his 
 affection at all. It is directed toward his wife, 
 and not in reality to the nurse whom he mis- 
 takes for her. But you'll be glad to hear that 
 the doctor thinks this condition merely tempo- 
 rary, that in a little while he will probably know 
 who she is." 
 
 "I shall certainly be glad when that time 
 comes," Edith said, a little loftily. "I love and 
 admire him so much that I confess I find the 
 present state of affairs very trying." 
 
 Pondering these utterances, and others like 
 them, Desmond presently took his way up- 
 stairs. The situation was so far a false one 
 that he could not avoid feeling irritated by it; 
 and this irritation was largely directed toward 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 247 
 
 the nurse, although he had candor enough to 
 admit that he was chiefly responsible for her 
 presence at Hillcrest. "But I could not have 
 expected all this!" he said to himself; by which 
 vague expression he meant the universal rec- 
 ognition of her likeness to the portrait of Mrs. 
 Wargrave, and the fact that his uncle 's clouded 
 mind had mistaken her for the grandmother she 
 resembled. These things being so, he had an 
 intense conviction that she should speak — or 
 allow him to speak, — declare who she was, and 
 take her rightful position in her father's home. 
 Miss Creighton's slighting allusions to "a mere 
 trained nurse" roused in him a deep sense of 
 annoyance; for he could not lose sight of the 
 fact that it was of Harry Wargrave 's daughter 
 that she spoke, of the — yes, of the rightful 
 heiress of Hillcrest. 
 
 The last thought struck him like a blow, so 
 that he positively paused and gasped over it. 
 Of course she was, in -justice, the heiress of 
 Hillcrest; and yet — there was the Wargrave 
 trust; and there was his uncle's will, naming 
 himself as the Wargrave heir ! Fortunately, he 
 remembered, people could not be forced to 
 accept inheritances which they felt were not 
 justly theirs ; but, again, neither could other 
 people be forced to take such inheritances. 
 And he had a strong conviction that nothing on 
 earth would ever induce Hester Landon to take 
 what was not explicitly given to her. "Oh, by 
 
248 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 Jove!" he muttered helplessly to himself, very 
 much as Bobby Selwyn might have muttered; 
 for the muddle of the situation seemed, on the 
 surface, hopeless; and all that he was sure of 
 was that the key — if key there were — lay in the 
 hands of the girl of whom he was thinking. 
 
 A few minutes later he was standing by his 
 uncle's bed, looking at those hands — white and 
 slender, yet with capability expressed in every 
 line — as they changed the pillows and per- 
 formed other offices of a nurse about the 
 patient. The manner in which the old man 
 roused from his state of partial unconscious- 
 ness to acknowledge these attentions with a 
 smile and a word or two of grateful apprecia- 
 tion was, Desmond thought, hardly less than 
 pathetic in the light of the actual state of 
 affairs. He tried to rouse the same notice for 
 himself, but it was more difficult. There was 
 doubt and uncertainty in the glance which met 
 his own, and the lips were altogether unable to 
 utter his name. 
 
 1 i I don 't believe that he knows me at all, ' ' he 
 said to the nurse, when the eyelids fell over the 
 eyes, as if the mind rebelled against further 
 effort. 
 
 "I think that he does," she answered. "But 
 he is evidently puzzled and confused between 
 past and present. This state will not last, how- 
 ever. The mind is clearing ; I notice that very 
 perceptibly. ' ' 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 249 
 
 "He certainly knows you very well." 
 
 "You mean that he knows me as the person 
 he mistakes me for? Yes, that is true, and it is 
 also natural. I must look very much like her. ' ' 
 
 "So much that I — I want to talk to you about 
 it, ' ' the young man said impulsively. ' * He does 
 not need anything more just now. Will you 
 come into the sitting-room for a few minutes?" 
 
 She hesitated an instant, and then — 
 
 "If you think it worth while," she said, a 
 little reluctantly. "Ring for Virgil. Judge 
 Wargrave must not be left alone." 
 
 When Virgil appeared, she walked into the 
 next room; and Desmond, following, closed the 
 door between it and the chamber, — the door 
 over which a curtain always hung, since Judge 
 Wargrave was very susceptible to draughts. 
 Then he approached the girl, who had paused 
 and turned toward him. 
 
 "Do sit down," he said, drawing a chair for 
 her before the open window. "You must be 
 tired." 
 
 "Not in the least," she answered. But, 
 nevertheless, she sat down, and then leaned 
 forward with an exclamation of involuntary 
 delight at the scene outspread below, — sweep- 
 ing valley, gently rolling hills, and distant 
 woods, all steeped in the dreamy softness of 
 that exquisite Indian summer which in Caro- 
 lina lingers far into December. "How beauti- 
 ful !" she murmured as if to herself; and, 
 
250 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 presently turning her eyes to the young man 
 who was leaning beside the window, she added : 
 1 'It is a fine old place. I am not sorry to have 
 seen it — once." 
 
 Desmond perceived, and promptly seized his 
 opportunity. 
 
 4 'It is your rightful home," he told her 
 quickly. "You ought to feel this, and — and 
 you ought to feel also that your present posi- 
 tion here is a false one. ' ' 
 
 "I don't acknowledge that it is a false 
 position, for I am here simply and solely as a 
 professional nurse," she said, "but if it were, 
 whose fault is it?" 
 
 "Mine," he replied. "And, being mine, I 
 have a sense of responsibility which makes me 
 very uncomfortable." 
 
 ' ' You must pardon me for observing that you 
 should have thought of the things which make 
 you uncomfortable before you incurred the 
 responsibility," she said a little dryly. 
 
 "I suppose that I should," he answered. 
 "No doubt I was presumptuous; but, you see, 
 I didn't know anything about some of the 
 things. Particularly, I didn't know that your 
 likeness to your grandmother is so strong that 
 it would be noticed at once. ' ' 
 
 ' i I didn 't count on that, ' ' she confessed. ' ' If 
 I had, I should not have come. I am extremely 
 sorry now that I did come, and I have tried to 
 induce the doctor to let me go away. ' ' 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 251 
 
 "And he will not!" 
 
 ' ' No, he will not consent. I could only go by 
 taking the matter into my own hands, and leav- 
 ing without his permission. But I am averse 
 to doing this, — not only from a professional 
 standpoint, but because his strongest argument 
 for my staying is that he regards my presence 
 as a distinct benefit to the patient. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I heard him say so very emphatically. 
 He thinks that the likeness which makes my 
 uncle mistake you for his wife has had a bene- 
 ficial and stimulating effect upon him. ' ' 
 
 "So far it has," she conceded. "But I am 
 not sure what the effect mav be when he realizes 
 that I am not the person he takes me for. 
 Therefore I think it would be well for me to go 
 before he realizes this, and then he would fancy 
 that it had all been a dream that ' Maria' had 
 been beside him." She clasped her hands 
 tightly together as they lay in her lap, and a 
 sudden note of entreaty came into her voice. 
 "Oh, I want to go away!" she exclaimed. 
 ' ' Can 't you help me to do so ? It is your fault 
 that I am here." 
 
 "I know that it is my fault," he said. "But 
 I would rather help you to stay than to go. 
 Indeed, in my opinion, you must stay: it is 
 your duty as well as your right to be here." 
 
 "It is not my duty; I deny that utterly!" she 
 told him. 
 
 "Denying a fact does not change it," he 
 
252 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 reminded her. "This old man is not only your 
 nearest relative, since I take for granted that 
 your mother is not living — " 
 
 "My mother died when I was an infant." 
 
 "Well, then, where have you any tie nearer 
 than the tie which is here? — any duty more 
 pressing than a duty to your father's father — " 
 
 "Who unjustly condemned and banished my 
 father \" 
 
 "On the contrary, who condemned him 
 through the high sternness of his sense of 
 justice, and who now lies crushed and broken 
 under the late knowledge of his mistake. And 
 in this sad condition no one can help him as you 
 can. You have the word of the doctor for that. 
 No one of those who love him best can do for 
 him what you have the power to do. And yet, 
 in the face of an opportunity so great that, as 
 I told you before, it could come only once in a 
 lifetime, you talk of going away ! ' ' 
 
 His tone carried such a keen edge of reproach 
 that for a moment she could only stare at him, 
 with a mingling of wonder and resentment in 
 her eyes. Then: 
 
 ' ' When I listen to you, ' ' she said, ' 1 1 seem to 
 have a glimpse of things — ideals and standards 
 — which are new to me, and which have a cer- 
 tain attraction, — an attraction that has brought 
 me here, and which I now regret. So I think I 
 will close my ears — " 
 
 "You can't close your mind," he interrupted 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 253 
 
 confidently. "Many people can do so, but yon 
 are not one of them. You see what I mean. 
 You recognize its force in coming here; and 
 now that you are here, you can not, you dare 
 not, go away." 
 
 "I dare do anything that my conscience and 
 judgment approve,' ' she answered a little 
 proudly. 
 
 "Oh, I'm quite sure of that!" he returned. 
 "But the point is that neither your conscience 
 nor your judgment will approve of this, and so 
 you can't do it. You must stay at Hillcrest, and 
 I have come now to beg you to stay as some- 
 thing more than a nurse." 
 
 "You mean — " 
 
 "I mean that I want you to let me tell my 
 aunt — your aunt also — who you are." 
 
 "Do you remember that it was only on the 
 condition of your promising to keep the secret 
 of my identity that I came here?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "Of course I remember it," he answered; 
 "but I am begging you to release me from that 
 promise, I am begging you to recognize that it 
 places both you and me in a false position." 
 
 "I don't recognize it," she replied coldly; 
 "but if I did, I should still decline to release 
 you from your promise. Nothing would induce 
 me to do so, — nothing ! The only way in which 
 you can change the position you consider false 
 is by helping me to get away. ' ' . 
 
254 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' * I '11 never do that ! ' ' he said. 
 
 There was an instant's panse as they looked 
 at each other, will set against will, neither with 
 a thought of yielding, and both so absorbed in 
 the tension of the situation that they were 
 entirely unconscious of the slight click made by 
 the closing of a door, which had been noise- 
 lessly opened behind its portiere. 
 
 "I must remind you," the girl said presently, 
 ' ' that by your appeals you overbore my de- 
 cision and induced me to come here, and that I 
 came only because you pledged your honor to 
 keep my secret — " 
 
 "Oh, I'll keep it!" he said abruptly. "I 
 can't do other than keep it, if you insist. But 
 you are wrong, I 'm sure of that. ' ' 
 
 "You should have been sure before you 
 persuaded me to come," she replied, as she rose 
 from her seat. "If the situation is a false one, 
 you have yourself chiefly to blame; though I 
 am to blame also for yielding to your persua- 
 sions. I can help you only by going away as 
 soon as possible, and that I mil certainly do." 
 
 "I beg you most earnestly — " he was begin- 
 ning, when she lifted her hand. 
 
 1 i Some one is talking in the next room, ' ' she 
 said; "and — ah, Judge Wargrave is calling!" 
 
 She ran across the floor, followed quickly by 
 Desmond, and opened the door leading into the 
 chamber. The scene upon which they entered 
 
THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 255 
 
 was as startling as it was unexpected. Judge 
 Wargrave had partially risen, and was sitting 
 on the side of his bed, evidently making an 
 effort to rise to his feet, from which Virgil on 
 one side and Edith on the other were trying to 
 restrain him, while he called loudly and re- 
 peatedly: "Maria! Maria !" 
 
 Hester Landon came quickly forward, and as 
 his gaze fell on her he became instantly quiet, 
 the distress that had been on his face vanished, 
 and he held out his hand to her with a pathetic 
 expression of gladness and relief. "Maria!" 
 he said again ; and then, murmuring something 
 unintelligible, but which seemed to be an 
 expression of his fear that she had left him, he 
 lifted to his lips the hand she had given him, 
 bending his head over it with the air and grace 
 of a courtier kissing the hand of his queen. 
 
 Desmond glanced quickly at Edith. She had 
 drawn back as the nurse approached, and her 
 eyes met his now, shining with indignant anger 
 under her dark, level brows. Her voice fell on 
 the silence like the stroke of a bell. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said, "that I was so 
 unfortunate as to rouse Uncle George. I came 
 in a few minutes ago; and, finding the nurse 
 absent, I spoke to him, wondering if he would 
 know me. I don't know whether he knew me or 
 not; all that he seemed to observe was that I 
 was not the nurse, and he was so dreadfullv 
 distressed that he began to call and tried to 
 
256 THE JUDGE'S ILLUSION 
 
 rise at once. It is fortunate" (she now ad- 
 dressed herself a little haughtily to Miss Lan- 
 don) "that you had not gone very far, since 
 neither Virgil nor I was able to control him." 
 
 "He has never been disturbed by my absence 
 before," Hester said quietly; "so I did not 
 hesitate to go into the sitting-room for a few 
 minutes to speak to Mr. Desmond." 
 
 "He seemed to be afraid that I had come to 
 take your place, and wanted to go in search of 
 you," Edith said; and there was no mistaking 
 the hurt feeling in her tone. 
 
 Hester looked at her with something like 
 compassion. 
 
 ' l You should not mind that, ' ' she said gently. 
 "Surely you understood that it is because he 
 mistakes me for some one else." 
 
 Miss Creighton lifted her head. 
 
 "The explanation does not render the fact 
 less disagreeable," she remarked crisply; "and 
 I shall be careful not to subject myself to any- 
 thing so unpleasant again. ' ' 
 
 She turned as she spoke and walked out of 
 the room. Desmond lingered a moment to say 
 to the nurse, in a low, significant tone, "You see 
 how impossible it is for you to think of leaving 
 him!" and then followed Edith. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 EDITH CREIGHTON'S OPINION OF LAURENCE 
 
 Edith had walked in very dignified fashion 
 out of Judge Wargrave's chamber, but she 
 must have quickened her pace greatly the 
 instant she was outside; for when Desmond 
 followed, he found no sign of her. The corridor 
 stretched before him empty, although there was 
 a sound of flying feet and rustling skirts around 
 the curving gallery beyond. But when he 
 reached the point where the corridor opened on 
 the gallery, the last also was empty, and the 
 sound of a sharply closing door told him that 
 Edith had taken refuge from pursuit in her 
 own chamber. 
 
 He paused and stood for a moment, looking 
 at the closed door with a sense of exasperation 
 against feminine unreasonableness, which is a 
 common masculine state of mind, — as common 
 as the exasperation which is produced in 
 women bv the obtuseness of men. "How can 
 she be so foolish!" was his impatient thought, 
 and he was strongly tempted to knock on the 
 door and summon Edith out in order to express 
 it. But wiser thought prevailed, and he walked 
 
 257 
 
258 EDITH CREIGHTOX'S OPIXION 
 
 slowly downstairs, conscious that the irritation 
 which so unpleasantly possessed him was not 
 altogether due to Miss Creighton's unreason- 
 ableness. Indeed, he acknowledged to himself 
 that it was chiefly due to his failure to make 
 any impression upon Hester Landon. It was 
 perhaps because he had prevailed with her once 
 — had induced her to see things as he saw them, 
 and to act as he wished, when it was a question 
 of her coming to Hillcrest — that he was so 
 keenly disappointed now at his inability to pre- 
 vail with her again, — to make her realize the 
 falseness of the position in which they were 
 both involved. He had gone to her, eagerly con- 
 fident of his power to influence, to convince ; and 
 he had failed utterly ! Not only so, he had been 
 reminded that he was chiefly, if not altogether, 
 to blame for the situation of which he com- 
 plained; that if he had not interfered at a 
 crucial moment — if, in words of current speech, 
 he had minded his own business — she would 
 not now be under the roof of Hillcrest, and 
 beside Judge Wargrave's bed. 
 
 All this was true. It was impossible to deny 
 it, yet equally impossible to regret what he had 
 done. He was quite clear on the latter point. 
 However much Hester's obstinacy might irri- 
 tate, it could not make him sorry that she was 
 where he was quite sure that she should be, and 
 where he was equally sure that, if in any degree 
 it rested with him, she should remain. He 
 
OF LAUKENCE 259 
 
 looked up and nodded to the portraits hanging 
 around the hall ; he had a feeling that they, with 
 their steadfast, watching eyes, were in the 
 secret with him. "I must keep my promise,' ' 
 he confided, half-aloud, to them. "There's no 
 help for that. But I'll see that she doesn't 
 leave this house, where we know that she 
 belongs." Then, with a sense of vaguely 
 soothed irritation, he snatched up a hat, 
 pressed it down over his brows, and went out 
 doors. 
 
 About half an hour later a motor-car glided 
 with unwonted quietness up to the door, and 
 from it Bobby Selwyn stepped just as Miss 
 Creighton emerged from the house, pulling on 
 a pair of large gloves with a good deal of 
 energy. There were other storm-signals 
 besides the energy, which Mr. Selwyn 's wary 
 eyes at once perceived, — a heightened color on 
 the cheeks, a compression of the usually smiling 
 lips, and a gleam in the dark eyes, which swept 
 him with a careless glance. 
 
 "Oh, how d'ye do, Bobby!" Edith said, in a 
 tone as careless as the glance. "I didn't know 
 you were here." 
 
 "You couldn't know it," Bobby meekly 
 remarked, "since I have just arrived ; and I beg 
 to call your attention to the quietness with 
 which I came up. I don't suppose you heard 
 the car at all. ' ' 
 
 "No, I didn't hear it," she answered, "or I 
 
260 EDITH CREIGHTON'S OPINION 
 
 shouldn 't have come out at this moment. I had 
 no desire to meet any one." 
 
 "I hope that doesn't mean that you had no 
 desire to meet me," Bobby observed; "for I 
 am, as always, extremely glad to meet you." 
 
 "You are very good," she returned impa- 
 tiently; "but I really can't reciprocate the 
 sentiment at present. I've just remarked that 
 I am leaving the house in order to avoid people, 
 so you must excuse me. You'll find mamma in 
 the library, and she'll be delighted to see you." 
 
 "Well, I can't reciprocate that sentiment," 
 Bobby answered frankly. "I shouldn't be a bit 
 delighted to see Cousin Rachel under these cir- 
 cumstances, — with you gone off alone in a 
 huff—" 
 
 "Bobby, how dare you!" 
 
 "But you are in a huff, so what's the good of 
 not saying so! I haven't seen you in such a 
 temper in a long time. What has happened? 
 Who has made you so angry?" 
 
 "I'm not angry — " 
 
 ' ' Oh, what nonsense ! ' ' Mr. Selwyn permitted 
 himself to remark. "You are simply fighting 
 mad, and you might as well give yourself the 
 relief of telling me what it is all about. ' ' 
 
 As Edith looked at him, it was doubtful for 
 an instant whether she would not give herself 
 the relief of blazing out with the temper he 
 divined. But something in his expression, 
 
OF LAURENCE 261 
 
 which was at once bold and deprecating, pro- 
 voked a langh instead. 
 
 ' 'You are perfectly absurd!" she said. "I 
 am not 'fighting mad' at all : I am only 'out of 
 sorts/ disgusted, disappointed, and perhaps a 
 little indignant, and therefore not good com- 
 pany for any one. ' ' 
 
 "You are always good company for me," 
 Bobby told her simply. "You couldn't be in 
 any condition in which I shouldn't like to be 
 with you. See now! Suppose that instead of 
 going off to — er — sulk by yourself, you come 
 and take a little spin with me? That will help 
 you to feel better — " 
 
 "It wouldn't help me at all. You know that 
 I detest being blown about." 
 
 "You shan't be blown about. I'll crawl if 
 you say so, — though it's curious taste. Come ! ' ' 
 — he held out his hand pleadingly. "The car's 
 going beautifully to-day; and while we glide 
 along — for I won't do any speeding at all — you 
 can tell me what has disgusted and disap- 
 pointed you. ' ' 
 
 Miss Creighton still regarded him doubtfully 
 for a moment; but there was a temptation in 
 the partial diversion from her angry thoughts, 
 which he offered. All women are aware that 
 there is a certain kind of devotion — the rare 
 devotion which gives much and asks little — that 
 is very attractive to the feminine nature; 
 especially when some other devotion to which 
 
262 EDITH CREIGHTON'S OPINION 
 
 they feel they have a right has failed them. 
 Hurt, disappointed and indignant, as Edith 
 truthfully described herself, she was for the 
 first time conscious of a sense of comfort in 
 Bobby's unwavering sympathy, and in the 
 devotion which was always at her service, like 
 the faithful, unexacting love of a dog. After 
 all, it might be a relief to talk to him — there are 
 times when a friend is a good safety-valve, — 
 and so, somewhat to his surprise, she said : 
 
 "You are so persistent that I suppose I 
 might as well go with you as have you follow- 
 ing me. ' ' 
 
 "Quite as well," he answered, while he 
 helped her into the car; "for you couldn't shake 
 me off, you know, — at least not by anything 
 short of stamping your foot and telling me to 
 begone, as you used to do." 
 
 "To hear you talk, one would think I was an 
 awful spitfire!" she laughed; and then added 
 more gravely: "Perhaps I am one. At least 
 there 's no doubt I can get dreadfully angry. ' ' 
 
 Selwyn nodded without looking at her. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I know that ! " he said. ' ' I mean I know 
 that you can get dreadfully angry; but then, it's 
 only when you have good reason for being so." 
 
 "I'm not sure of that," she observed hastily. 
 
 "Z am sure of it," he asserted stoutly. "I'll 
 back your sense of justice every time. At 
 present, now, I f m certain that whoever is in 
 fault, it isn't you." 
 
OF LATIKEXCE 263 
 
 " Bobby, you are perfectly ridiculous !' ' she 
 told him. "And yet it is good to have a friend 
 who believes in one even to the extent of 
 ridiculous loyalty. ' ' 
 
 "I'm sorry you think it ridiculous,' ' he said. 
 "But at least I'm glad that you believe in the 
 loyalty. And now, what's the matter? Who 
 has disgusted and disappointed you ? ' ' 
 
 "Can't you guess?" 
 
 Something in her tone made him turn and 
 glance curiously at her. 
 
 "You don't mean — Laurence Desmond?" he 
 exclaimed with quick intuition. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I mean Laurence 
 Desmond. Bobby, we've all liked him very 
 much. ' ' 
 
 "We certainly have," Bobby assented. 
 
 "But I am afraid that he doesn't deserve our 
 liking or our confidence, ' ' she went on. ' ' Quite 
 accidentally I have discovered something which 
 has altogether changed my opinion with regard 
 to him. ' ' 
 
 Selwyn did not answer immediately. They 
 had left the grounds of Hillcrest, and were run- 
 ning at the moderate rate of speed which he had 
 promised along the highroad ; and, with his gaze 
 fixed ahead, he almost appeared for an instant 
 not to hear. Then he said slowly : 
 
 "It has always seemed to me that after one 
 has given one's confidence it's well to be cau- 
 
264 EDITH CREIGHTOX'S OPINION 
 
 tious about withdrawing it. There are so many 
 possibilities of mistake in life, you know." 
 
 "There's no possibility of mistake in this," 
 she returned. ' ' I have had an instinct from the 
 first that there was something more than ordi- 
 nary in his acquaintance with the nurse. ' ' 
 
 ' ' The nurse ! ' ' Selwyn 's tone showed his sur- 
 prise. ' ' He 's never made any secret of the fact 
 that he met her in the railway wreck — " 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes ! ' ' Edith broke in impatiently. i ' We 
 have all heard about the wreck, and her 
 heroism, and so on; but we have never heard 
 that his acquaintance with her goes very much 
 beyond that. Now, I think it would have been 
 onlv candid to mention this fact before he 
 brought her to Hillcrest." 
 
 "But he didn't bring her. Dr. Glynn — " 
 
 "Bobby," Miss Creighton interrupted 
 loftily, ' ' if you think that you know more about 
 the matter than I do, there is really no need for 
 me to go on." 
 
 "I don't think so," Bobby hastened to 
 declare ; "but we know that Dr. Glynn did — " 
 
 "Select her as a nurse? Yes, we know that. 
 But we didn't know what I have just learned — 
 that she really came at Laurence Desmond's 
 solicitation, and because he promised to keep 
 some secret which makes his and her position 
 with us a false one." 
 
 "By George!" Mr. Selwyn xook refuge in 
 his invariable ejaculation, for he was very 
 
OF LAURENCE 265 
 
 much startled. c ' I wonder, ' ' he added involun- 
 tarily, "if that can be so?" 
 
 "Bobby, you are intolerable! Do you sup- 
 pose I would say such a thing if I were not 
 certain of it?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure that you are certain in your 
 own mind!" Bobby explained. "But I must 
 think there's some mistake. Desmond's not 
 that kind of fellow. ' ' 
 
 "How do you know what kind of fellow he 
 is ? " Edith demanded trenchantly. ' ' We really 
 know little or nothing about him. He is very 
 pleasant and — er — plausible. I believe Irish- 
 men mostly are. But such people are often 
 insincere, if not absolutely false. ' ' 
 
 Selwyn shook his head a trifle obstinately. 
 
 "Desmond's neither insincere nor false," he 
 said. "I'm confident of that. There's some 
 mistake." 
 
 ' ' There 's no mistake, I tell you ! ' ' Edith cried 
 irritably. "How can you suppose I would say 
 such things if I were not sure?" 
 
 Selwyn reduced the already moderate speed 
 of the car until it almost stopped, as he turned 
 toward her. 
 
 "How are you sure?" he asked bluntly. 
 
 "I am sure because I heard the facts I have 
 stated from their own lips," she answered. "I 
 suppose you will ask how I came to hear them, 
 so I will tell you exactly. It was an hour or 
 two ago that I went to Uncle George's room. 
 
266 EDITH CREIGHTOX'S OPINION 
 
 I knew that Laurence Desmond had gone up a 
 little while before ; but he was not in the cham- 
 ber when I entered, and neither was the nurse. 
 I asked Virgil where they were, and he said 
 they were in the sitting-room. There did not 
 seem any reason why I should not join them, 
 especially since I wanted to ask the nurse a 
 question or two about Uncle George. So I 
 opened the door between the rooms, and was 
 about to draw back the portiere which hangs 
 over it, when I heard them talking so earnestly 
 that involuntarily I stopped for an instant. I 
 was struck by the tone of the voices, even 
 before I heard any words, it seemed to imply 
 so much intimacy. Then, while I hesitated, I 
 caught a few words. I heard her ask if he 
 remembered that it was only on the condition 
 of his promise to keep some secret about her 
 that she had come to Hillcrest, and I heard him 
 answer that they were both in a false position. 
 I was so dismayed by my position that I do not 
 remember very clearly what he said, except 
 those words. But about them I could not be 
 mistaken, for she repeated them; she said that 
 the only way he could change the position he 
 considered false was by helping her to get 
 away. ' ' 
 
 "And he— " 
 
 "Said he would 'never do that.' Then I 
 managed to close the door noiselessly, and get 
 away myself. That is all I know ; and of course 
 
OF LAUREXCE 267 
 
 I should have preferred not to learn it in such 
 a manner, but I had not the faintest suspicion 
 of anything between them when I opened that 
 door." 
 
 i i Of course not. ' ' Selwyn directed his atten- 
 tion again to his wheel. "But the question is, 
 what does it mean! What do you think is 
 between thera?" 
 
 i ' How can I tell ? ' ' she replied. "It is not a 
 subject that I care to speculate about. But it 
 throws — you must see that it throws — a very 
 disagreeable light on Laurence Desmond's 
 character and conduct.' ' 
 
 "It seems hardly fair to make up our minds 
 about that unless we know a little more," Sel- 
 wyn ventured. "I would suggest telling him 
 frankly what you overheard, and asking him to 
 explain it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ask him to explain it ! I ! ' ' Edith exclaimed 
 haughtily. "Lay myself open to the charge of 
 eavesdropping ! ' ' 
 
 "That's nonsense, you know." 
 
 "It isn't nonsense. The fact that I over- 
 heard what was not intended for me to hear 
 would appear to prove it. Then it's really none 
 of my business to inquire what his relations 
 with this girl may be. ' ' 
 
 "I don't believe he has any relations with 
 her that he would hesitate to explain," Bobby 
 said stoutly. 
 
 "Oh, you don't?" Miss Creighton's tone was 
 
268 EDITH CBEIGHTOX'S OPINION 
 
 extremely crisp. "Then how would yon ac- 
 count for his statement about the false position 
 in which he is placed?" 
 
 Selwyn shook his head. "I can't account for 
 it," he said. "But I wouldn't be afraid to ask 
 him plainly what he meant." 
 
 "It isn't a question of being afraid," Edith 
 told him loftily, "but of not condescending to 
 inquire into what doesn't concern one. After 
 what I heard, I am perfectly certain that there 
 is some tie between the nurse and himself. 
 They may be — married. ' ' 
 
 This was a suggestion which, metaphorically 
 speaking, knocked Bobby flat. He stared wide- 
 eyed for a moment, and then — 
 
 ' ' Married ! " he gasped. ' ' I never thought of 
 that." 
 
 "I suppose not," Edith answered. "But 
 when one does think of it, everything seems to 
 concur to make it probable. They arrived to- 
 gether, on the same train — " 
 
 "But Desmond said — " 
 
 ' ' Kindly be quiet until I finish ! They arrived 
 on the same train; and, whether married or 
 merely engaged, we may reasonably suppose 
 that they decided to wait until Laurence could 
 break the matter to Uncle George ; so she went 
 to the hospital, while he came here. What are 
 you shaking your head in that ridiculous man- 
 ner for?" 
 
 "Because you are letting your imagination 
 
OF LAURENCE 269 
 
 run away with you. The thing's impossible. 
 Desmond couldn't have been here all this time 
 in such a position, and never said a word to the 
 Judge, who would have been so keenly hurt by 
 his lack of confidence. ' ' 
 
 "How can you be so absurd as to say in that 
 positive manner that he couldn't have done it, 
 when you don 't know what he could or couldn 't 
 have doner' Edith demanded exasperatedly. 
 "I have reminded you that he is a stranger to 
 us." 
 
 "Yes, he's a stranger," Selwyn admitted; 
 "but I'm quite sure he's a gentleman. And — 
 women don 't always understand — but there are 
 some things a gentleman can't do." 
 
 "You are as flattering as you are lucid," 
 Edith informed him sarcastically. "What is 
 the particular thing to which you have ref- 
 erence at present that a gentleman couldn't 
 do?" 
 
 "He couldn't," Bobby answered quietly, 
 "have occupied the position that Desmond has 
 toward you, if he were, as you suppose, either 
 married or engaged to another woman." 
 
 "The position toward me/" The blood flew 
 to Miss Creighton's face and fire flashed from 
 her eyes. "Bobby, your stupidity is past endur- 
 ance! What position do you imagine Lau- 
 rence Desmond to have occupied toward me?" 
 
 "Well," Bobby returned, "it's not very hard 
 to define. I should say that he was in the same 
 
270 EDITH CREIGHTON'S OPINION 
 
 boat with the rest of us, who were your adorers 
 and suitors before he came, but that his chance 
 of success has — er — appeared to be better than 
 ours." 
 
 "In other words" (Miss Creighton's tones 
 were icy now), "you have paid me the high 
 compliment of thinking that I was prepared to 
 accept a man who entered into my life only a 
 few weeks ago, and of whom I know little or 
 nothing, because, I suppose, he is the heir of 
 Hillcrest." 
 
 "Edith, you know that is absurd! No one 
 would ever think such a thing as that of you. 
 But there's no denying that he is very attract- 
 ive, and you've seemed to like him very much." 
 
 "I do like him — I mean I have liked him, — 
 but surely one may like a man without being 
 readv to marry him." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" (Bobby's assent was unqualified 
 now). "You are apparently able to like any 
 number of men without being ready to marry 
 them. ' ' 
 
 Edith threw back her head, and in a gay peal 
 of laughter her bad temper seemed to 
 evaporate. 
 
 "You are very absurd," she remarked. 
 ' ' But, after all, you 're not far wrong. I do like 
 a good many men without entertaining the 
 faintest idea of marrying any one of them. I 
 can't say" (the note of modernity showed itself 
 now in her candor) "what idea of the land I 
 
OF LAUBENCE 271 
 
 might in time have come to entertain with 
 regard to Laurence Desmond, if he had really 
 joined the ranks of my — what was it? — adorers 
 and suitors? — but he never has. Of course we 
 have both seen what mamma and Uncle George 
 hope for — " 
 
 " Plain as a pikestaff!" Bobby growled. 
 
 "But there hasn't been anything between us 
 up to this time except pleasant camaraderie. 
 Nevertheless, although I personally have no 
 right to complain, I feel that he hasn't acted 
 well in bringing this girl here in some false 
 position; indeed I am, as I said at first, thor- 
 oughly disgusted and disappointed in him. ' ' 
 
 "It doesn't look well on the surface," Bobby 
 found himself forced to agree ; ' ' but I think he 
 ought to be given a chance to explain. Perhaps 
 you'd let me speak to him — " 
 
 "Certainly not," Edith interrupted with 
 emphasis. "What I have told you is in strict 
 confidence, and I shall never forgive you if you 
 mention the subject to him." 
 
 "I shall not mention it without your permis- 
 sion," Bobby assured her. "But I believe you 
 are wrong, quite wrong, in making a mystery 
 of the matter." 
 
 And thus did two masculine opinions of 
 feminine conduct closely coincide in sentiment 
 and expression. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE JUDGE ASKS MISS LANDON'S NAME 
 
 Desmond's words, uttered as he left his 
 uncle's chamber, remained with Hester Landon 
 after the door had closed upon his exit. "You 
 see how impossible it is for you to think of 
 leaving him!" he had said; and her sinking 
 heart seemed to echo the sentence, while she 
 felt the clasp of the hand which clung to hers, 
 and acknowledged the irresistible appeal made 
 by weakness and dependence. ' ' It was madness 
 to have come!" she told herself; but, having 
 come, she recognized that it was indeed impos- 
 sible for her to go away without doing serious 
 harm to the patient placed in her charge, 
 against which her professional conscience 
 protested. 
 
 And yet, as she presently sat on the side of 
 the bed gazing at him — for even when he 
 dropped again into partial unconsciousness he 
 still kept hold of her hand, as if fearful of her 
 leaving him, — the thought flashed upon her that 
 if she desired a means of revenge for the injury 
 inflicted upon her father, it was here within her 
 reach. Remembering the long pain, the con- 
 demnation and injustice which had over- 
 
 272 
 
MISS LAXDOX'S NAME 273 
 
 shadowed his life, she had often said to herself 
 with the bitterness of impotent passion: "Oh, 
 if I could only repay suffering with suffering, 
 if I could only stretch to breaking the heart- 
 strings of the father who dealt so sternly with 
 him, I should be glad — glad!' Nothing had 
 seemed less possible than that she would ever 
 be able to do this ; yet now by a strange chance 
 of fate — so she put it to herself — the opportu- 
 nity was given, was literally here in her hand. 
 She looked down at that hand, at the frail 
 fingers which clung to it, and was conscious of 
 a certain fascination in the thought that she 
 had onlv to withdraw her hand, withdraw her 
 presence, in order to inflict keen and lasting 
 pain. The temptation to seize the opportunity 
 thus presented almost overwhelmed her. "I 
 have no right to be here — where lie was cast 
 out — unless I do it ! ' ' she thought. ' ' I can have 
 been brought here for no other purpose ! ' ' Yet 
 even as she told herself this, some other words 
 recurred to her memory: "An opportunity to 
 do something so fine that, if you lose it, you will 
 never cease in time, or perhaps in eternity, to 
 regret it." Would this be the "something so 
 fine" which she could never cease to regret? 
 And then : "It is not possible that nature made 
 you in the mould it has without giving you the 
 power to appreciate the highest possibilities in 
 human conduct. And here is a possibility so 
 high that it fairly dazzles one. ' ' 
 
274 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 Could that be said of the possibility she was 
 now considering, — the possibility of inflicting 
 pain on helpless weakness! And what was it 
 that had been suggested she might do, "if she 
 were great enough for it!" Was it not to for- 
 give, as Harry Wargrave himself might have 
 wished to forgive, the father who had banished 
 him! But all the energy of her passionate 
 spirit rose up to repudiate this. "No," she 
 cried inwardly, "I am not capable of that! I 
 do not even wish to be capable of it! I long, 
 as I have always longed, to return pain for 
 pain, — to make the man who wronged him suf- 
 fer as he suffered. But it must be intelligent 
 suffering, not that of imbecile weakness. If I 
 went away now, he would indeed suffer, but he 
 would not understand; and I want him to 
 understand fully. The only hope that he will 
 ever do so rests in his recovery. I must help 
 him to get well, as far as he can ever be well 
 again ; and then, when he is able to comprehend, 
 I will strike mv blow and go. " 
 
 With a sense of sustaining power in the 
 resolution, she drew her hand gently from the 
 fingers which still clung to it; and, when the 
 eyes opened appealingiy on her face, she bent 
 down and spoke in the quiet tones that a nurse 
 soon learns to make so effective. 
 
 "Don't be afraid!" she said. "I shall not 
 leave you, — I shall not go away while you need 
 me. ' ' 
 
MISS LANDOJSPS NAME 275 
 
 She hardly expected that the sense of the 
 words would penetrate to the clouded brain, but 
 relied on the tranquillizing effect of the tone ; 
 so her surprise was great when Judge War- 
 grave answered, more clearly than he had 
 spoken since his seizure : 
 
 "I need you always," he said, articulating 
 with difficulty, yet distinctly. 
 
 "Yes," she assented hastily. "Yes, I under- 
 stand. Have no fear of my leaving you — now. ' ' 
 
 She repeated the assurance because there 
 was perceptible anxiety in the eyes which con- 
 tinued to regard her intently. Then his hand 
 went out again and caught hers, while the stam- 
 mering tongue, with the same pathetic difficulty 
 of utterance, demanded : 
 
 "You are Maria, are you not!" 
 
 It was a startling inquiry ; for she recognized 
 that the mysterious mist which obscured the 
 mental faculties was clearing away, that the 
 question meant doubt, and that to answer it 
 was extremely difficult. While she hesitated 
 what to say, her quick ear caught the sound of 
 the opening door behind her; and she turned, 
 with a great sense of relief, to see Dr. Glynn 
 and Mrs. Creighton entering the room. Dis- 
 engaging her hand quickly, she went forward to 
 meet them. 
 
 "Well, nurse," (the doctor's cheerful voice 
 filled the quiet chamber), "how is our 
 patient?" 
 
276 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 "There seems a decided improvement in his 
 condition, doctor, " she answered in low, pro- 
 fessional tones. "He has jnst been speaking 
 quite intelligibly. The power of speech is very 
 much improved, and his mind seems growing 
 clearer. He has just asked" (her voice dropped 
 lower still) "if I am Maria." 
 
 "Ah!" The doctor's interest was alert. 
 "And you told him — ?" 
 
 "I didn't tell him anything, for you came in 
 at the moment. But I was very much in doubt 
 what I should tell him. ' ' 
 
 "It will be well to evade an answer for some 
 time yet," Dr. Glynn observed thoughtfully. 
 "The impression that you are Maria has done 
 him a great deal of good, and we had better let 
 him come gradually to the knowledge of who 
 you really are. If the mind is clearing, the 
 knowledge will come. But we do not wish it to 
 be in the nature of a shock. ' ' 
 
 "Direct questions are difficult to evade," the 
 nurse suggested. 
 
 "Well, well, 111 see what his condition is," 
 the doctor said. "He has probably forgotten 
 all about the question by this time." 
 
 He moved forward as he spoke; and, ap- 
 proaching the bed, took the hand of the old 
 man, who looked up at him with familiar keen- 
 ness in his glance. 
 
 "How are you, Judge?" he asked. "I think 
 that you are much better. ' ' 
 
MISS LANDON'S NAME 277 
 
 "Yes" (the answer came distinct, though 
 with slow and difficult articulation), "I am 
 better." 
 
 "Good, — very good!" The doctor was 
 clearly as much surprised as pleased. "You 
 have improved immensely. We'll soon have 
 you on your feet again. Mrs. Creighton, do 
 you hear how well the Judge is speaking ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes, I hear!" Mrs. Creighton replied 
 eagerly. She, too, leaned over the bed. "Dear 
 brother," she cried, "it is such a happiness to 
 know that vou are so much better ! ' ' 
 
 The Judge regarded her without speaking for 
 a minute, as if settling in his mind who she was ; 
 and then, extending one hand, he caught her 
 wrist, while with the other he pointed to the 
 nurse, who stood at the foot of the bed. 
 
 "Who is that?" he inquired. 
 
 If his question of a few minutes earlier had 
 startled the nurse, this most unexpected and 
 apparently altogether intelligent inquiry had a 
 still more startling effect on Mrs. Creighton. 
 She looked appealingiy, almost wildly, at the 
 doctor, and it was he who answered : 
 
 "That is some one who is here to help you 
 get well, Judge. You mustn't trouble about 
 anything else." 
 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 It was the old peremptory accent, the imper- 
 ative tone that no one had ever disobeyed ; and 
 the doctor cleared his throat nervously before 
 
278 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 he tried the policy of evasion which he had 
 recommended. 
 
 1 ' Never mind abont her name, ' ' he answered. 
 "As I've just said, she's here to help yon get 
 well, and yon mustn't excite yourself — " 
 
 He paused in dismay ; for the Judge abruptly 
 lifted himself to a sitting posture, and, with 
 flashing eyes, said sternly, though with the 
 same difficult utterance : 
 
 "Don't talk to me so! I'm not — imbecile. 
 She's not Maria — I know that now, — Maria's 
 dead. Who is she?" 
 
 "Tell him, doctor, — tell him!" Mrs. Creigh- 
 ton urged in a whisper ; while Hester stood like 
 a statue, challenging as it were the agonized 
 inquiry of the awakening brain, the gaze of the 
 eyes so persistently fastened on her. 
 
 "She's a nurse who is here to take care of 
 you, as I've been telling you," the doctor 
 replied. ' ' You can call her what you like — I 'm 
 sure she won't object, — but her name is Miss 
 Lanclon. ' ' 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Lanclon. You've heard it before?" (The 
 Judge nodded.) "It was connected with the 
 railway wreck, — don't you remember the rail- 
 way wreck that young Desmond was in? This 
 was the nurse who was the heroine of the 
 occasion, and helped to save so many lives. 
 We've brought her now to employ her skill in 
 helping you to get well again; and if you con- 
 
MISS LANDOX'S XAME 279 
 
 tinue to improve as you've improved since I 
 saw you last — hallo ! This is what I expected ! 
 A stimulant, Miss Landon, — quick!" 
 
 For the Judge had suddenly fallen back on 
 his pillows, white as they, and the lids closed 
 over his eyes. The doctor shook his head as 
 he laid his fingers on the pulse, while the nurse 
 brought the stimulant for which he had called. 
 
 "Weak heart-action," he said in a low aside 
 to Mrs. Creighton. ' ' That is where the greatest 
 danger lies. I was afraid of this explanation. 
 But the brain had cleared so wonderfully that 
 it couldn 't be avoided. Happily, it is over now ; 
 and when he recovers from the effect of the 
 shock, he will probably be more like himself 
 than we have seen him since his seizure." 
 
 "But mil he remember, do you think, what 
 you have told him?" Mrs. Creighton asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he will remember!" the doctor 
 answered. "The cloud over the mind is pass- 
 ing off, and he will not mistake one person for 
 another again, nor forget what he has heard. 
 There will no doubt continue to be great dif- 
 ficulty of speech, especially with regard to 
 names; but otherwise I look now for a rapid 
 improvement in his condition." 
 
 This prediction was so far justified that 
 within a day or two Judge Wargrave was able 
 to be wheeled in his winged chair into the 
 sitting-room, where the members of the house- 
 hold eagerly assured him that he was "just like 
 
280 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 himself ,' ' while sadly acknowledging to one 
 another how greatly he was changed since he 
 had sat there before. It was not only that he 
 was much aged and very frail in appearance — 
 his face like ivory carving in its paleness, his 
 eyes dull and absent in expression, — but the 
 cloud on the mind was only partially lifted; 
 and the mental faculties, once so keenly alert, 
 were now only capable of slight exertion. He 
 indeed recognized every one who approached 
 him, although unable to call any one by name; 
 but they soon learned that intercourse in any 
 real sense was impossible. He not only spoke 
 with difficulty, slowly and indistinctly, confus- 
 ing words so that his meaning was not clear, 
 but his pride suffered so much under this 
 infirmity that, when he failed to make himself 
 understood, he would lift his hand with a tragic 
 gesture of despair, and sink into silence from 
 which nothing could rouse him. 
 
 At such times every one turned instinctively 
 to the nurse, who understood him best, and who 
 could almost always divine and interpret his 
 meaning. Whether or not he remembered what 
 he had been told concerning her, it was at least 
 clear that his dependence upon her increased as 
 he regained intelligence. He was ill at ease 
 whenever she was absent, and his welcome 
 when she returned from exercise or rest was 
 pathetic in its eagerness. He had apparently 
 ceased to confuse her with his dead wife, for he 
 
MISS LAXDOX'S NAME 281 
 
 did not now call her by the only name his lips 
 were able to pronounce; but his perception of 
 the likeness which had first startled his fac- 
 ulties did not grow less. It arrested his atten- 
 tion continually; and she often observed him 
 staring at her with a strange, intent, startled 
 gaze, as if doubting who she was. At such 
 times — especially if they were alone — she found 
 herself trembling a little. Instinct told her that 
 a question was forming in his mind which the 
 halting tongue would some day make an effort 
 to ask, and then — what would she answer? 
 
 She was meditating upon this one day as she 
 walked among the fragrant alleys of the rose- 
 garden, while the sun was sinking — a great red 
 ball, wrapped in the Indian summer haze — 
 down the western sky. In the soft radiance, 
 her slender, white-clad figure moved with 
 charming effect among the tall, green shrubs 
 and hedges; and as Desmond approached her 
 he was struck, as often before, by the quality 
 of delicate grace, of something spiritual and 
 exquisite, which her aspect breathed, and which 
 seemed peculiarly expressed in her clear, pale 
 skin and lucid eyes. His own eyes were smiling 
 as he came toward her with outstretched hand. 
 
 ' ' I am so glad to find you here ! " he said. l i I 
 hastened as soon as I caught sight of you from 
 the other side of the river." 
 
 She glanced out across the smiling valley, 
 
282 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 through which the stream, shining now with 
 sunset tints, flowed in its lovely current. 
 
 "Were you the horseman whom I saw across 
 the river a few minutes ago f ' ' she asked. ' ' You 
 have certainly made haste, to reach here so 
 quickly. ' ' 
 
 ' i I would have made even more haste if pos- 
 sible/ ' he said, "because I feared to find you 
 gone. You have a most wonderful faculty of 
 disappearing. I hardly like to charge you with 
 deliberately avoiding me — it seems perhaps to 
 imply an undue opinion of my own importance, 
 — but it has been rather remarkable, the way 
 in which I have failed to secure any opportunity 
 to speak to you of late." 
 
 "Whether it argues an undue opinion of 
 your own importance or not," she said, "it is 
 quite true that I have avoided you. I don't 
 know whether or not you have observed it, but 
 I think Miss Creighton suspects something — 
 and so I have thought it best to see as little of 
 you as possible." 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes ! " he replied, ' ' I am well aware that 
 she suspects something; and I have conse- 
 quently avoided her as much as you have 
 avoided me. For, as I pointed out to you when 
 we talked together last, my position is an 
 extremely difficult one. ' ' 
 
 "I think I pointed out on the same occasion 
 that the difficulty was entirely of your own 
 creating." 
 
MISS LAXDOX'S NAME 283 
 
 "That is quite true," he admitted; "and I 
 should be willing to accept the difficulty and all 
 that may arise from it, if there were any neces- 
 sity for the situation. But there really isn't, 
 you know. ' ' 
 
 "Pardon me! I don't know anything of the 
 kind. ' ' 
 
 "Then that is because you refuse to open 
 your mind to conviction," he said, with a sigh. 
 "So far as I am concerned, it seems to me every 
 day more incredible — and may I say absurd ? — 
 that you should be here as a professional 
 nurse. ' ' 
 
 "You may," she told him quietly, "call it 
 what you like ; but shall I remind you again that 
 the absurdity is as much due to your insistence 
 as to my weakness?" 
 
 "I acknowledge the insistence," he said, 
 "but I must take issue with vou about the weak- 
 ness. I have never seen any one display as 
 much strength as you have done in this trying 
 situation — " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "It was not strength which I displayed when 
 I let you persuade me against my judgment into 
 coming here," she said. "And it is not 
 strength that I am displaying in remaining 
 now. It is simply weakness, — weakness for 
 which I despise myself. ' ' 
 
 He was so unprepared for the sudden passion 
 which shook her voice as she uttered the last 
 
284 THE JUDGE ASKS 
 
 words that lie paused abruptly, and, turning, 
 faced her. 
 
 "AYhat does that mean?" he asked. "You 
 give me the impression of being so reasonable, 
 so free from emotional excess of any kind, that 
 I can not understand what you possibly find to 
 despise where / see cause only for admiration. ' ' 
 
 She looked at him as he stood in the path 
 before her, and he read in her eves — those clear 
 eyes which in her case were truly "windows of 
 the soul" — all the deep self -scorn of which she 
 spoke. 
 
 "You see matter for admiration," she told 
 him, "because you imagine that I was in- 
 fluenced to come here by the motives you put 
 before me when you begged me to come. But 
 you must understand, once for all, that those 
 motives did not move me. I had no desire to 
 seize the opportunity to render good for evil, 
 as you suggested. On the contrary, I came 
 because I hoped that I might be able to find a 
 means of inflicting suffering on one who had 
 been so cruel, so merciless — " 
 
 "No!" Desmond put out his hand and 
 caught hers, in the force of his denial. "You 
 may have dreamed of such a thing, but you 
 don't know your own nature. You could not 
 doit." 
 
 She made no effort to withdraw her hand 
 from his grasp, as she stood still, looking up 
 at him, while something of the wonder he had 
 
MISS LANDON'S NAME 285 
 
 roused in her from the first came into her 
 gaze. 
 
 "I don't know how yon found it out," she 
 said, "but you are right — I can't do it." 
 
 "No," he said again — in assent rather than 
 in denial now, — "you can't do it. And it is 
 because you can't that you scorn yourself? 
 How strange ! ' ' 
 
 "It is not strange at all," she returned. 
 "Would you not scorn yourself if you found 
 weakness where you had thought to find 
 strength, — pity, even something like tender- 
 ness, where there should be only the stern 
 remembrance of ineffaceable wrong? How does 
 it change what he has done that he is old, feeble, 
 stricken now? And yet when I go in to him (as 
 I presently shall go), and he looks at me with 
 that pathetic smile of welcome, I despise myself 
 that my heart melts and I have no courage — no 
 courage — " 
 
 "Ah, what injustice you are doing yourself! 
 You have courage for the greatest opportunity 
 that, in my knowledge, has ever been given to 
 any one — to render service for injury, to return 
 benefit for wrong. ' ' 
 
 "No, no !" She tore her hand from his clasp. 
 "You must not give me credit for such feelings. 
 I tell you again that I did not come here for 
 that, but for something very different. Yet day 
 by day this weakness has invaded me, until now 
 I have no strength to do what I had resolved 
 
286 MISS LANDOX'S NAME 
 
 upon, and I hesitate even to strike the one blow 
 which is still in my power, — the blow of going 
 away. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I believe it is a blow which wonld kill him, ' ' 
 Desmond said. "You have just spoken of his 
 pathetic pleasure in your return to him. Re- 
 member that it is absolutely the only pleasure 
 that he has now ; that his dependence upon you 
 in every way is so great that to fill your place 
 even in the matter of service would be impos- 
 sible. He cares for no society except yours, — 
 not even the society of those whom he has 
 known longest and loved best. And I can not 
 but believe that some mysterious instinct tells 
 him who you are. If I could only induce you to 
 tell him yourself — " 
 
 "Don't try to induce me to do that," she 
 warned; "because I could tell him in only one 
 way — the way I have resolved upon, — and that 
 you would not desire. It is what I have grown 
 too weak to do." She paused, and her gaze 
 turned away, out over the wide tranquil scene 
 of valley and hills and woods toward the sink- 
 ing sun. "His life is like that," she said: 
 i ' sinking fast into the night that awaits all, and 
 one couldn't — oh, no, one couldn't add a pang 
 to that passage, whatever weakness the failure 
 implies! Now I must go. No, I can't stay a 
 moment longer. He will be watching anxiously 
 for me. Good-bye ! ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 PAEDOX AND LOVE 
 
 When Hester Landon returned to the house, 
 and, passing with her light, noiseless step up- 
 stairs, opened the door of the now familiar 
 sitting-room, she found it filled with the sunset 
 glow which poured in through the wide western 
 windows. And silhouetted against this glow 
 was the figure of the Judge, seated in his great 
 chair, but bending forward in an attitude of 
 strained expectancy. 
 
 Her heart smote her ; for she knew that this 
 expectancy, this waiting was for her; and she 
 forgot everything except the impulse which had 
 made her a nurse — the impulse to heal and help 
 those who suffered, — when she came forward 
 and saw the pleasure which lighted up the sad 
 old face at sight of her. As he eagerly held out 
 his hand, she said gently : 
 
 "I am afraid you have wanted me, that I 
 have been away too long!" 
 
 "No," he answered — and she was instantly 
 struck by the clearness of his enunciation, as 
 if there had been a sudden return of the power 
 of speech, — "you have not been long; but I 
 
 287 
 
288 PARDON AND LOVE 
 
 always want you, and I have been impatient 
 because I have remembered something — " 
 
 "Yes?" She spoke softly, encouragingly, as 
 he halted; the distressed look, which had now 
 become habitual, deepening on his face. " It is 
 something in which you wish me to help you ! ' ' 
 
 "To help me, yes." The hand which still 
 held hers tightened its clasp, while the other 
 hand lifted and pointed toward the desk. " It is 
 there," he said, — "a letter — I remember now, 
 — and I must find it. A letter — " 
 
 Then Hester began to tremble; for she had 
 not the slightest doubt that the letter of which 
 he spoke was that which had been the cause of 
 his illness, — the letter that had struck him down 
 once, and the mere sight of which, her profes- 
 sional judgment told her, might strike him 
 down again — this time to death. It was part of 
 the weakness which had assailed her, the incon- 
 sistency of which she had just spoken to Des- 
 mond in the garden, that she felt as if it were 
 more than she could bear, to stand by and watch 
 him receive another blow from the weapon she 
 had forged ; and so she said hastily : 
 
 "I would not trouble about that just now. 
 When you are better, we will look for the — 
 letter. But not now. You are not yet well 
 enough. ' ' 
 
 "I shall never be better." Again she was 
 startled by the clearness of his utterance, as if 
 the mind, that had dominated the body through- 
 
PARDON AND LOVE 289 
 
 out all his life, was determined to assert its 
 mastery over the weak and failing powers to 
 the end. "Another stroke may come. I have 
 had a stroke, haven't I?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "That is what it is 
 called." 
 
 "Well, you know what that means. Another 
 may come any day, any hour; and then death, 
 or worse than death." 
 
 "Yes," she acknowledged again (for she 
 recognized that, in the light of this sudden 
 clearing of the mental faculties, this grasp of 
 the situation by the mind which a little while 
 before had been so clouded, she dared not 
 attempt evasion of the truth); "that may be. 
 But, because it may be, you must take no risk 
 that might bring on such a condition. You must 
 wait, you must grow stronger, before you can 
 safely make any exertion, or do anything to 
 cause mental agitation." 
 
 But even as she talked she saw that her words 
 hardly reached him, so intent was he upon the 
 object which he had in view. His eyes, full of 
 imploring eagerness, were fastened on her 
 face ; his hand still clasped hers tightly. 
 
 "I can't wait!" he said. "There is some- 
 thing which must be done. I don't know what 
 it is until I see the letter; but you'll help me to 
 find it— Maria f ' ' 
 
 She started ; for it was the first time he had 
 called her by this name since he had understood 
 
290 PAEDON AND LOVE 
 
 who she really was. But now it seemed that 
 once more, for an instant at least, he confused 
 the present with the past ; once more, struck by 
 her resemblance to his dead wife, he called her 
 by the name of that wife, and appealed to her, 
 as he might have appealed to Maria herself, to 
 aid him in what concerned them both so deeply. 
 The poignant pathos of the situation — of the 
 truth which he did not know — almost over- 
 whelmed the girl; and, losing sight of every- 
 thing except that moving appeal, she said 
 quickly : 
 
 "I'll do anything I can to help you; but 
 where is the letter 1 ' ' 
 
 i i There, ' ' he said, pointing again toward the 
 desk. "It must be there." 
 
 Then, with a feeling of being overmastered 
 by some power stronger than herself, she drew 
 his chair nearer to the massive piece of furni- 
 ture, followed the direction of his pointing 
 finger to the drawer where the key lay, fitted 
 this in its lock, and opened down the old- 
 fashioned, sloping top, which, lowered, formed 
 the table of the desk, and displayed its inner 
 drawers and beautifully carved pigeonholes. 
 The sight of the familiar interior seemed to act 
 as a stimulant on Judge Wargrave. He leaned 
 forward, and his hands moved quickly from one 
 compartment to another. But it was soon 
 evident that the mind could not follow the eager 
 fingers. Hester, watching him closely, saw that 
 
PARDON AND LOVE 291 
 
 he was unable to read the papers which he 
 drew out and attempted to examine. She was 
 not surprised when presently, dropping a pack- 
 age, he raised his eyes to her full of pain and 
 reproach. 
 
 1 i You don 't help me ! ' ' he complained. ' ' And 
 I_I can't find it !" 
 
 The piteousness of the appeal was irresist- 
 ible; and, scarcely knowing what she was 
 doing, she leaned over the desk and pulled open 
 one of its inner drawers. It chanced to be a 
 drawer which held only a single paper, and that 
 a letter which lay staring at her as it were, with 
 the printed name of the Catholic church of 
 Kingsford in the corner of the envelope to 
 identify it. She stared at it for a moment, and 
 then — "Kismet!" she murmured to herself as 
 she drew it out. 
 
 "Is this the letter you want?" she asked, 
 laying it in Judge Wargrave 's hand. 
 
 It had an effect upon him on which she had 
 not counted. As his glance fell on the envelope, 
 it was clear that he not only recognized it at 
 once, but that he took up the thread of memory 
 where it had been broken off when, under the 
 shock which this letter brought, he had sunk 
 away into black depths of unconsciousness. 
 Now it seemed to give another shock, as reviv- 
 ing as the other had been paralyzing. Age and 
 illness appeared to fall away from him when he 
 seized it*, and the girl, who had seen him only 
 
292 PARDON AND LOVE 
 
 under the cloud of physical infirmity, looked at 
 him with wonder, as, for the moment at least, 
 this cloud lifted, vigor came into his frame, 
 light flashed over his face, and he cried in a 
 clear, ringing voice: 
 
 "Yes, this is the letter which gave me back 
 my son ! ' ' 
 
 "No!" The vehement denial burst from 
 Hester's lips before she had time to think, or to 
 control herself. ' i It did not give you back your 
 son, ' ' she said. ' ' It only told you what you lost 
 forever when you sent him away. ' ' 
 
 The hand which held the letter dropped in 
 Judge Wargrave's lap, as he looked up at her. 
 And, meeting his eyes, she knew that the man 
 who regarded her was the man who had been 
 reckoned the foremost jurist of his day and 
 time. The keen intellect was working again as 
 well as it had ever worked; the piercing gaze 
 seemed reading her through and through. 
 
 "What," he asked slowly and clearly, "do 
 you know of it? What do you know of my son 
 — or of me! And who are you" (it might have 
 been the judge on the bench who spoke, so full 
 of stern authority was the tone) "who come 
 here, with his mother's face and voice, to tell 
 me what I lost when I sent him away ? ' ' 
 
 Standing with her back against the desk, to 
 which she was holding with both hands, she 
 answered proudly : 
 
 "You must know who I am. Since I have his 
 
PARDON AND LOVE 293 
 
 mother's face and voice, who could I be but his 
 daughter?" 
 
 "His daughter — my son's daughter! But I 
 never knew — ' ' 
 
 "That he had a daughter? No; he was as 
 proud as you. He would claim nothing, ask 
 nothing, from the father who had misjudged 
 and cast him off. Didn't you know him well 
 enough to know that? He was a Wargrave as 
 well as yourself." 
 
 "His daughter!" The old man sat as if 
 turned to stone, gazing at her. "And he never 
 told me ! He died and never told me ! " 
 
 "Do you think he would have told you then?' 
 she demanded, with all the bitterness of long- 
 repressed passion in her voice. "Do you think 
 he would have asked your charitv for me any 
 more than for himself? More than once he 
 said: 'If you were a boy, I would claim the 
 Wargrave inheritance for you ; it would be only 
 just and right. But as it is, we will ask nothing, 
 not even recognition. ' And I would never have 
 asked recognition, — I don't ask it now, under- 
 stand that!" she cried. "I did not come here 
 to ask anything. I came to try to clear his 
 name, as he would never make an effort himself 
 to clear it. And God helped me. He must have 
 helped me ; for how else was it that the man I 
 sought, and could never have found by my own 
 efforts, was flung dying at my feet, and that he 
 
294 PARDON AND LOVE 
 
 had the grace — oh, the wonderful grace! — to 
 confess the truth before he died?" 
 
 Judge Wargrave held out the letter in a hand 
 which shook violently. 
 
 4 * Then it was through you that this came?" 
 he asked. 
 
 ' ' It was through me, in as far as I furnished 
 the key which enabled the priest to write it," 
 she answered. "But you understand that it 
 was the dying confession of a man who was 
 killed in the railway wreck ? ' ' 
 
 "I understand: the man who was the — the 
 thief?" 
 
 "Yes, the thief and forger which you were 
 blind enough to believe that your son could be. 
 Oh," she cried suddenly, "thank God that the 
 man belonged to a religion which taught him 
 that there was something to do to atone for 
 wrong, — something beside merely being sorry! 
 And so, when death stared him in the face, he 
 told the truth; and that is why you have it 
 there, on the testimony of the priest who at- 
 tended him in his last moments." 
 
 "The priest!" Judge Wargrave repeated 
 the unfamiliar word, as if wonderingly, to him- 
 self. "God forgive me," he said slowly, "that 
 during a long life I have thought poorly of 
 priests, and held the confessional an instrument 
 of evil! Now I see how great an instrument 
 of good it is, — now that it has given me back my 
 son ! " He held out the letter again in his old. 
 
PARDOX AXD LOVE 295 
 
 trembling hand. ' i Read it to me, ' ' he said ; and 
 then, as she hesitated: "You know I can not 
 read it myself. ' ' 
 
 The appeal of his helplessness, even more 
 than that of his tone, overcame the girl's 
 attitude of resistance. As he extended the let- 
 ter, something in his manner and glance seemed 
 to say : ' ' It concerns us equally — you and me, — 
 and us alone." And it was this recognition of 
 her right to share . in the revelation which 
 cleared Harry Wargrave's name forever of any 
 shadow of dishonor, that made her take the 
 letter and drop on her knees beside his chair; 
 for so only she felt that she could read it. 
 
 When she finished reading, there was silence 
 in the room, — silence which to Hester's fancy 
 still echoed with the sound of the words she had 
 spoken. For, few and simple as those words 
 were, she knew their tremendous import to the 
 old man who listened so eagerly, drinking them 
 in as it were. And it seemed to her that there 
 might be others listening also ; the son who had 
 heard his sentence of banishment in this room, 
 and went out of it so proudly, and the mother 
 who had died broken-hearted because of his 
 going. Surely they must be there in the gather- 
 ing shadows to hear her voice read aloud the 
 words — which but for her would never have 
 been written, — that made an end of cruel mis- 
 understanding and estrangement. 
 
 Still kneeling, she looked out of the great 
 
296 PARDON AND LOVE 
 
 western window, over the broad acres of the 
 Wargrave heritage which lay below, to the far 
 horizon, where the ineffable glories of sunset 
 had faded into that luminous calm which, with 
 its hint of heavenly remoteness, speaks to our 
 poor hearts, as nothing else on earth can speak, 
 of the world toward which we are hastening as 
 pilgrims and wayfarers. Filled with the 
 thought of those who had already reached that 
 world, as well as of the old man beside her who 
 stood upon its threshold, the girl was conscious 
 of an exaltation of spirit such as she had never 
 known before, — the exaltation of one who has 
 attained to some height from which, if only for 
 a brief instant, the meaning of life becomes 
 clear, its bitterness is wiped away, and the 
 gracious purposes of God are justified. By 
 what a strange and wonderful way she had 
 been led to the spot where she now was she 
 suddenly seemed to see, as if by a flash of 
 illumination, while Desmond's words sounded 
 in her ears: "A wonderful opportunity to do 
 something so fine that, if you lose it, you will 
 never cease, in time, or perhaps in eternity, to 
 regret it." And again: "It means that, rep- 
 resenting the man who was unjustly banished 
 from his father's house, you can go back to that 
 house, to return benefit for injury; to give 
 service to one stricken down by the knowledge 
 of his own terrible mistake ; to offer — if you are 
 great enough for that — the forgiveness which 
 
PARDON AND LOVE 297 
 
 Harry Wargrave might have wished to offer to 
 the father who indeed judged him wrongly, but 
 to whose teaching and example he owed the 
 qualities for which you admired and loved 
 him.' , And then the ringing appeal seemed 
 once more sounding in her ears: " Isn't this 
 worth doing? And aren't you strong enough to 
 doit?" 
 
 She almost gasped again, as she had gasped 
 in listening to what her spirit even then 
 acknowledged as a call to arms; for the ques- 
 tion still faced her — was she strong enough to 
 do it? Only a little while ago, down there 
 among the roses, she had cried out upon her 
 weakness, which she now knew to be strength. 
 But was this strength great enough for the 
 demand upon it? She had returned benefit for 
 injury; she had given service to one sorely 
 stricken by his own great mistake; she had 
 brought him the knowledge which, in his own 
 solemn words, gave him back his son ; and now 
 there remained one thing still to do — was she 
 great enough to do it? 
 
 Half unconsciously, she started to rise to her 
 feet; but the old man's hand fell upon her 
 shoulder, and she remained kneeling beside 
 him, while he spoke as she had not heard him 
 speak yet; for the deep fountains of feeling 
 were broken up, and he was moved as in all his 
 long life he had never been moved before. 
 
298 PARDON AXD LOVE 
 
 
 Harry's daughter!" lie said. " Harry 's 
 daughter ! And she comes as a stranger under 
 my roof ! my God! How dare I ask You to 
 forgive me, when I can never forgive myself! 
 Child, I don't wonder that you want to go, now 
 that you have done what you came to do. But 
 before you go I should like to fall at your feet 
 and beg one word of pardon for Harry's sake. 
 Did he go away without a sign of forgiveness 
 for the father whose heart was broken for him? 
 Oh, my son ! my son ! ' ' 
 
 The passionate cry, the outburst of weeping 
 — the hard weeping of manhood and old age, — 
 such as rives the very heart asunder, were more 
 than she could bear. ' ' Are you great enough ? ' ' 
 a voice seemed whispering in her ear ; and she 
 answered by putting her arms about the bowed 
 and shaking form. 
 
 "He always understood and forgave," she 
 whispered. "I have come to tell you that, too. 
 And before he died he said: 'When you see my 
 father, give him my love.' I thought he was 
 dreaming ; for I never imagined it possible that 
 I would ever see you, and I knew that he knew 
 how I felt toward you. But the dying have 
 strange insight sometimes, and I believe that he 
 foresaw what would follow if we ever met. ' ' 
 
 He looked up at her with a light which was 
 like a blessing on his face. 
 
 "Child," he said, "what has followed?" 
 
 And she answered : ' l Pardon and love. ' ' 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 
 
 It chanced that the brief interview in the 
 rose garden between Desmond and Hester had 
 a witness of which neither was aware, — an alto- 
 gether involuntary witness ; for when, attracted 
 by the beauty of the sunset, Edith went to a 
 window which overlooked the garden, the river, 
 and the distant woodlands sloping up to the 
 western sky, she had no thought of seeing the 
 two figures which at once caught her eye as 
 they walked on the lower terrace, the white 
 uniform of the nurse showing in strong relief 
 against the green background of shrubs and 
 hedges. She forgot the sunset, as she stood 
 looking at them — frowning slightly while she 
 looked, — until Desmond suddenly paused and 
 caught the hand of the girl ; then, with a start, 
 she turned abruptly and moved away, conscious 
 of having again surprised something not meant 
 for her to see or know. 
 
 A sense of indignation possessed her as she 
 walked hurriedly up and down the room. 
 "What does it mean!" she asked herself in 
 futile inquiry and hot scorn. Why this under- 
 hand intercourse, these clandestine meetings? 
 
 299 
 
300 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOE 
 
 If some tie, such as she had imagined, existed 
 between Desmond and the nurse, why should he 
 not avow it? What reason could there be for 
 secrecy which seemed as unnecessary as it was 
 unworthy ? i ' What has he to lose by being open 
 with us f ' ' she wondered bitterly. i ' The will is 
 made, and poor Uncle George has no power to 
 change it now. It is almost as if he were 
 already dead and the heir he has chosen is 
 virtually master of Hillcrest. No one doubts or 
 denies this ; so why — why should he act in such 
 a manner, maintain these secret relations with 
 this girl, who has acknowledged that she is here 
 in a false position?" 
 
 Vainly asking these questions as she paced 
 back and forth, Edith found herself also reflect- 
 ing upon her own relations with Desmond. 
 That he had given no sign of any intention of 
 fulfilling the evident desire of the family by 
 asking her to marry him, she was well aware ; 
 but it was part of her superb self-confidence 
 that she had, nevertheless, entertained no doubt 
 whatever of her power to bring him to her feet 
 as a suitor if she desired to do so. She had not 
 yet decided whether or not she did desire to do 
 this ; she was only pleasantly conscious of what 
 she conceived to be her power to do as she liked, 
 when the shock came which seemed to tell her 
 that she possessed no such power ; that, instead 
 of commanding the situation as she fancied, she 
 was of no account in it. 
 
EDITH LISTEXS AT THE DOOR 301 
 
 This at least had been her first impression; 
 bnt it was characteristic of Edith Creighton 
 that the belief in herself which every influence 
 of her life had up to this time fostered, could 
 not remain in eclipse very long. After the con- 
 versation with Selwyn, in which she relieved 
 her mind and expressed various hasty opinions 
 and conjectures, she recovered something of 
 her usual poise ; and it began to seem probable 
 that the key to Desmond's unaccountable con- 
 duct might, after all, be found in his intentions 
 toward herself, — intentions which it seemed 
 impossible that he had not entertained, since 
 every one gave him credit for them; and she 
 knew how irresistible she had often proved 
 when making no such effort to charm as she was 
 quite conscious of having made for his benefit. 
 She decided, therefore, to give him, after a 
 certain interval of coolness and delay, an 
 opportunity to explain his apparent intimacy 
 with the nurse. And her own interest having 
 been stimulated by the element of doubt so 
 unexpectedly introduced into the situation, 
 there was no question but that she was more 
 inclined than she had ever been to consider 
 favorably the suit which might be offered as 
 a result of the explanation, when — the sunset 
 glow called her to a window in time to witness 
 the scene in the garden, which again threw all 
 her thoughts and plans into chaos. 
 
 Now, reflecting upon these things, she was 
 
302 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 
 
 conscious of an anger more intense than any 
 she had felt before, — even than that which, 
 oddly enough, Selwyn had been the person 
 appointed to soothe. For, although she would 
 have said that Bobby's opinion had no weight 
 with her, there was no doubt whatever that his 
 positively expressed views had influenced her 
 very much. Women feel instinctively that a 
 man's opinion of men is based upon surer 
 knowledge than their own; and when Selwyn 
 declared, "You are letting your imagination 
 run away with you. . . . There are some things 
 a gentleman can't do," she was more impressed 
 than she was willing to acknowledge. But now 
 — she longed to have him before her now, in 
 order that she might cry out upon him that he 
 had been a fool to believe that the standard of 
 a gentleman applied to Laurence Desmond, and 
 that she had been an even greater fool to listen 
 to him. 
 
 Briefly, Miss Creighton was in a state of 
 mind and feeling which, if it could not possibly 
 be described as the fury of ' ' a woman scorned, ' ' 
 which we are assured is beyond any other fury 
 known, was at least sufficiently one of anger 
 with herself, as well as with others, to make her 
 mood dangerous. She felt — unreasonably 
 enough, as we are aware, but nevertheless 
 intensely — that her self-esteem had received a 
 crushing blow; and considerations of dignity 
 yielded to the natural human impulse to return 
 
EDITH LISTEXS AT THE DOOR 303 
 
 the blow, — to prove to all whom it concerned 
 that Desmond was not worthy of the trust 
 which had been bestowed upon him ; that if one 
 of the first requirements of the Wargrave heir 
 was that he should show a record of spotless 
 honor, this man was not fitted to be that heir 
 and to carry on the traditions and standards of 
 a line of gentlemen. 
 
 In this highly charged condition of what 
 might be described as spiritual electricity, she 
 went down to dinner, where it was, in a certain 
 sense, a relief to find that Desmond was absent. 
 Replying to her interrogative glance, Mrs. 
 Creighton said: 
 
 "Laurence has gone into Kingsford. Bobby 
 telephoned for him to come and meet some 
 people of importance — magnates, as they are 
 ridiculously called, of one kind or another, — 
 who have stopped over to examine the re- 
 sources of the country, with a view to railways 
 or mills or — er — " 
 
 "Some other means of making money and 
 demoralizing the people, as poor Uncle George 
 would say," Edith concluded. "Yes, I heard 
 Bobby talking of them, — the magnates, I mean. 
 They are, of course, to be feasted and flattered, 
 in order to induce them to spend some of their 
 ill-gotten millions here if possible; and he 
 wants all the help he can get in this effort. So 
 he naturallv called on Laurence, who has the 
 Irish blarney on his tongue. ' ' 
 
304 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 
 
 The speaker's own tongue betrayed more 
 than she intended of the bitterness of her 
 mood; but Mrs. Creighton made no comment 
 beyond a quick glance, until they were in the 
 library after dinner. Then she said : 
 
 "I have been wanting to ask you for several 
 days, Edith, why you seem so — well, so irri- 
 tated against Laurence. What has he done to 
 annoy you?" 
 
 "To annoy me personally, nothing," Edith 
 replied loftily. "But I have lost respect for 
 him, — that's all." 
 
 "Lost respect for him!" Mrs. Creighton 
 looked, as she felt, confounded. "Why what 
 on earth has happened? What has he done?" 
 
 "I'd really rather you didn't ask me," Edith 
 answered irritably. "As I've already said, he 
 has done nothing toward me, but I have learned 
 — that is — er — happened to find out some 
 things about him which make me very sorry for 
 poor Uncle George. ' ' 
 
 "Edith! This is perfectly dreadful. What 
 have you found out? And why are you sorry 
 for my brother ? ' ' 
 
 i ' I am sorry for him because I know that his 
 chief requirement for the Wargrave heir is that 
 he shall be a man of honor, and I am convinced 
 that Laurence Desmond is nothing of the kind." 
 
 Now, this was more than Miss Creighton 
 intended to say when she began; and much 
 more, her conscience informed her, than she had 
 
EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 305 
 
 a right to say. But, as we have all had occasion 
 to learn in life, anger does not tend to modera- 
 tion of statement; and the impetuous words 
 burst from her lips before she could check them. 
 When she saw the horrified expression of her 
 stepmother's face, she realized that she had 
 gone too far. But, explanation being difficult, 
 she sprang to her feet. 
 
 "I told you that I'd rather you didn't ask 
 me anything about it!" she exclaimed. "Ii 
 don't want to talk of Laurence Desmond, or 
 anything concerning him; and I wish I had 
 never heard of him. ' ' 
 
 Then, still more angry from the self -betrayal 
 which this implied, she turned and went quickly 
 out of the room. 
 
 In the hall Edith paused, undecided what to 
 do with herself, yet acutely conscious that her 
 mood required distraction. At this moment she 
 understood the pity which some of her friends 
 in Kingsford bestowed upon her for living at 
 Hillcrest, and felt that it might be desirable to 
 be where it was possible at any moment to 
 escape from one's self by means of social inter- 
 course. Just now there was no social inter- 
 course available at Hillcrest except that from 
 which she had fled, unless she went up to the 
 Judge 's room ; and intercourse with him had of 
 late been hardly more than a painful attempt 
 to interpret his difficult utterances. 
 
 The nurse would be there, however ; and con- 
 
306 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 
 
 cerning the nurse Miss Creighton was now 
 aware of a consuming curiosity. Something 
 about the girl had, almost against her will, 
 impressed her from the first, — something con- 
 nected with, and yet distinct from, the likeness 
 to the portrait of Mrs. Wargrave which had so 
 much impressed by every one else. Despite her 
 self, she had been forced to acknowledge the 
 indefinable personal charm which had struck 
 Desmond so strongly, and to own that there was 
 an arresting quality in the glance of the lucid 
 eyes, the composure of the quiet manner. But 
 she had made no effort to know the nurse ex- 
 cept in her professional capacity, and since the 
 day when she overheard the conversation with 
 Desmond in the sitting-room, her manner had 
 been of so repellent a frigidity, that it was no 
 wonder Hester had said, "I am sure Miss 
 Creighton suspects something." 
 
 Now, Miss Creighton felt that the time had 
 come to resolve suspicion into certainty. She 
 suddenly determined that she would go up to 
 the Judge 's apartments ; that she would talk to 
 the girl, and find or make an opportunity to 
 learn the truth concerning the relations which 
 clearly existed between herself and the young 
 man, who was so distinctly a stranger in Hill- 
 crest, although its heir. She turned toward the 
 staircase, and as she did so she became aware 
 of a figure which came swiftly around its 
 sweeping curve and descended to meet her. It 
 
EDITH LISTEN'S AT THE DOOR 307 
 
 was Virgil, and something in his look and man- 
 ner as he halted made her say quickly : 
 
 "Well, Virgil! What is it?" 
 
 "It's about Mass George, Miss Edith," Vir- 
 gil answered; and she caught a note of excite- 
 ment in his voice, a startled glance of 
 apprehension in his eyes. "There's a change 
 in him." 
 
 "A change !" She was startled now, for this 
 expression usually means only one kind of 
 change — the last known to mortality. "Is he 
 worse 1 Has he had another stroke ! ' ' 
 
 Virgil shook his head. 
 
 "No'm. He's a great deal better. He's 
 talkin' as well as ever he did." 
 
 "Virgil! Impossible!" 
 
 Virgil moved aside and made a motion of his 
 hand upward. 
 
 "Go and see, Miss Edith," he said in a tone 
 of solemnity. "I couldn't hardly believe my 
 ears when I went in his room a little while ago, 
 to git everything ready for his goin' to bed, an' 
 I heard him in the next room talkin', — not 
 stumblin' an' blunderin' like he's been doin' 
 since his last stroke, but talkin'. It skeered me. 
 I listened at the door a while; an' then I 
 thought I better let you an' Miss Rachel know, 
 so as you might git the doctor." 
 
 "But what is the nurse doing'?" Miss Creigh- 
 ton exclaimed. "It is her place to give us 
 warning of any change. ' ' 
 
308 EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 
 
 Virgil glanced at her oddly. 
 
 "It hardly seems like she is the rmss! I — I 
 could a 'most a' swore it was Miss Maria in 
 there talkin' with him. Go up, Miss Edith — 
 for the Lawd's sake, go up an' hear for your- 
 self! It's a miracle has happened or — or some- 
 thin' else." 
 
 "Yes, I'll go up and hear for myself," Edith 
 told him; "and meanwhile say nothing to 
 mamma. I don't want to startle her, but if I 
 find that there is any need of the doctor, I will 
 come down and telephone for him. Just keep 
 quiet, Virgil; and be at hand in case I need 
 you. ' ' 
 
 She moved up the staircase, conscious of a 
 not unpleasant interest and excitement — some- 
 thing welcome, as taking her out of herself for 
 the moment, — in this strange news. She gave 
 it only a slight degree of credence, however; 
 for she knew how poorly equipped for a witness 
 the negro is. Impressionable, emotional, and 
 deeply superstitious, the most truthful of the 
 race can hardly be relied upon for exact testi- 
 mony; and she had read in Virgil's dilated 
 eyes the proof of an excitement which just now 
 rendered him peculiarly unfit to give anything 
 of the kind. 
 
 Nevertheless, she could not doubt that some 
 change in Judge Wargrave's condition must 
 have taken place, and her judgment told her 
 that caution was therefore necessary in ap- 
 
EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 309 
 
 proaching him. Dr. Glynn had warned the 
 household that anything tending to excite him 
 was to be carefully avoided ; and there had been 
 hints of a weak heart, as well as of the danger 
 of another cerebral hemorrhage. Bearing 
 these things in mind, she paused in the corridor 
 outside his sitting-room. If everything was 
 quiet, she might not go in at all, at least just 
 now. 
 
 But, so far from everything being quiet, she 
 found herself listening with amazement and 
 dismay to the sound of voices in sustained con- 
 versation, — amazement, because no such con- 
 versation had been possible with Judge 
 Wargrave since his seizure; and dismay, 
 because now and then his voice was raised in 
 what seemed passionate argument or appeal. 
 The words were inaudible, but the tones could 
 not be mistaken; and Edith found herself 
 wondering if insanity had overtaken him and 
 loosed the power of speech in this extraordi- 
 nary manner. But if so, what was the nurse 
 about? Her tones as well as her words were 
 almost inaudible ; but it was clear that she was 
 trying to soothe, to persuade, and — yes, to 
 expostulate. And, subtly enough, Edith was 
 conscious that this expostulation was not that 
 of a nurse in her official capacity, but rather of 
 one who discussed personal matters as an equal. 
 More and more as she listened, wonder over- 
 came Miss Creighton; and with wonder, 
 
310 EDITH LTSTEXS AT THE DOOR 
 
 curiosity. What could they be talking about in 
 this passionate, absorbed fashion! It was 
 strange enough that the power of speech had 
 been restored to Judge Wargrave in a manner 
 which seemed indeed almost miraculous; but 
 even that strangeness was lost sight of in her 
 desire to know the subject of this amazing 
 conversation. 
 
 She hesitated, asking herself what she had 
 better do. To enter the room and demand an 
 explanation — call the nurse to task for neglect 
 of duty — was, of course, open to her. But while 
 that might put an end to the conversation, 
 would it tell her what its subject had been? 
 She felt a conviction that it would not ; and just 
 now nothing seemed of so much importance as 
 learning what it was that these two w^ere so 
 eagerly, so absorbedly discussing. She told 
 herself that it was necessary for her to know, 
 in order that she might inform the doctor what 
 kind of nurse he had placed in charge of his 
 patient ; and it was also right that, representing 
 Judge Wargrave 's relations and friends, she 
 should learn what the object was for which this 
 girl was pleading with one whom age and weak- 
 ness had placed in her power. What revelation 
 had she made to him? What was she trying to 
 induce him to do or not to do? 
 
 It was less curiosity than passionate indig- 
 nation, and the desire to gain a knowledge 
 which would enable her to protect the old man 
 
EDITH LISTENS AT THE DOOR 311 
 
 whom she loved, that made Edith resolve that 
 she would find a means to hear what was going 
 on in this closed room, from which only the 
 inarticulate sound of voices issued. She sud- 
 denly remembered Virgil's words, "I listened 
 at the door" ; and with them came a recollection 
 of that curtain-hung door between the sitting- 
 room and the chamber behind it, where she, too, 
 had once listened accidentally to a conversa- 
 tion. The memory was like an inspiration ; and 
 she did not pause to weigh the impulse which 
 made her turn swiftly, enter the chamber, from 
 which Virgil had fled in dismay a little while 
 before, and cross the floor noiselessly to the 
 door. It was closed, but she put out her hand 
 and opened it softly behind the shielding 
 portiere. As she did so — as it yielded to her 
 touch and swung toward her — a sound as of 
 rustling paper met her ear, and then the 
 Judge 's voice, loud, passionate, arbitrary : 
 
 1 ' I know what I am doing. It is the only way. 
 Burn it, I say ! Let me see you burn it ! ' ' 
 
 There came a murmur of something like pro- 
 test, another insistent, "Burn it!" and, for- 
 getting everything else in her eagerness, Edith 
 Creighton drew back the curtain sufficiently to 
 see the white-clad figure of the nurse stoop and 
 lay a paper in the heart of the glowing fire. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 Desmond was roused from uneasy slumber — 
 in which some consciousness of impending 
 trouble seemed present with him — at an early 
 hour the next morning by the sound of an open- 
 ing door, and a footstep crossing his floor. He 
 sprang up in bed to see Virgil standing beside 
 him, and said quickly : 
 
 "You have come to tell me that my uncle has 
 another stroke ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mass Laurence,'' Virgil answered. "I 
 was waked a little while ago by his breathing — 
 the same as when he was struck before, only 
 worse, — and I called the nurse. As soon as she 
 saw him, she told me to telephone for the doc- 
 tor, and let you and Miss Rachel know that he's 
 took very bad. ' ' 
 
 "I'll be there in a few minutes," Desmond 
 said, as he rose. 
 
 He dressed so quickly that he was able to 
 reach Judge Wargrave's chamber before Mrs. 
 Creighton could get there; and to say a few 
 words to Hester Landon, whom he found by the 
 bedside. 
 
 312 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 313 
 
 ''What do you think of his condition ?" he 
 asked her immediately. 
 
 "As far as I can judge," she answered, "it is 
 hopeless. This is the end. ' ' 
 
 "Then," he said hastily, knowing how lim- 
 ited the time in which he could speak might be, 
 "you must let me tell my aunt who you are. It 
 is not right, it is intolerable, that you should be 
 here unrecognized. ' ' 
 
 "No," she answered as quickly as himself, 
 "you must not do so. It is not the right time; 
 it is as if I waited for this to make a claim 
 which may be challenged. He was to have told 
 every one himself to-day — " 
 
 Desmond interrupted with a sharp exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 Then you had told him ! " he cried. 
 Yes," she replied. "When I came in after 
 our meeting in the garden yesterday, I found 
 him in a condition of mental excitement which 
 had for the time cleared his mind and even 
 restored the faculty of coherent speech. He 
 asked for the letter — the priest's letter, you 
 know, — and I was forced to get it and read it 
 for him. Then he said something which 
 brought an answer from me that made him ask 
 me directly who I was. I could not refuse to 
 answer that question from him, and I told 
 him. ' ' 
 
 "Thank God!" Desmond exclaimed fer- 
 vently. 
 
 
314 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 In the swift, grateful glance of her eyes he 
 saw the tears which filled them. 
 
 "Yes, thank God!" she echoed softly, — 
 "thank God that I spoke in time, — in the only 
 moment of time allowed me in which to speak ; 
 that I told him who I was, and that if, in the 
 strange world to which he is going, he meets my 
 father, he can tell him that I forgave him ! ' ' 
 
 "Ah!" Desmond caught his breath and for 
 an instant could say no more. But he put out 
 his hand and, as twice before, seized hers in a 
 strong clasp. "I knew you would do it," he 
 said ; ' ' but how grateful I am that you did it 
 before it was too late to give peace and comfort 
 to him! How different our feelings will be in 
 seeing him go now from what they would have 
 been if you had failed either to speak or to for- 
 give, when the great moment came ! But I was 
 sure that you would not fail. ' ' 
 
 "You were surer of me than I was of myself, 
 then, ' ' she said. * ' But I, too, am very grateful 
 that I did not fail. I have many things," she 
 added hurriedly, ' ' to tell you of what happened 
 then, many things to explain ; but this is not the 
 time for explanation, even if we were not 
 certain to be interrupted in a few minutes. You 
 must trust me for a little while. ' ' 
 
 "I trust you for always," he told her. 
 
 Again her glance thanked him. 
 
 "I owe you more than I can express," she 
 said. "But for you, I should not be here; and 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 315 
 
 for the privilege I am most deeply grateful/ ' 
 
 "But," lie urged, "you should be here in 
 your true position. So again I must beg you 
 to let me tell my aunt when she comes — " 
 
 "No, no!" she interrupted with low-toned 
 imperativeness. "I can not allow it. I repeat 
 that this is not the time for the disclosure. I 
 hold vou bound by vour promise still, and — 
 here is Mrs. Creighton now!" 
 
 Desmond looked around. His aunt was 
 entering with Dr. Glynn, whom an automobile 
 had brought with rushing swiftness from 
 Kingsford; and he realized that Hester was 
 right : this was not the moment to intrude any 
 matter of life into the solemn matter of impend- 
 ing death which concerned them all. As he 
 drew back to allow Mrs. Creighton and the 
 doctor to approach the bed, he met the eyes of 
 Edith, who was following them, and felt as if 
 he had received an electric shock. For if ever 
 human eyes were charged with meaning, with 
 strong emotion and with unutterable feelings, 
 those of Miss Creighton were. Dilated and 
 brilliant, they fairly blazed upon him; and he 
 found himself confusedly wondering what had 
 happened, as the tall, graceful figure swept by 
 him and approached the bed, where Dr. Glynn 
 was bending over the outstretched form, with 
 its stertorous breathing. 
 
 When the doctor raised his head, he looked 
 at Mrs. Creighton with a glance which before he 
 
316 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 spoke said, as the nurse had already said, 
 ' ' This is the end. ' ' 
 
 "I can not conceal from you that the condi- 
 tion is as serious as possible,' ' he told her. 
 "There is no hope that he will ever rally 
 again. ' ' 
 
 "You mean that he is dying?" she whispered. 
 
 He nodded solemnly, — for even doctors grow 
 solemn in the face of death, common as this 
 great mystery might seem to become to them. 
 
 "Yes, he is dying," he answered. "It is not 
 probable that he will live more than a few hours 
 longer. This is a very severe stroke." 
 
 Then Edith suddenly spoke, and her voice, 
 charged with the same electric quality as her 
 glance, made every one in the chamber start. 
 
 ' ' Is he entirelv unconscious 1 ' ' she asked. 
 
 "Oh, entirely!" Dr. Glynn replied. "The 
 brain is practically drowned by a cerebral 
 hemorrhage." 
 
 "Then," Miss Creighton said in the same 
 clear, vibrant tone of intense excitement, "I 
 must tell you, Dr. Glynn, that the nurse whom 
 you have placed in charge of him has betrayed 
 her trust, and is directly accountable for this 
 condition. ' ' 
 
 "Edith!" — it was Mrs. Creighton who 
 gasped the name, for every one else was too 
 astounded to speak — "what do you possibly 
 mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Just what I say, mamma," Edith answered, 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 317 
 
 facing toward her. ' ' I might have told you last 
 night, but I thought that I would wait until 
 to-day, when I could ask Mr. Blaisdell to come 
 and meet you and Dr. Glynn, and I could then 
 tell you together what I had learned." 
 
 "And what have you learned?" Dr. Glynn 
 demanded. "This is a very serious charge 
 which you are making against Miss Landon, 
 and I must ask you to explain it fully." 
 
 "I think," Edith said, "that it is a charge 
 Miss Landon will hardly venture to deny. I 
 chance to be in a position to assert with the 
 utmost positiveness that she was responsible 
 for exciting Judge Wargrave to a dangerous 
 degree last night, that she interfered with and 
 destroyed some of his private papers, and that 
 his condition to-day is therefore directly due to 
 her betraval of trust. ' ' 
 
 "Good heavens!" Dr. Glynn ejaculated, with 
 a stunned expression. "Miss Landon, what 
 have vou to sav to all this ? ' ' 
 
 But before the young nurse, who stood calmly 
 at the foot of the bed, could answer, Desmond 
 advanced and eagerly interposed. 
 
 "Aunt Eachel," he said, addressing Mrs. 
 Creighton, "there is such a terrible misunder- 
 standing here that I can not be silent a moment 
 longer — " 
 
 "Forgive me!" Hester Landon 's hand fell on 
 his arm, and her voice, with its crystalline tone, 
 seemed to bring a quieting influence into the 
 
318 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 scene. ' ' You must be silent a little longer, ' ' she 
 told him. "It is time now for me to speak." 
 She turned to Dr. Glynn. "I shall be glad to 
 give you the explanation which you have cer- 
 tainly a right to demand, doctor," she said 
 "But shall we not go into the next room — all 
 of us, I mean — in order to avoid excitement 
 here ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, that will be best," the doctor an- 
 swered; and his tone expressed, by its subtle 
 change, the effect of her composure and dignity. 
 
 It seemed to Desmond eminently fitting that 
 she led the way into the sitting-room, only 
 pausing at the door to allow Mrs. Creighton to 
 precede her. The latter, as soon as she reached 
 the Judge's great winged chair, sank into it, 
 pale and overcome. 
 
 "This is very — shocking!" she said tremu- 
 lously, as Hester, with the impulse of the nurse, 
 bent over her. 
 
 "I am sorry that it should have come upon 
 you at this time," the girl answered gently. "I 
 would have prevented it if I could. Try to 
 believe that things are not as bad as they seem, 
 until I can explain them. Meanwhile, shall I 
 not get you a glass of wine?" 
 
 "It is not necessary — " Mrs. Creighton was 
 beginning, with a consciousness of Edith's 
 rebukeful glance, when Dr. Glynn pounced upon 
 her pulse. 
 
 "A good suggestion, Miss Landon," he said. 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 319 
 
 "A glass of wine, by all means. Yes, my dear 
 lady, yon need a slight stimulant to carry you 
 through these — er — very trying scenes. ' ' 
 
 Desmond rang the bell ; the wine was ordered 
 and brought by a scared-looking servant; and 
 while Mrs. Creighton drank it, Edith and Des- 
 mond, together with the doctor, involuntarily 
 formed a group about her chair, thus facing the 
 young nurse, as she stood, leaning against the 
 dark rich wood of the Judge's old desk. Her 
 glance swept over them, and settled on Mrs. 
 Creighton, to whom she spoke in her clear, quiet 
 tones. 
 
 4 'What you have just heard has naturally 
 been very startling," she said; "and I regret 
 that Miss Creighton did not tell me last night 
 what she had learned, and so given me an op- 
 portunity of explaining matters to her, rather 
 than have made such sensational charges at a 
 time when you are already so much distressed.' ' 
 
 "I hardly think," Edith broke in, "that it is 
 for Miss Landon to venture to find fault with 
 me, and to speak of ' sensational charges. ' They 
 may be sensational, but they are exactly true, 
 and I defy her to deny them. ' ' 
 
 "I have no intention of denying anything 
 which is true," Hester replied. "I could deny 
 only some of your conclusions, but even that is 
 not worth while. It will be best simply to make 
 a clear explanation of what did take place 
 between Judge Wargrave and myself last night. 
 
320 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 I am anxious that the doctor, who has been so 
 good as to entrust me with this case" — her 
 eyes turned upon Dr. Glynn with a great kind- 
 ness in their depths — "shall be assured that I 
 did not allow anything to make me forget the 
 duties of a nurse which I undertook when I 
 came here." 
 
 "It seems to me almost incredible that you 
 could have done so, ' ' Dr. Glynn hastened to say. 
 
 "But, at the risk of offending Miss Creighton 
 further, I must add that I do not blame her for 
 misinterpreting what she evidently saw and 
 heard, ' ' Hester went on. ' ' I am only sorry that 
 your attention" — again she addressed Mrs. 
 Creighton — "should be distracted in this man- 
 ner, at a time when you would desire to be left 
 undisturbed by the bedside of one who is leav- 
 ing you so soon. I would not have wished to 
 make certain disclosures, which must be made, 
 at this time or so abruptly. But the matter has 
 been taken out of my hands. I will try to speak 
 as briefly as possible — " 
 
 Nevertheless, she paused, as if speech was 
 difficult to her ; and Desmond, unable to restrain 
 himself longer, stepped forward to her side. 
 
 "Will you now let me speak for you?" he 
 asked her. 
 
 She looked up at him gratefully. 
 
 "Yes," she replied in a low tone. "I am not 
 so strong as I thought. You may tell them who 
 I am. I will explain the rest. ' ' 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 321 
 
 ' ' Thank you ! " he said gratefully in turn. 
 
 Then he turned to his aunt, with an uncon- 
 scious dignity of manner and bearing, as if at 
 that moment he also stepped into his place as 
 the head of the house. 
 
 "Aunt Kachel," he said, "you have already 
 observed the strong resemblance which this 
 young lady, whom you have known as Miss Lan- 
 don, bears to the portrait of my uncle's wife. 
 Has that likeness never made you suspect who 
 she may be ? " 
 
 He felt the shock of surprise which passed 
 over the group before him, and he saAV his 
 aunt's eyes expand in startled amazement. 
 
 "No," she replied. "I have thought of the 
 resemblance onlv as — an accident." 
 
 "It is not an accident," Desmond said 
 gravely. "It is the stamp of hereditary like- 
 ness. Miss Landon, as she has chosen to be 
 called, is Harry Wargrave 's daughter. ' ' 
 
 "My God!" It was Dr. Glynn who uttered 
 this exclamation, as he stared wide-eved at the 
 
 7 %/ 
 
 girl. "Why didn't I think of it!" he muttered. 
 "Whv didn't I see it before?" 
 
 ■r 
 
 "But — but," Mrs. Creighton stammered, 
 bewildered, "we never heard — we never knew 
 that Harry had a daughter. ' ' 
 
 "No, you did not know," Hester told her 
 calmly, "because when I was born my father 
 felt too bitterly against the family which had 
 cast him off, to have anv communication with 
 
 7 »/ 
 
322 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 them; and later, when I could understand his 
 position, I felt such resentment against those 
 who had doubted him that I resolved I would 
 never belong to them nor acknowledge the con- 
 nection. You will wonder perhaps why, having 
 made such a resolution, I came here — " 
 
 "I think" — it was Edith's voice which again 
 interposed rather hurriedly, as if she wished to 
 anticipate some possible action on Mrs. Creigh- 
 ton's part — "that we may be pardoned if we 
 rather wonder whether an accidental resem- 
 blance has not inspired this extraordinary 
 claim. ' ' 
 
 "Edith," Desmond exclaimed, "do not say 
 things which you will afterward deeply regret, 
 and which are unworthy of you!" 
 
 "They are at least excusable, inasmuch as 
 they are natural," Hester Landon said with 
 unchanged composure. "But Miss Creighton 
 may rest assured that I would not make the 
 claim unless I was quite certain of being able 
 to prove it to the satisfaction of every person 
 concerned. I never meant to tell any one who 
 I was, when I came to this part of the country. 
 My sole object — the object to which I had con- 
 secrated my life — was to clear my father's 
 name. I came in search of evidence for that 
 purpose, and — I found it. The proof of the 
 deep wrong he had suffered was given into my 
 hand by a miracle, as it were ; and through my 
 efforts the letter was written which told my ' ' — 
 
HESTER EXPLAINS 323 
 
 she hesitated only a moment — "my grandfather 
 the truth about his son." 
 
 "Was that the letter which struck him 
 down ? ' ' Dr. Glynn inquired. 
 
 "That was the letter," she answered. "It 
 was written by the Catholic priest in Kings- 
 ford, who had heard the confession of a man 
 who was mortally injured in the railway wreck. 
 And to that confession I was able to supply the 
 key. The letter, as you have said, struck him 
 down once, and it may have done so again ; but 
 I should like you to believe that, if so, the shock 
 was not my fault. When I came in yesterday 
 evening, I found Judge Wargrave in a state of 
 singular clearness of mind and speech. He 
 seemed to have recovered all his powers ; he 
 understood his own situation perfectly, and he 
 insisted that I should get for him the letter 
 which he distinctly recollected. I was unable to 
 evade or deny his request ; and when I read the 
 letter to him he — said something which forced 
 from me the avowal of who I am. Don't think" 
 — once more she addressed Mrs. Creighton — 
 "that this revelation injured him. It seemed, 
 on the contrary, to act as a strong stimulant to 
 all his powers; and perhaps you may under- 
 stand that I can not regret that I saw him once 
 with his vigor restored — the father of whom 
 my father had so often talked to me, — and that 
 there was no cloud upon his mind when he 
 understood that his son's name was cleared, 
 
324 HESTER EXPLAINS 
 
 and that I brought the assurance of his love 
 and forgiveness to him. Even if the excitement 
 of this knowledge caused his present condition, 
 are you not glad that the moment was granted 
 him in which to know all that meant so much to 
 him? that he did not go down into the great 
 darkness — or perhaps into the great light, we 
 do not know — ignorant of the truth?" 
 
 It seemed to Desmond that he had never 
 heard tones so full of exquisite vibrations, so 
 pathetic in their appealing quality, as those 
 which asked this question ; and, as she asked it, 
 Hester extended her hands. It was an uncon- 
 scious gesture, straight from the heart ; and he 
 at least did not wonder that, unable to resist it, 
 Mrs. Creighton rose to her feet. It was plain 
 that she forgot Edith's disapproval, — forgot 
 everything except the appealing figure before 
 her. She took the hands, and then suddenly put 
 her arms around the girl. 
 
 "My dear," she said in a voice which shook 
 with emotion, "I am glad, so glad, that you 
 gave him such great happiness before he died ! 
 And I am sure he would have welcomed death 
 to obtain the assurances you brought." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 JUDGE WAKGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 Mks. Creighton was usually a person so little 
 given to demonstration of feeling, one who kept 
 her emotions so much under control, that her 
 impulsive action when she took the young nurse 
 into her arms astonished those who witnessed 
 it. They were still gazing at the two figures as 
 they clung together — Edith with a sense of 
 growing indignation — when the door leading 
 into Judge AVargrave 's room opened and Virgil 
 appeared. Again, as to Desmond a little 
 earlier, his face told the story of what he had 
 come to say before he uttered it; and Dr. Glynn 
 instantly asked quickly : 
 
 "Is there a change in the Judge's con- 
 dition !" 
 
 "Yes, sir," Virgil answered in a trembling 
 voice. "I come to tell you that I think he's 
 goin' fast." 
 
 The doctor, without further word, walked 
 hurriedly into the next room; while Mrs. 
 Creighton turned with a start, and glanced at 
 Desmond. 
 
 "What did Virgil say?" she inquired. 
 
 325 
 
326 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 t 
 
 "He savs that my uncle seems to be sinking/ ' 
 the young man replied. "Perhaps you had bet- 
 ter return to him. ' ' 
 
 He was about to offer his arm, when she laid 
 her hand again on that of the girl before her. 
 
 "Come!" she said. "If you are Harry's 
 daughter, your place is beside him." 
 
 Hester did not answer. It was plain that her 
 composure had at last failed, and emotion had 
 reached the overpowering point; but she drew 
 Mrs. Creighton's hand within her arm, and 
 together they passed into the chamber where 
 the last inheritor of the Wargrave trust lay 
 dying. 
 
 Edith and Desmond thus left stood for an 
 instant staring at each other. Then the former 
 flung herself down into a chair, and motioned 
 toward the door where the others had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 "I think mamma is mad," she said. "But 
 since you seem to share her madness, and to 
 believe this unproved story of one who may be 
 a mere adventuress, you had better go also. 
 As for me, I have loved Uncle George too much 
 to wish to stand bv his deathbed in such com- 
 pany ; so I shall stay here. ' ' 
 
 "Edith." he remonstrated gravely, "do you 
 think such judgment as this is reasonable? 
 What do you know of Miss Landon, that you 
 should venture to speak of her as a possible 
 adventuress?" 
 
JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 327 
 
 "I know," Edith answered, "that, according 
 to her own admission, she came to this house 
 and has remained here in a false character ; and 
 I also know that you have been aware of the 
 fact. By an accident, I heard you, in this very 
 room, charge her with it; and I must tell you 
 that I have ever since despised you for your 
 want of frankness and sincerity. What the 
 mystery about her was I did not know until I 
 heard her claim of relationship a little while 
 ago. But I felt that, whatever it was, you had 
 no right to maintain it, — that you owed candor 
 at least to Uncle George and to mamma. ' ' 
 
 "Looking at the matter from your point of 
 view, you are right," Desmond told her. 
 "Under ordinary circumstances, I should cer- 
 tainly have owed them candor. But these were 
 not ordinary circumstances. The story is too 
 long to tell you now; but I wish you would 
 believe that I have not been at liberty to act 
 in any other manner than that in which I have 
 acted. In order to induce Miss Landon to come 
 to Hillcrest in her capacity as a trained nurse, 
 I had to promise to keep the secret of her true 
 identity — " 
 
 "And vou believe that it is her true 
 identity?" Miss Creighton broke in scornfully. 
 "The story seems to me incredible, — that 
 Harry Wargrave could have had a daughter of 
 whose existence his father was ignorant. ' ' 
 
 "You forget the alienation which existed 
 
328 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 between his father and himself; and you also 
 forget the Wargrave pride, — intense, unbend- 
 ing, passionate. I had to reckon with this pride 
 up to a pitch of excitement which even one who 
 in the daughter when I went to her to persuade 
 her to come here." 
 
 ' ' Why should you have wished her to come ? ' ' 
 
 He regarded her with astonishment. 
 
 "Why should I have wished her to come? 
 Surely that is evident. Did you not hear my 
 aunt when she said that she believed her 
 brother would have welcomed death to obtain 
 the knowledge and the assurances this girl 
 brought to him?" 
 
 "Yes, I heard her" — again the note of scorn 
 rang in Edith's tone — "and marvelled at her 
 credulity, especially since I am in a position to 
 know that, whatever assurances, true or false, 
 the girl may have brought to him, she also 
 brought death. ' ' 
 
 "Edith! How dare you make such a 
 charge f ' ' 
 
 "How dare I?" Edith's great eyes blazed 
 upon him. "I dare because I know exactly 
 what I am saying, and mean every word of it. 
 In this room, last night, she worked the old man 
 had not the advantage of being a trained nurse 
 would have known was dangerous ; and she took 
 advantage of his condition to examine his 
 private papers, and to destroy some of them, — 
 
JUDGE WARGBAVE'S DEATH 329 
 
 possibly his will, in which she had no recog- 
 nition or part." 
 
 " Edith, it is impossible! In one way or 
 another, you are fearfully mistaken.' ' 
 
 "I am not mistaken at all," Edith assured 
 him coldly. "It occurred last night, while you 
 were away. Virgil came down and told me that 
 something unusual was going on; and when I 
 came up to see about it, I found the nurse in 
 here with Uncle George, — he talking clearly, 
 and so excited that I was afraid to enter for 
 fear of exciting him further; but, standing 
 yonder behind the curtain" (she pointed to the 
 portiere-hung door), "I saw her burning 
 papers." 
 
 "What papers?" 
 
 "That I can not tell, but I fancy that it was 
 his will; for I heard him say to her, 'Burn it!' 
 I could not then imagine what it was that he 
 wished her to burn. But when I heard her 
 story, I understood. She had made him believe 
 that she was his son's daughter; and, believing 
 this, he was overwhelmed by the thought that 
 he had not provided for her in his will. To 
 make another, or to add to that already made, 
 was, we know, impossible to him. And so no 
 doubt she suggested that he should destroy the 
 will which preserved the Wargrave trust — " 
 
 "It is impossible, I tell you, — impossible!" 
 
 "And thus leave her sole heiress of the War- 
 grave estate. You will find that she did this; 
 
330 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 and I can tell you, if you do not know as much 
 yourself, that the doing of it gave his deathblow 
 to poor Uncle George.' ' 
 
 "Miss Edith" — again it was Virgil's voice, 
 low, shaken, full of grief, and the awe which 
 death brings, — "Miss Rachel says you better 
 come if you want to see Mass George again 
 before he — dies." 
 
 "Yes, Virgil, — yes!" Edith said. 
 
 She rose, and, with one last, reproachful 
 glance at Desmond — as if to say, "See what 
 you have helped to bring about!" — went 
 hastily into the next room. 
 
 As Desmond followed her, he suddenly felt, 
 with a pang of self-reproach, that, so rapidly 
 had one sensation, one surprise, succeeded 
 another since he was first waked, he had hardly 
 found time to give a thought to the soul bound 
 on its last dread journey, or to breathe a prayer 
 that it might find mercy before the judgment- 
 seat of God. When he entered the chamber 
 now, a sense of something like horror seized 
 him; for truly death is terrible when deprived 
 of every gracious sacrament, of every sign or 
 emblem of the divine hope which alone can sus- 
 tain the sinking soul or the breaking heart at 
 the awful passage from time to eternity. 
 
 No one who has seen only Catholic deathbeds 
 can fully realize all of which the stupendous 
 apostasy that we call the Protestant Reforma- 
 tion has deprived those who still suffer from its 
 
JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 331 
 
 effects. For, as a matter of fact, we are born 
 only in order that we may die ; and, since death 
 is therefore the most important act of life, what 
 is so appalling as the mutilated forms of 
 Christianity which send the soul forth un- 
 shriven by the great absolving power of Holy 
 Church, unfed with the sustaining Viaticum for 
 its last journey, unblest with sight or touch of 
 the crucifix to strengthen it by the thought of 
 Him who also tasted this last agony of 
 humanity! We may know these things at all 
 times; but to witness such a deathbed is not 
 only to understand the full, terrible result of 
 that great spiritual robbery of the past, but to 
 be filled with a pity as wild as it is impotent 
 for the particular soul thus bereft in its last 
 dire extremity. 
 
 Such pity rose in a mounting tide which 
 almost choked Desmond, as he joined the silent 
 group about the bed, and looked at the figure 
 extended upon it. All the signs of swiftly 
 approaching dissolution were apparent to the 
 most inexperienced eye. It seemed as if every 
 slow breath would be the last; and when Dr. 
 Glynn laid his finger on the swiftly hurrying 
 pulse — that ominously rapid pulse of death, as 
 if the heart were in haste to finish its long task, 
 — and then, lifting his head, looked with solemn 
 significance at Mrs. Creighton, the young man 
 could restrain himself no longer. He laid his 
 hand on his aunt's arm. 
 
332 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 "Aunt Kachel," he whispered, "surely there 
 should be something done, — or — or at least said 
 for him ! Is there no one to — pray?" 
 
 He never forgot the astonishment in the eyes 
 which met his own. 
 
 "To pray!" Mrs. Creighton echoed. "I — I 
 had not thought of it. We might send for Mr. 
 Craven, if there was time. ' ' 
 
 Desmond knew that Mr. Craven was the 
 Episcopal clergyman. 
 
 "What would he do if he came?" he asked, 
 with a vague hopefulness. 
 
 "He would read the prayers in the prayer- 
 book," she answered. 
 
 " Oh ! " Without much knowledge of the book 
 alluded to, Desmond had an instinctive con- 
 sciousness that there would be little help in this. 
 ' ' I am afraid there is not time for him to reach 
 here before the end," he said. "But it is ter- 
 rible to think of a deathbed without a prayer," 
 — yet even as he spoke, he realized that there 
 was nothing terrible in it to any one present 
 except himself. "Couldn't you read the 
 prayers of which you speak?" he asked. 
 
 She shrank. ' * Oh, no, — I couldn 't ! " 
 
 "Then" (he forgot everything except his 
 passionate desire to aid, in however small a 
 degree, that soul going away so fast) "would 
 you mind if I read some prayers?" 
 
 "Why," Mrs. Creighton gasped in her in- 
 
JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 333 
 
 creasing surprise, "I — I suppose not. But he 
 is unconscious, you know." 
 
 "They are not addressed to him," Desmond 
 replied involuntarily, "but to the God before 
 whom he will soon appear. Since you don't 
 object, I'll get my prayer-book." 
 
 He left the room hastily, and in a moment 
 returned with a book which, fortunately, con- 
 tained a few at least of the beautiful prayers 
 of the Church for the dying. Amazement was 
 unquestionably the predominant sentiment of 
 all present ; for to them such an act, on the part 
 of a young man whose religion as a general rule 
 sat very lightly upon him, seemed almost 
 incredible. But the Protestant shame of 
 appearing religious, and the Anglo-Saxon 
 dread of exhibiting feeling, were alike unknown 
 to Desmond's Catholic and Celtic soul. That he 
 was not the person who should have given this 
 last aid to the dying, he would have been the 
 first to acknowledge; but, since there was 
 nobody else to offer it, he flung himself into the 
 breach with characteristic ardor, and absolute 
 lack of any thought of how his act would be 
 regarded by the wondering group around him. 
 There was simply something for him to do — the 
 last earthly service possible for him to render 
 to the dying kinsman whom he had learned to 
 love, — and he proceeded to do it without 
 hesitation. 
 
 Opening his book, he knelt at the foot of the 
 
334 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 bed; the others followed his example, and only 
 Virgil 's smothered sobs broke the silence on 
 which rose those beautiful prayers for the 
 departing soul, in which the Church seems to 
 have attained her greatest height of impas- 
 sioned and pathetic utterance. One person at 
 least among those who listened was quite sure 
 that she would never forget the touching effect 
 of that grave, melodious voice flowing in a 
 steady stream of majestic words, imploring the 
 mercy of God for him who lay breathing out 
 his soul; one whose noble and upright life had 
 been lived with little supernatural aid; had 
 indeed been fashioned on the great old pagan 
 ideals rather than on Christian models, but to 
 whom the tender passage in the "Agricola" of 
 Tacitus might have been applied : ' ' If there be 
 any place for the spirits of the good — if, as wise 
 men believe, great souls do not perish with the 
 body, — mayst thou rest in peace V 
 
 The memory of this passage was in Des- 
 mond's mind, but he did not utter it; instead 
 he read even more touching words, drawn from 
 an ancient Spanish liturgy: "Receive him, 
 Lord, to Thine eternal rest, and give him the 
 grace of Thy vision ! May he find a part in the 
 resurrection of the dead. Among them that 
 wash their robes in the well of light, may he 
 make his raiment clean; among them that 
 knock, may he open the gates of that Jerusalem 
 which is in heaven; and among them that see 
 
JUDGE WARGBAYE'S DEATH 335 
 
 God, may he behold Hiin face to face ever- 
 more." 
 
 Then, as the long, gasping breaths grew 
 slower and fainter, there came the solemn 
 adjuration, "Depart, Christian soul, out of 
 this miserable world," so familiar to Catholic 
 ears, and so unfamiliar to those outside the 
 Church. Its lofty beauty of idea and phrase 
 thrilled Hester Landon like noble music; and 
 as she listened the thought came to her that it 
 was appropriate that he whose son, in his own 
 pathetic words, had been given back to him by 
 the agency of the Faith he had ignorantly des- 
 pised, should now pass out of life to the sound 
 of Catholic prayers. It was as if the great 
 Mother whom he had never known, from whose 
 care ancestral sins had torn him before ever he 
 came into the world, had gathered him into her 
 arms at last, crying in appealing supplication : 
 "May Christ Jesus, the Son of the living God, 
 place thee in His garden of paradise ; and may 
 He, the true Shepherd, own thee for one of His 
 flock. May He absolve thee from all thy sins, 
 and place thee at His right hand in the inheri- 
 tance of His elect. Oh, may it be thy happy lot 
 to behold thy Redeemer face to face ; to be ever 
 in His presence, in the beatific vision of that 
 Eternal Truth which is the joy of the blessed ! " 
 
 The girl shivered from head to foot under 
 the deep passion of the imploring words; and 
 as she glanced at the dying man she saw his 
 
336 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 breast rise in one long, soft breath, and then lie 
 still. The soul had gone to find that Eternal 
 Truth which here so many vainly seek. 
 
 It was a few hours after Judge Wargrave's 
 death that Mrs. Creighton sent for Desmond. 
 He had already seen her several times, and 
 received her directions for the arrangements to 
 be made in preparation for the funeral; but 
 when he went to her room now, he at once per- 
 ceived that something beside these arrange- 
 ments was engaging her attention. Mrs. 
 Selwyn, who, with her son, had come out to 
 Hillcrest as soon as the news of the Judge's 
 death reached her, was sitting with her; and 
 Edith, who did not turn around at his entrance, 
 was standing at a window. There was a 
 moment's pause as Desmond entered the room, 
 and then — 
 
 "You sent for me, Aunt Rachel?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Creighton answered, a little 
 hesitatingly. "I — I feel that there is some- 
 thing we ought to consider, Laurence. Please 
 sit down." 
 
 Somewhat reluctantly, for he had an instinct 
 of what was coming, Desmond sat down, and 
 then again had to prod her hesitation by 
 saying : 
 
 "Well, what is it that you feel we ought to 
 consider ?" 
 
 "It is about this girl who claims to be 
 Harry's daughter," she answered. "Edith 
 
JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 337 
 
 thinks that I have been very — er — precipitate 
 and imprudent in accepting her as what she 
 claims to be ; and Cousin Elizabeth agrees with 
 her. So we have decided that I should ask you, 
 who seem to believe the story, what proof you 
 have had of its truth ?" 
 
 "Why, really none at all," Desmond said 
 calmly, "unless you accept as proof her inti- 
 mate knowledge of those events in Harry 
 Wargrave's life which no stranger could know 
 — the knowledge which made it possible for 
 Father Martin to communicate the confession 
 that cleared him, — and, I may add, the striking 
 likeness to her grandmother which you have all 
 recognized. ' ' 
 
 The two elder ladies looked at each other 
 with a startled air ; they had plainly forgotten 
 the likeness which spoke so clearly of the truth 
 of Hester's claim. 
 
 "Resemblances of that kind are sometimes 
 accidental, ' ' Mrs. Selwyn suggested. 
 
 "Sometimes, yes," Desmond agreed. "But, 
 taken in connection with other facts, it consti- 
 tutes in this case very strong evidence. Judg- 
 ing from what I have seen of Miss Landon," he 
 added, "I should say that if you ask her for 
 proof of her identity, you will readily obtain it. 
 Personally, I have not the least doubt that she 
 is the person she claims to be ; but I can under- 
 stand your position — your hesitation. ' ' 
 
 "I thought you would understand," Mrs. 
 
338 JUDGE WARGRAVE'S DEATH 
 
 Creighton said eagerly. "Somehow when she 
 spoke to us, I had not any doubt of her truth- 
 fulness. But no doubt I was too precipitate; 
 one has to consider many things. ' ' 
 
 "I am sure that you only desire to consider 
 doing what is right, ' ' Desmond told her ; ' ' and 
 of course it is right to be cautious in a matter 
 of such importance. May I not ask Miss Lan- 
 don to come to you and tell her story more in 
 detail?" 
 
 Again a quick glance was exchanged by the 
 two ladies, and then they both looked at Edith, 
 who did not stir, but whose motionless attitude 
 seemed to express the closest attention. 
 
 "I hardly think that would settle the 
 matter,' ' Mrs. Creighton said appealingly. 
 "You see there are so many things to consider! 
 There's the funeral, — if she is really Harry's 
 daughter, she must take her rightful place in it. 
 But I can not accept the responsibility of put- 
 ting her there. So Edith — I mean we all think 
 that Mr. Blaisdell should be asked to come and 
 — er — advise us what to do." 
 
 "Mr. Blaisdell?" Desmond said with some 
 surprise. "I had not thought of him ; but there 
 can be no objection to his coming to settle the 
 matter to your satisfaction. I am sure Miss 
 Landon will have no objection to seeing him." 
 
 ' i Then will you explain it to her, and will you 
 ask him to come?" Mrs. Creighton began in a 
 relieved tone, when Edith suddenly interrupted 
 
JUDGE WAEGRAVE'S DEATH 339 
 
 her by turning around and speaking for the 
 first time. 
 
 "Mr. Blaisdell is driving up to the house 
 now," she said. "I would suggest that you 
 send for him at once, mamma ; and, although I 
 am not a member of the family, I must ask to 
 be present at the interview with him, in order 
 to tell what I saw and heard last night. ' ' 
 
 Desmond rose from his seat. 
 
 "In that case," he said, "I will go and bring 
 Miss Landon, that she may also be present." 
 
 "Take her to my brother's sitting-room," 
 Mrs. Creighton said hurriedly. "We will all 
 meet there." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 Astonishment is hardly a strong enough 
 term to express the mental condition of that 
 excellent lawyer, Mr. Blaisdell, when, on com- 
 ing to pay a call of sympathy and respect to 
 the family of his old friend and client, he was 
 confronted with the situation which had so un- 
 expectedly developed in that family. 
 
 Desmond, hurrying downstairs, met him as 
 he entered the house ; and, after a few words on 
 the subject of the Judge's sudden death, drew 
 him aside and communicated the discovery of 
 the relationship of the young nurse to Harry 
 Wargrave. As amazed as he was interested, 
 Mr. Blaisdell would willingly have discussed 
 the matter in detail ; but he found himself hur- 
 ried up to Mrs. Creighton, where the clear 
 statement he had received below proved of 
 inestimable value in enabling him to compre- 
 hend that lady's somewhat incoherent remarks. 
 In one opinion, however, he was at once pre- 
 pared to agree with her. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said, in his somewhat abrupt 
 fashion, "it is highly important to examine 
 
 340 
 
LAURENCE BURXS THE WILL 341 
 
 such a claim immediately. Glad you didn't 
 defer it. If this girl is an impostor, we can't 
 know it too soon." 
 
 "Ok, I don't tkink ske can be an impostor!" 
 Mrs. Creigkton deprecated. 
 
 "Ske is eitker an impostor or ske is Harry 
 Wargrave's daughter," Mr. Blaisdell stated 
 positively. "There is no alternative. It looks 
 badly that she waited to spring the matter upon 
 you until the Judge was dying — " 
 
 "It seems that she had told him, and that he 
 believed her story," Mrs. Creighton again 
 interrupted. 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell thrust out his lower lip. 
 
 "Have we any proof beside her word for 
 that?" he inquired. 
 
 "None." It was Edith's clear-cut tones 
 which answered. "We know only what she 
 chooses to tell us of what passed between them 
 last night, with the exception of a little — a very 
 little — of the conversation which I chanced to 
 overhear. ' ' 
 
 "Ah!" The lawyer's keen glance turned on 
 her. "You overheard something ! Do you mind 
 telling me what it was?" 
 
 "I should prefer telling you in the presence 
 of Miss Landon," Edith replied. 
 
 "Right, — quite right!" There was unquali- 
 fied approval in Mr. Blaisdell 's tone. "But 
 where is Miss — er — Landon!" 
 
 "I asked Laurence Desmond to take her to 
 
342 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 my brother's sitting-room," Mrs. Creighton 
 said. "Shall we go there now! Elizabeth, of 
 course you will come. And I think" (she 
 glanced questioningly at the lawyer) "that 
 Eobert should be present also. ' ' 
 
 " Certainly, ' ' Mr. Blaisdell assented. "It is 
 a matter which concerns all the family. Robert 
 Selwyn should be present. " 
 
 The bell was therefore rung, a message was 
 sent to Mr. Selwyn, and, with a surprised look 
 on his round, good-humored face, he presently 
 joined the family party in the sitting-room, so 
 associated with the presence of Judge War- 
 grave that it seemed still pervaded by it, in that 
 subtle way in which the dead haunt the scenes 
 where they have dwelt in life. Bobby promptly 
 joined Edith, who was again standing by a 
 window, apart from the group, composed of 
 the two ladies and Mr. Blaisdell, who had 
 seated themselves beside the large table in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 "What on earth is the meaning of this!" he 
 whispered to her. * ' It looks like the convening 
 of a court of inquiry. ' ' 
 
 " It is a court of inquiry, ' ' she told him. ' ' We 
 are here to help Mr. Blaisdell examine an extra- 
 ordinary claim which has been made — " 
 
 "By Desmond?" 
 
 1 i No : by the trained nurse concerning whom 
 I talked to you not long ago. You remember I 
 said there was a mystery about her?" 
 
LAUKEXCE BURXS THE WILL 343 
 
 . < 
 
 Of course I remember. You were quite 
 certain about it, and thought she was married 
 to Desmond." 
 
 "Oh, that was a mere conjecture!" Miss 
 Creighton said hastily. ' ' It seems that, instead 
 of anything of that kind, she had told him that 
 she was Harry Wargrave's daughter, and he 
 believed her." 
 
 "Harry Wargrave's daughter!" Bobby 
 looked as astounded as he felt. "Why, we 
 never knew — " 
 
 "That he had a daughter? That is what 
 every one says. So you see how necessary it is 
 to examine the story before it is accepted 
 further. ' ' 
 
 "Who has accepted it besides Desmond?" 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry to say that mamma has. 
 She is not usually impulsive, but she has acted 
 very impulsively in this matter; and — but here 
 they come now ! ' ' 
 
 She looked toward the door, which opened 
 at the moment, and Desmond ushered Hester 
 Landon into the room. Every eye was fixed on 
 them, and certainly they made a striking pair, 
 — the girl with her pure, pale face, her lucid 
 eyes and white dress ; and the young man with 
 his distinction of appearance and manner. 
 Instinctively the lawyer rose as they entered; 
 and it was Desmond who spoke, after he had 
 placed a chair for Hester and stood beside her. 
 
 "This young lady, Mr. Blaisdell, has been 
 
344 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 here some time as Miss Landon ; but now I have 
 the pleasure of introducing her to you, and to 
 all whom it may concern' ' (his glance took in 
 the Selwyns), "as Miss Wargrave, the 
 daughter of Judge Wargrave 's only son." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell bowed. He acknowledged 
 afterward that he had never in his life been 
 more startled than by the striking resemblance 
 which the girl bore to her grandmother, and of 
 which he had not been warned. This resem- 
 blance seemed indeed to offer so strong a proof 
 of her being Harry Wargrave 's daughter that 
 he had difficulty in checking his inclination to 
 admit the fact at once; but, after an instant's 
 hesitation, he said gravely: 
 
 "I could not be other than very happy to 
 meet the granddaughter of my old friend; but 
 I am sure that Miss — er — Wargrave will not 
 misunderstand me when I say that such a claim, 
 brought so unexpectedly, must be closely ex- 
 amined and clearly proved." 
 
 "I do not misunderstand you in the least," 
 Hester answered calmly. "But I must correct 
 you a little. I have not brought any ' claim ' : 
 I have only stated certain facts which are very 
 easily proved. My father's marriage and my 
 birth are on record in San Francisco; and I 
 could bring many witnesses to my identity, if 
 it were necessary to do so. But it is not neces- 
 sary. I came here to fulfil a certain task, which, 
 by the help of God, I have accomplished; and, 
 
LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 345 
 
 this being done, I have no claim of any kind to 
 make, and nothing to ask — not even the recog- 
 nition of my right to bear my father's name." 
 
 "The name which she has cleared of any 
 shadow of dishonor," Desmond interposed, 
 addressing Mr. Blaisdell, who had now resumed 
 his seat. "With your permission" (he spoke 
 to Hester), "I should like to tell what I know 
 of this matter. ' ' 
 
 She gave him a grateful glance. 
 
 1 ' Tell it by all means, ' ' she said. 
 
 Standing then, with his hand on the back of 
 her chair, Desmond faced the group, who were 
 all now gathered about the table ; and so facing 
 them, like an advocate in a court of law, he 
 related the story of his entire connection with 
 the chain of events which had ended by bring- 
 ing Harry Wargrave's daughter into her 
 father's home. His journalistic capacity and 
 experience told in the manner in which he pre- 
 sented his facts, — marshalling them impres- 
 sively, describing dramatically the railway 
 accident, and all that resulted from it; the 
 demand of the injured man for a priest, the 
 unavoidable delay which brought him to the 
 very moment of death before the priest 
 arrived; his confession, his failure to mention 
 an essential name, and therefore the inability 
 of the priest to make the restitution of char- 
 acter which the confession demanded. Then in 
 brief words he described the interposition of 
 
346 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 the nurse, who, in the strange providence of 
 God, had kept the injured man alive until the 
 priest could reach him, and the manner in which 
 she supplied the necessary key to the confes- 
 sion. He spoke of Father Martin's letter to 
 Judge Wargrave, and was interrupted by an 
 exclamation from Mr. Blaisdell. 
 
 ' ' So, ' ' he said, as Dr. Glynn had said before 
 him, "that was the letter which caused his 
 stroke J ' ' 
 
 "Yes," Desmond answered; "and, in order 
 that no one may have any doubt of the fact, I 
 will, with my aunt's and Miss Wargrave 's per- 
 mission, produce the letter and ask you to read 
 it. ' ' He stepped to the desk, opened the drawer 
 in which he had placed the letter when he drew 
 it from the Judge's fingers on the morning of 
 his fatal seizure, and held it out toward Mrs. 
 Creighton. "You remember it, do you not?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered; "I remember it by the 
 printed stamp — the name of the Catholic 
 church — on the envelope, which made me 
 wonder, when I came to think the matter over, 
 if it did not in some way relate to you." 
 
 ' ' You will find that it does not relate to me at 
 all," he said, "and that I have played no part 
 in the matter — " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" (It was Hester who spoke 
 quickly.) "You played a great part in it. I 
 must tell all who are interested in this clearing 
 of Harry Wargrave 's name from a false 
 
LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 347 
 
 shadow of dishonor, that it would never have 
 been cleared but for you. It was he who ran a 
 mile to get the priest for the dying man," she 
 said, looking at Mrs. Creighton and Mr. Blais- 
 dell. "But for that Judge Wargrave would 
 have died without knowing the truth about his 
 son. If " (the words seemed impulsively forced 
 from her) "you have ever regretted that he 
 who is to take up the Wargrave trust does not 
 hold the same religion as those who went before 
 him, you may be glad of it now; for only a 
 Catholic would have made such an effort to 
 bring to that man the priest to whom alone he 
 would have confessed the truth. ' ' 
 
 They looked at each other with a quick, 
 startled gaze; and for a moment at least their 
 souls did involuntary homage, as in a similar 
 moment Judge Wargrave had done, to the wis- 
 dom of the great Church, which has maintained 
 so inflexibly the essential character of that 
 sacrament which was the first that human 
 nature, in its revolt against divine authority, 
 cast away, and which Protestants have been 
 most sedulously taught to dislike and distrust. 
 Then Mr. Blaisdell extended his hand for the 
 letter. 
 
 He read aloud, in the silence of profound 
 attention, the explicit words in which the priest 
 related the confession of the dead man, — the 
 confession which told how he had taken advan- 
 tage of Harry Wargrave 's friendship and 
 
348 LAURENCE BUENS THE WILL 
 
 ignorance of business methods, to throw upon 
 him the suspicion of defalcations and forgery, 
 which, when discovered, had seemed to cast the 
 proud Wargrave honor into the dust. Father 
 Martin ended by saying that if Judge War- 
 grave wished to see him with regard to any 
 details of the confession, he would be glad to 
 respond to a summons at any time; and when 
 Mr. Blaisdell looked up from the letter, he 
 addressed Mrs. Creighton. 
 
 "I think," he said, "that you will wish me 
 to call and thank Father Martin for putting 
 this complete exculpation in such decisive form, 
 and also to obtain from him any corroborative 
 details that he may be able to furnish. I never 
 knew before how serious the charge was against 
 Harry Wargrave; although, knowing his 
 father 's high sense of justice as well as his deep 
 attachment to him, I was sure it must be very 
 serious. But this explains everything." 
 
 "And you must not forget" (it was Desmond 
 who again interposed) "that Father Martin 
 could not have divulged that confession if 
 Harry Wargrave 's daughter had not supplied 
 the key — by her statement of Tracy's connec- 
 tion with him — which enabled the priest to 
 apply the story. When I heard this," the 
 speaker went on, ' ' I felt convinced that she was 
 in some way closely related to the man who had 
 suffered so undeservedly, and I went immedi- 
 ately and charged her with it. She acknowl- 
 
LAUEEXCE BUEXS THE WILL 349 
 
 edged that she was his daughter; and then, 
 finding that she had refused Dr. Glynn's 
 request to take charge of Judge "Wargrave's 
 case as a professional nurse, I begged her to 
 reconsider that refusal. She was resolutelv 
 determined to make no claim of any kind upon 
 her grandfather; but I thought — that is, I 
 hoped — that if she were once under his roof and 
 associated with him, matters might arrange 
 themselves. I did not, however, anticipate that 
 her likeness to her grandmother would be 
 recognized as soon as she entered the house." 
 
 It was now Mrs. Creighton and Mrs. Selwyn 
 who glanced at each other with looks which 
 acknowledged that this was indeed evidence 
 that could not be gainsaid. Meanwhile Des- 
 mond went on : 
 
 ""When the likeness was recognized, I begged 
 her to let me tell my aunt who she was ; but I 
 could not induce her to do so, — could make no 
 impression upon her determination to remain 
 unknown. Onlv vesterdav afternoon, in the 
 garden, we talked of the matter; and she was 
 still obdurate, though she confessed that her 
 feeling toward her grandfather had changed. 
 But something occurred, after she returned to 
 the house, to bring out the revelation of her 
 identity; and what that was she will no doubt 
 tell vou." 
 
 With the last words, he turned toward Hes- 
 
350 LAUBEXCE BUBXS THE WILL 
 
 ter, who took up the thread of his story without 
 hesitation. 
 
 ' ' I have already told you, ' ' she said, address- 
 
 *J «/ / 7 
 
 ing Mrs. Creighton, "that when I came in 
 yesterday evening I found Judge Wargrave in 
 a singularly clear mental condition; that he 
 remembered and insisted upon hearing me read 
 the letter to which you have just listened, and 
 that his comments on it forced from me the 
 avowal of who I am. This revelation had no 
 immediately bad effect upon him; and in the 
 hours which we afterward spent together he 
 insisted upon my telling him all about my 
 father's life, as far as it could be told in so 
 short a time. I was afraid of too much cerebral 
 excitement, and urged him again and again to 
 wait until to-day to hear more; but he said" 
 (her voice faltered a little here) "that, in his 
 condition, he could not count on a single day, 
 and that he wanted to hear everything I was 
 able to tell him. I could not refuse — I am glad 
 now that I did not refuse, for it gave him so 
 much pleasure, — and then an idea, which I had 
 feared might develop from all this, took pos- 
 session of his mind. He began to think of his 
 will. > ' 
 
 There was a short pause — one of those 
 pauses which are full of electrical intensity of 
 interest and expectation, — while the clear tones 
 ceased for a moment, and then calmly resumed : 
 
 "I urged him not to think of it, and assured 
 
LAUBEXCE BURXS THE WILL 351 
 
 him that I was perfectly satisfied for all to 
 remain as he had arranged it ; but he would not 
 hear of this. He grew dangerously excited. 
 'What!' he said, 'Shall every one else, even my 
 old servants, be remembered, and my son's 
 daughter be ignored? I could not rest in my 
 grave if that were so. ' Then he told me to get 
 his will. I begged him not to insist upon this ; 
 to wait until to-dav and send for vou" (she 
 spoke to Mr. Blaisdell). "But he would listen 
 to nothing. 'He can come to-morrow,' he said; 
 'but meanwhile I might die to-night, and that 
 will would be in existence. It must be des- 
 troyed.' — 'But you forget the Wargrave trust, 
 and what would happen to it if you died with- 
 out a will,' I reminded him, in order to induce 
 him to put the matter off. ' ' 
 
 "Ah," Mr. Blaisdell leaned forward, "there 
 was nothing nearer to his heart than the War- 
 grave trust! What did he say to that?" 
 
 ' ' He said nothing at first, ' ' Hester answered. 
 "He looked at me with eyes which I shall never 
 forget, so piteous were they. Then he said 
 slowly: 'I must choose between the greater 
 and the lesser dishonor. If I die before I can 
 find means to secure the Wargrave trust, the 
 great Judge above will know that it was because 
 I could not be guilty of injustice to one already 
 so deeply wronged. You must burn the will, 
 or I will do it myself. ' ' ' 
 
352 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 Again Mr. Blaisdell uttered a sharp ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "And did you burn it?" he demanded. 
 
 Hester looked at Edith with, for the first 
 time, something like a challenge in her glance. 
 
 "Miss Creighton will tell you that I did," 
 she replied. 
 
 Then Edith addressed Mr. Blaisdell. 
 
 "You will remember," she said to him, "that 
 I spoke to you of something which I preferred 
 to tell you in the presence of Miss Landon. It 
 is briefly this. I was warned by Virgil last 
 night that there was some great change in my 
 uncle's condition, and I came upstairs to see 
 for myself what was really going on between 
 himself and the nurse (Virgil also spoke of 
 her) before alarming mamma or telephoning 
 for the doctor. When I approached this room, 
 I heard, just as the servant had described to 
 me, the voices in earnest, sustained conversa- 
 tion, — conversation so different from anything 
 of which my uncle had been capable since his 
 illness that it was startling in the highest 
 degree. I thought it ought to be stopped, yet 
 I was afraid to interfere — afraid of the conse- 
 quences to him, I mean, — so I listened in the 
 hall for some minutes. Through the closed 
 door I could not hear what was being said, but 
 I was struck by the tone of Miss Landon 's 
 voice. She seemed pleading with or urging 
 something upon him, and I felt as if it were 
 
LAURENCE BURXS THE WILL 353 
 
 only right that I should know why one who was 
 apparently only a trained nurse had so far for- 
 gotten her duty to the patient under her charge 
 as to excite him in such a manner. I have 
 therefore no apologies to make for the fact that 
 I presently entered his chamber, where there is 
 a door" (she pointed toward it) "which com- 
 mands this room. Behind that curtain I stood, 
 and I heard Judge Wargrave's voice — as clear 
 and ringing as it had ever been in health — say 
 distinctly and emphatically : * Burn it ! Let me 
 see you burn it!' I must so far corroborate 
 Miss Landon's story as to say that she seemed 
 to remonstrate, though I could not hear her 
 words ; but he repeated, ' Burn it ! ' in those 
 tones of his which, as we all know, every one 
 always instinctively obeyed; and — " 
 
 "And then?" Mr. Blaisdell demanded im- 
 patiently; for at this point Edith paused, and 
 seemed for an instant unable to proceed. 
 
 "And then" (she looked now straight at 
 Hester) "I saw Miss Landon lay a paper in 
 the midst of the fire. ' ' 
 
 "So," Mr. Blaisdell turned sharply toward 
 the girl, ' ' you did burn the will ! ' ' 
 
 "I perceived," she answered quietly, "that 
 nothing else would satisfy him. His excitement 
 had reached so dangerous a point that, to quiet 
 it, I must either burn the will or make him 
 believe that I had done so. In the large envel- 
 
354 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 ope which held it I found two papers, — does 
 anv one remember that I ' ' 
 
 She looked from the lawyer to Desmond, but 
 both shook their heads. 
 
 "I never saw the will after I left it with the 
 Judge the day it was signed, " Mr. Blaisdell 
 said. "I had brought it to him, together with 
 the draft of its contents, which he had given me 
 that I might prepare it properly. ' ' 
 
 "Then it was no doubt that draft which 
 remained in the envelope when he put the will 
 away," Hester said. "At least I found two 
 papers in this envelope when I took it from the 
 place he indicated. It was here." 
 
 She rose, and, with every eye upon her, 
 walked to the desk, where she opened an inner 
 compartment, — a small door which closed with 
 lock and key. The key was now hanging in the 
 lock; so she flung back the little shutter, and 
 drew from the space within a long, blue 
 envelope. Mr. Blaisdell nodded when he saw it. 
 
 "That held the will," he said briefly; and it 
 was apparent to all that he spoke in the past 
 tense, because the envelope was now evidently 
 empty of any enclosure. 
 
 Holding it in her hand, Hester turned again 
 toward the group so breathlessly observing 
 her; and Desmond was filled with amazement, 
 as well as admiration, by the perfectly uncon- 
 scious yet admirable dignity of her bearing, the 
 tranquil grace of her manner, the untroubled 
 
LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 355 
 
 calmness of her voice, the clear candor of her 
 glance. 
 
 4 'Yes, this held it," she said. "From it I 
 drew the signed paper which I showed to him ; 
 and when he insisted that I should let him see 
 me burn it, I walked toward the fireplace and, 
 while my back was turned to him, slipped the 
 will into the envelope, drew out the other paper, 
 without being able to examine what it was, and 
 put it into the fire. ' ' 
 
 "But" (Mr. Blaisdell was staring at her in 
 astonishment, as was everybody else) "if you 
 did not burn the will, where is it? It is not 
 there." 
 
 He pointed with a long, lean finger to the 
 empty envelope ; and she answered in the same 
 tone of candor : 
 
 "No, it is not here, because, after he went to 
 bed, I came back, took it out and concealed it 
 in another place, for fear he should be sus- 
 picious and examine the envelope before I was 
 able to give it to you." 
 
 "Then if the will is still in existence, where 
 is it?" the lawyer inquired, with an anxiety 
 which he made no effort to conceal. 
 
 Hester turned to Desmond, and pointed to 
 one of the lower drawers of the desk. 
 
 ' ' You will find it there, ' ' she said to him. ' ' I 
 slipped it in behind the papers, at the back." 
 
 The young man dropped on one knee, pulled 
 open the drawer and ran his hand into it. After 
 
356 LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 
 
 an instant lie brought out a long, folded, legal 
 paper, upon which Mr. Blaisdell instantly 
 pounced. 
 
 "Yes," he said, as he opened it, "this is the 
 Judge 's will, just as I prepared and he signed it 
 a few weeks ago. ' ' 
 
 Desmond took it from his hand, and glanced 
 at it also. There was certainly no doubt that 
 it was the authentic will which preserved the 
 Wargrave trust. He saw his own name, he 
 saw Selwyn's, Edith's, and various others; and 
 then, remembering what name was absent, he 
 looked up and again faced the assembled 
 family, head erect and eyes shining. 
 
 "I must disagree with Mr. Blaisdell," he 
 said. "That is not properly a man's will which 
 is not the expression of his last wishes with 
 regard to the disposition of his property. We 
 know now, not only from the testimony of Miss 
 Wargrave bat from that of Miss Creighton, 
 that my uncle's wish with regard to this will 
 was simply and solely that it should be burned. 
 He felt that it did grievous injustice not only 
 to his granddaughter, who is not mentioned in 
 it, but to himself, who would never knowingly 
 have been guilty of such injustice. For the 
 sake of avoiding that wrong, even the preserva- 
 tion of the Wargrave trust became a matter of 
 slight importance to him ; for he recognized that 
 to keep the Wargrave honor unstained is a 
 higher duty than to hold together the Wargrave 
 
LAURENCE BURNS THE WILL 357 
 
 acres. His wishes were defeated by the person 
 whom he asked to fulfil them. I understand the 
 high pride which would not allow Miss War- 
 grave to destroy this will ; but, as its chief bene- 
 ficiary, I feel that it is my duty and my right to 
 fulfil my uncle's last earnest request. So I 
 doit," 
 
 As he ended, he strode to the fireplace, and, 
 before any of the startled group could interfere, 
 dropped the paper into the heart of the fire. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 The sound which Mr. Blaisdell uttered when 
 he saw Judge Wargrave's will thrown into the 
 fire was more like the roar of a wild beast than 
 the cry of an amazed and angry man. He 
 rushed forward, but Desmond's strong young 
 arm held him back from snatching the docu- 
 ment out of the blaze. Then he looked at 
 Selwyn. 
 
 "Get it!" he cried. "Why the devil do you 
 stand there doing nothing? Snatch it out! 
 There may be enough left to probate. ' ' 
 
 "Don't touch it!" Desmond warned Bobby, 
 who showed not the least intention of attempt- 
 ing anything of the kind. "The disposition 
 which the Judge wanted made of that paper is 
 going to be made, no matter what the law may 
 call the act. ' ' 
 
 "The law calls it so grave a crime that you 
 render yourself liable to penitentiary imprison- 
 ment by committing the act," the lawyer told 
 him indignantly. "In the course of a long life 
 I have never seen anything, as outrageous so 
 daringly done." 
 
 358 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 359 
 
 "Wouldn't you have done it yourself!" Des- 
 mond demanded, turning upon him. "Would 
 you, would any one here" (his eager glance 
 flashed over the assembled family), "have 
 accepted what that will gave me, knowing not 
 only that it wronged and injured the rightful 
 heir of the man who made it, but that the last 
 earnest wish of the testator was that it should 
 be destroyed? Allow it to stand! Accept it!' 
 The color flew to the ardent face. "There isn't 
 law enough in all Christendom to make me 
 do so." 
 
 Then Bobby Selwyn surprised every one by 
 stepping forward and seizing the speaker's 
 hand. 
 
 ' ' You did exactly right ! " he declared. ' ' I 'm 
 most concerned after you — for I believe the 
 Judge had put me in the entail, — but I'm glad 
 you destroyed the will, and I heartily endorse 
 all vou've said about it." 
 
 "Thank you, Bobby!" Desmond said. "It 
 never would have occurred to me to imagine 
 that you wouldn't endorse it. When it comes to 
 a point of honor, men of honor always think 
 alike. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell regarded them both with a 
 sardonic glance, under which, however, some- 
 thing like approval clearly lurked. 
 
 "Very fine sentiments!" he growled. "But 
 I don't think they excuse lawbreaking. I grant 
 that it seems clearly proved, by the separate 
 
360 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 but corroborating testimony of the two young 
 ladies whose stories we have heard, that Judge 
 Wargrave very much desired the destruction of 
 that will, and believed that it had been des- 
 troyed. But the fact remains that he merely 
 intended its destruction to guard against what 
 has — er — " 
 
 "Happened." Desmond's clear-cut tones 
 supplied the word as he hesitated. "Judge 
 Wargrave feared that he might die before he 
 could execute another will which would provide 
 for his granddaughter; and he also knew that, 
 if he did not die, another stroke might again 
 deprive him of his suddenly and strangely 
 regained power of speech. But he was willing 
 to take either risk rather than leave that" (the 
 young man flung out his hand toward the black 
 mass of burned paper which lay on the top of 
 the fire) "to misrepresent him, and to work 
 injustice when he would be powerless to pre- 
 vent it. Even the preservation of the War- 
 grave trust — so near his heart, as you have 
 said — became of less importance than securing 
 this. And I can't believe that there is any one 
 here" (again the bright, challenging glance 
 swept the circle) "who does not feel that I have 
 rightly interpreted and executed his wishes in 
 what I have done." 
 
 This time it was Mrs. Creighton who an- 
 swered him, quickly, impulsively, as few people 
 had ever heard her speak before : 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 361 
 
 ' ' I am sure of it, Laurence ; and, as the only 
 one now living among those who were nearest 
 to him during his life, I thank you for having 
 done it. I am sorry about the Wargrave trust ; 
 but I recognize that it was better for it to be 
 broken at last than for my brother to appear 
 to disown the claim of the daughter of his son, 
 — the son whom he had so deeply and sadly 
 wronged. ' ' 
 
 Desmond walked across the floor and took her 
 hand. 
 
 "I could not regret what I have done under 
 any circumstances,' ' he said; "but I can't tell 
 you how grateful I am for your approval, Aunt 
 Rachel." 
 
 "I couldn't fail to approve," she said, with 
 moist eyes. "It not only seems to me what 
 should have been done, but I like your manner 
 of doing it ; and I am glad that you have showed 
 so unmistakably that you are — I mean that you 
 were — worthy to be the heir of the men who 
 have been here before vou." 
 
 Then Edith, with something between a sob 
 and a laugh, also held out her hand. 
 
 "Mamma is slightly incoherent," she said; 
 "but I understand what she means, and I agree 
 with her. We all approve of what you have 
 done, Laurence; although I suppose Mr. Blais- 
 dell disapproves of us." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell was indeed shaking his head in 
 grave reprobation of the whole business. 
 
362 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 "You are approving a very serious offence," 
 he told them. "To destroy a man's last will 
 and testament is regarded by the law as so 
 grave a matter that the penalty, as I have 
 already said, is very severe. However, it is 
 destroyed now, and we must therefore consider 
 the result, which is to make this young lady'' 
 (he turned toward Hester) "the sole heir of 
 Judge Wargrave's estate, including all that 
 has heretofore constituted the Wargrave 
 trust. I mean, of course, that it will make her 
 the heir when she has proved according to legal 
 requirements that she is the only child of the 
 Judge's son." He paused a moment, and then 
 added, "I feel that I should express myself, 
 and I think for all present as well, admiration 
 and appreciation of her conduct in regard to 
 this matter. There are few people who would 
 have been capable of such disinterestedness as 
 she has displayed. ' ' 
 
 Hester, who had not uttered a word or sound 
 of any kind since she gave an audible gasp when 
 Desmond flung the will into the fire, now turned 
 toward the speaker a face pale with emotion, 
 out of which the eyes were shining like stars. 
 
 "You are extremely kind," she told him in 
 her low, clear voice; "but it seems to me that 
 what I did was very simple, and the only right 
 thing to do under the circumstances. I had 
 not come here to claim anything, and my father 
 would have desired as much as any one who 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 363 
 
 went before him that the Wargrave trust 
 should be preserved. I was anxious, therefore, 
 that it should not be endangered in any way 
 through me, that my grandfather's wishes 
 should be exactly carried out as he expressed 
 them before he knew of my existence. I am 
 sorry that the will has been destroyed. I 
 understand the impulse under which it was 
 destroyed, but it was a mistake. I have no 
 intention of taking the Wargrave estate.' ' 
 
 "As far as that is concerned, you will not be 
 able to avoid taking it, ' ' the lawyer said, a little 
 dryly. "When your claim is once established, 
 the law will recognize no other heir. But I may 
 remind you that it will be in your power to 
 establish again the Wargrave trust.' ' 
 
 They all saw the light that flashed into her 
 face. 
 
 ' l Ah ! ' ' she exclaimed. ' ' I can do that f ' ' 
 
 "Certainly you can do that," he replied. 
 ' ' The estate will come to you free of any encum- 
 brances or claims whatsoever." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, looking at him, 
 as if taking this in fully; then, with a sudden 
 impulsive movement, she advanced toward Mrs. 
 Creighton. 
 
 "You approved the destruction of the will a 
 few minutes ago," she said to her, "because it 
 ignored the claim of one who had been greatly, 
 although unconsciously, wronged; but I am 
 sure that in your heart you must have regretted 
 
i i 
 it 
 
 364 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 deeply the apparent end of the trust for which 
 so many sacrifices have been made. I am glad, 
 therefore, that it is in my power to promise 
 you that it shall be renewed as soon as I have 
 legal power to do so. " 
 
 My dear girl," Mrs. Creighton answered, 
 
 I regret nothing now except that my brother 
 should have died as soon as we found you ! And 
 I don't need any legal proof that you are 
 Harry 's daughter, — none ! ' ' 
 
 " Not when it might be cousin Maria herself 
 talking to us ! ' ' Mrs. Selwyn chimed in. 
 
 Then, with a grace all her own, Edith moved 
 forward and held out her hand. 
 
 "I hope you mil pardon whatever I have 
 said or done that was offensive to vou under a 
 misconception of the truth, ' ' she said ; * ' but you 
 must forgive me if I add that I think mysteries 
 are ahvavs mistakes." 
 
 "Generally speaking, you are right," Hester 
 acknowledged frankly; "and I should like for 
 you and for all" (her glance swept over every 
 one present) "to believe that I had no intention 
 of creating or maintaining any mystery when 
 an accident, or what seemed to be an accident, 
 brought me to this house. I was urged to come, 
 and I yielded because there was a great tempta- 
 tion in the thought of seeing my father's home. 
 And if I thought less of seeing those who were 
 within it than of the home itself, that was 
 because there was a great bitterness in my 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 365 
 
 heart; and I recognize now that the bitterness 
 was also a mistake. I resisted every appeal of 
 one" (she looked at Desmond) "who desired 
 earnestly that the truth should be told, because 
 I intended to go away as I had come, unknown. 
 It was only what I begin to think was the mercy 
 of Heaven which prevented this ; for I had not 
 a thought of telling my grandfather who I was 
 when I returned to this room yesterday even- 
 ing. I had just refused, out yonder in the 
 garden, a last appeal for leave to tell the truth ; 
 and nothing could have astonished me more 
 than to be assured that in a little time I should 
 myself tell it. The matter seemed suddenly 
 taken out of my hands; and altogether what 
 then occurred has led to that" (she pointed to 
 the burned will) ; "I can not regret it, since I 
 am told that I shall have power to renew the 
 trust, and since no one can doubt that my 
 father's vindication is complete when his 
 daughter is acknowledged and received as — 
 as—" 
 
 The soft, thrilling voice, with its pathetic 
 note of deep feeling, broke down, and it was 
 Bobby Selwyn who ended the sentence : 
 
 "As the owner of Hillcrest and undisputed 
 heiress of the Wargrave trust." 
 
 After this all sense of strain relaxed, and the 
 occasion resolved itself into a family council, 
 in which the details were settled of the manner 
 
366 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 in which Hester should take her rightful place 
 before the world. 
 
 "All of our friends must be told at once," 
 Mrs. Creighton said, "that my brother recog- 
 nized her before he died, and that by his 
 direction his will was destroyed; so that she 
 not only succeeds to the estate by law, but by 
 his desire." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell put out his lip. 
 
 "The less said about the destruction of the 
 will the better, in my opinion," he remarked. 
 "As I have warned you all, you are condoning 
 a very grave as well as an audacious offence 
 against the law ; and before this young lady can 
 inherit the estate — at least before she can exer- 
 cise any power connected with the inheritance 
 — we must have all the legal proofs of her 
 identity as Harry Wargrave 's daughter. Have 
 you," he asked Hester, "brought any of these 
 proofs with you?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "While I had no 
 intention of making myself known, and espe- 
 cially not to any member of the Wargrave 
 family, I felt that an occasion might arise when 
 it would be necessary, or at least well, to be able 
 to prove who I was. Therefore I have with me 
 my father's personal papers and pictures, 
 besides the certificate of his marriage, and a 
 copy of his will." 
 
 "So far so good," the lawyer told her with 
 a nod. ' ' There is of course a little more neces- 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 367 
 
 sary for legal identification, but that can easily 
 be secured. Meanwhile" (a slight twinkle came 
 into his eye here) "although I can not approve 
 the lawbreaking spirit which the Wargrave 
 family, in its various branches, has to-day dis- 
 played, I do from my heart congratulate the 
 family on the spirit of another kind which it 
 has exhibited — on the high-mindedness with 
 which it has met and dealt with an unusual and 
 difficult situation. ' ' 
 
 "Since I don't belong to the family except 
 by courtesy and affection, I may be permitted 
 to say that I heartily agree with you, Mr. Blais- 
 dell," Edith's ringing voice announced. 
 "When we consider how abominably many 
 people behave when it is a question of wills and 
 property, one appreciates the fine spirit of the 
 heir who tosses into the fire the will which 
 secures him a great inheritance, because he 
 feels that he is forced to do so by the higher 
 law of honor and justice ; and the spirit also ' ' 
 (here her glance dwelt on Bobby with a very 
 kindly light) "of those, whose interest was only 
 second to his, who have applauded the act. ' ' 
 
 "I submit that Miss Creighton can not be 
 permitted to put herself outside of the family 
 in this manner," Desmond eagerly interposed. 
 "She is not only one of us by the affection of 
 which she speaks, but she must be aware that 
 she was very closely concerned in the will, the 
 
368 A FAMILY DISCUSSION 
 
 destruction of which she is good enough to 
 approve. ' ' 
 
 "I am glad if it were so," Edith returned, 
 " since in that case I can feel that I, too, have 
 a share in what, despite Mr. Blaisdell's pro- 
 fessional opinion, I regard as an act of which 
 to be proud. ' ' 
 
 "Well, well," Mr. Blaisdell observed a little 
 testily, "I repeat that the less said about the 
 will the better. The family have approved the 
 manner in which the last wishes of the testator 
 have been carried out, and that ends the matter. 
 I will now ask the young lady whom we have 
 known up to this time as Miss Landon — " 
 
 "Landon is my second baptismal name," 
 Hester quietly told him. 
 
 "But whom we must now call Miss War- 
 grave," he went on, "to give me the address 
 of her attorney in San Francisco, that I may 
 write to him for certain necessary particulars 
 and papers. Meanwhile" (he looked at Mrs. 
 Creighton) "there are some connections, and 
 many old friends of the family now in the 
 house, to whom I would suggest that you pre- 
 sent Miss Wargrave, with a slight explanation 
 of her — er — appearance at this time. It is well 
 to avoid gossip, which is otherwise quite certain 
 to be spread rather wildly. ' ' 
 
 "Thank you for the suggestion!" Mrs. 
 Creighton said gratefully. "You are right: 
 gossip can not be forestalled too soon. Let us 
 
A FAMILY DISCUSSION 369 
 
 settle exactly what is to be told, and then 
 Robert Selwyn and Laurence can bring to us 
 here every one who has any claim to come." 
 
 1 i There is one important preparation for 
 that," Edith said quickly. "The nurse's 
 uniform must be laid aside; and if" (she spoke 
 now to Hester) "you have not a black dress 
 with you, I shall be happy to lend you one. ' ' 
 You are very kind," Hester answered; 
 but I have a black gown, which I was about to 
 put on when I was summoned here. I did not 
 know then how I should be received, so I did 
 not wish even to seem to join in the mourning 
 of a family that might reject me. Therefore 
 I came in my nurse 's dress. For the manner in 
 which you have received me" (she again ex- 
 tended toward them hands which, as well as her 
 tones, slightly trembled) "I have no words with 
 which to thank you. I can only say that it has 
 wiped away forever all memory of bitterness." 
 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 LAUKENCE STAYS 
 
 Despite every effort which the family could 
 make there was more than a nine davs ' wonder 
 over the sudden appearance of Judge War- 
 grave's granddaughter, the news (which could 
 not be suppressed) that the Wargrave trust 
 had lapsed, that this unknown girl was sole 
 heiress of the estate, and that the young man 
 who had been brought from afar to fill the 
 position of heir, was left with no interest at all 
 in the great inheritance. His attractive person- 
 ality and debonair ways had made him very 
 popular with all who met him during his stay 
 at Hillcrest as the Judge's recognized succes- 
 sor ; and sympathy was freely expressed for his 
 disappointment. 
 
 "You are wasting your pity!" Bobby Selwyn 
 told all who uttered this sympathy to him. 
 "Desmond doesn't care a rap for the loss of 
 the estate. On the contrary, he is delighted 
 that the Judge's granddaughter has inherited 
 it ; and indeed he had more than anv one else to 
 do with the fact that she has come into her 
 rights." 
 
 370 
 
LAURENCE STAYS 371 
 
 "Is it true that he destroyed the will that 
 gave everything to him ? ' ' more than one person 
 curiouslv inquired. 
 
 "Well" (Bobby was mindful of Mr. Blais- 
 dell's stern admonition), "I can only tell you 
 that the will was destroyed in accordance with 
 the Judge 's positively expressed wish, and with 
 the approval of every one concerned. Desmond 
 acted extremelv well, and we all endorsed his — 
 er — action. ' ' 
 
 "Pitv that such a fine fellow couldn't have 
 inherited the estate!" was the consensus of 
 public opinion ; and Bobby permitted himself to 
 say significantly, 
 
 "Perhaps it may come into his hands, after 
 all." 
 
 This suggestion he owed to Edith Creighton, 
 who, when twitted with the mistake she had 
 made in her judgment of the relations existing 
 between Desmond and the young nurse, had 
 replied with a touch of asperity, 
 
 "You are not half as clever as you think 
 yourself, Bobby. It is true that I was mistaken 
 about the mere facts, but I wasn't mistaken in 
 the preception of something which made, or 
 seemed to make, those facts possible. I don't 
 know whether or not it has had any effect on 
 Laurence Desmond's conduct, but it is very 
 clear to me that he is in love with the girl whom 
 we now know as Hester Wargrave." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" Bobby asked 
 
372 LAUKENCE STAYS 
 
 anxiously. "In spite of all you said that day 
 when you were — er — so angry, I've always 
 believed that he was in love with you" 
 
 "You seem to labor under the impression 
 that everybody must be in love with me, ' ' Edith 
 informed him, with slightly increased asperity ; 
 "and of course it might have appeared the 
 obvious thing in Laurence's case. But, in 
 reality, he has never been in love with me for 
 an hour. His mind was filled with thoughts of 
 that girl when I first met him — he talked of her 
 as we drove from Kingsford the evening he 
 arrived, — and therefore my charms, great as 
 you imagine them to be, never had a chance to 
 impress him." 
 
 "Well, of course that explains it," Bobby 
 conceded; "for I don't imagine your charms to 
 be any greater than they really are. And if his 
 mind hadn't been already filled with her, he 
 couldn't have helped falling in love with you. 
 I don't honestly see how he avoided it, anyway; 
 but if he did, it's clearly providential. For if 
 she reciprocates his feeling, as I suppose she 
 does—?" 
 
 "I haven't the faintest idea whether she does 
 or does not," Edith answered his interrogative 
 pause. "She is an extremely reserved person 
 — at least to me, — and has not betrayed in any 
 way how she feels toward Laurence." 
 
 "She must have been impressed by the mag- 
 nificent way in which he flung that will into the 
 
LAURENCE STAYS 373 
 
 fire in order to give her a great inheritance, ' ' 
 Bobby hazarded. 
 
 "Naturally she must have admired that," 
 Edith agreed. "But I think she recognizes that 
 he did it for a higher reason than merely to give 
 her a great inheritance." 
 
 "You mean — ?" 
 
 "I mean that whatever she had been — if he 
 had disliked instead of being, as I fancy, in love 
 with her — he would have acted in the same 
 manner. I don't believe that he was thinking 
 of her at all when he put that will in the fire ; 
 I think it was done in obedience to a standard 
 of action which would not have been changed by 
 any personal consideration whatever." 
 
 Bobby stared for a moment. 
 
 ' ' You certainly think very highly of him, ' ' he 
 said then. 
 
 Yes, I think highly of him," she answered, 
 perhaps more highly because it has not been 
 long since I did him injustice, as you know. 
 But he is not the only person of whom I think 
 highly," she added quickly. "I was proud of 
 you that day, Bobby. You were as deeply con- 
 cerned in that will as Laurence Desmond — you 
 knew that it named vou as the heir of the War- 
 grave trust after him, — but you saw it burned 
 without an effort to save it ; although you could 
 easily have snatched it from the fire, as Mr. 
 Blaisdell roared to you to do." 
 
 Bobby laughed. 
 
 1 1 
 
374 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 ' ' I should have had to fight Desmond. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, no ! Mr. Blaisdell could have taken care 
 of him. But you never thought of it ; you were 
 perfectly willing for it to be burned. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Of course I was willing, since the Judge had 
 desired it; and, besides, it was, under the cir- 
 cumstances, the only right thing to do." 
 
 "That is it!" Edith exclaimed. "You felt 
 that it was 'the only right thing to do,' and so 
 you did it, with less outward display than Lau- 
 rence Desmond, but just as really. And do you 
 know what this proves, Bobby?" 
 
 "Well — er — that I haven't forgotten every- 
 thing that you've sometimes charged me with 
 forgetting," Bobby suggested, not very lumi- 
 nously. 
 
 "Yes: that you haven't forgotten anything 
 that is vital in those standards and traditions 
 that dear Uncle George held so high. Oh, he 
 knew what he was doing when he put you in 
 the line of succession to the Wargrave trust! 
 I thought it very fine of him when I heard of it, 
 because I knew that he disapproved of so many 
 of your modern ideas and methods. But I know 
 now that he understood vou all the time, — 
 understood better than I did that, whenever 
 you were put to the test, you would show that 
 sense of the fine spirit of honor which he wor- 
 shipped above all things. You showed it, 
 Bobby, when you stood by and let Laurence 
 Desmond destroy your prospect of inheritance 
 
LAURENCE STAYS 375 
 
 as well as his own, because you both felt that it 
 was 'the only right thing to do.' " 
 
 As Bobby looked at the eager speaker, the 
 moisture which is the mark of deep feeling 
 sprang to his honest eyes. 
 
 "You are awfully good to say these things 
 to me, Edith!" he told her. "It didn't occur 
 to me that there was anything at all remark- 
 able in what I did; but I'd burn a dozen wills 
 to have you think so well of me. While we are 
 talking of the destroying of the will, however, 
 let me tell you that you said something on the 
 occasion which I didn 't like at all. ' ' 
 
 "Indeed!" Edith's eager expansiveness suf- 
 fered a slight frost. "What, pray?" 
 
 "You said that you did not belong to the 
 family. Now, in a strict sense that may be 
 true — " 
 
 " It is true in every sense. ' ' 
 
 ' ' No, it isn 't ! You admitted the ties of con- 
 nection and affection which make you one of us ; 
 but there ought to be more, Edith. You ought 
 to enter the family. I've thought of late that 
 you would enter it by marrying Desmond ; and, 
 after a fashion, I had resigned myself to your 
 doing so. But since you tell me there is no 
 prospect of that, if I could only induce you to 
 consider marrying me — " 
 
 "Bobby," Edith declared, with something 
 between a laugh and a sob, "you are the most 
 absurd human being on the face of the earth! 
 
376 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 I have never known yon to fail to take advan- 
 tage of any occasion, however inappropriate, to 
 make that suggestion. ' ' 
 
 1 i There is nothing inappropriate about the 
 present occasion," Bobby affirmed; "and I 
 promise you that I shall continue to make the 
 suggestion as long as there is the faintest hope 
 that you may some day take it seriously into 
 consideration." 
 
 She regarded him steadily for a moment, and 
 then held out her hand. 
 
 "I think that day has come," she said. "I 
 think I must take it into consideration quite 
 seriously." 
 
 It was several days after Judge Wargrave's 
 funeral, when the household of Hillcrest had 
 returned to those normal conditions of life 
 which must go on, like the rising and setting 
 of the sun, whatever presence is withdrawn 
 from the world, that the girl who was now rec- 
 ognized as the owner of the fine old home sat in 
 the library talking to Mr. Blaisdell. He had 
 just informed her that all the legal steps were 
 taken to put her in possession of the estate ; and 
 he had listened with many demurring interrup- 
 tions to certain instructions which she at once 
 attempted to give him. 
 
 "My dear young lady," he said, "you must 
 wait a little for all of this. I am aware that 
 you pledged yourself to renew the Wargrave 
 trust as soon as possible, but no one would or 
 
LAUREXCE STAYS 377 
 
 could expect you to do anything of the kind 
 until your life is — er — somewhat settled.'' 
 
 ' ' My life is as much settled now as it is ever 
 likely to be," Hester told him quietly. "At 
 least my intention is clearly settled to replace 
 my grandfather's will as far as possible. Noth- 
 ing could induce me to profit by the accident of 
 its destruction." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell put out his long lip. 
 
 "I should hardly call the destruction an 
 accident," he said. "It was a very deliberate 
 action, and I don't think you will succeed in 
 conferring the estate upon the legatee who in 
 such a decisive manner rejected it." 
 
 Hester looked distressed. 
 
 "Can he not be forced to take it?" she asked. 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. 
 
 "I know of no means bv which that could be 
 accomplished," he said, — "especially in the 
 case of a person so self-willed as this young 
 man has proved himself. ' ' 
 
 "But you have forced it upon me!" the girl 
 remonstrated. 
 
 "Not at all," he corrected her. "The law 
 forces it upon you, — which is a very different 
 matter. You are the only heir of Judge War- 
 grave whom the law recognizes, and you must 
 accept the estate in order to be able to dispose 
 of it as you desire. ' ' 
 
 "I am afraid you think me very self-willed 
 also," she said. "But you don't know how 
 
378 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 anxious I am that ray coming shall make no 
 change in what had been arranged before I 
 came. My grandfather had selected his heir, he 
 had brought him here from the other side of the 
 world, he had settled everything ; and it is intol- 
 erable to me that my mere existence should 
 upset what was even to the end so near his 
 heart. ' ' 
 
 "He proved that there was something even 
 nearer to his heart, which was to do tardy 
 justice to the son who had been so deeply 
 wronged,' ' Mr. Blaisdell answered. "As for 
 your existence, you can't help that, you know; 
 and I don 't really think that there is any reason 
 why you should desire to help it. I knew my 
 old friend very well, and I am sure that he 
 would be satisfied that the daughter of his son 
 reigns as mistress in his home." 
 
 "But the Wargrave trust!" 
 
 "Ah, we must let the Wargrave trust take 
 its chances! Some day when you are — er — 
 married perhaps — " 
 
 Hester rose abruptly from her seat. 
 
 "You don't understand!" she cried. "I 
 want this matter settled, so as to be independ- 
 ent of anything I may or may not do in the 
 future. I want to put the heir my grandfather 
 selected in his place, and then go away to live 
 my own life as I like, without any responsibility 
 here. ' ' 
 
LAUEEXCE STAYS 379 
 
 The lawyer, who had also risen, shook his 
 head at her. 
 
 "You won't be able to manage that," he told 
 her. "Life is so ordered for all of us that we 
 can't throw off our responsibilities, however 
 much we might like to do so. You would like 
 just now to turn the Wargrave trust, and all 
 that it implies, over to Laurence Desmond; but 
 I don't think he will oblige you so far as to take 
 it. However, vonder he is ! You can ask him." 
 
 He had glanced through one of the windows 
 as he spoke, and he now walked across the floor 
 and threw it up. 
 
 "Hallo!" he shouted to the young man, 
 whose figure, attended by two leaping dogs, he 
 had seen on the terrace. Then, as a surprised 
 face turned toward him, he beckoned inpera- 
 tively. "Come here!" he cried. "We want 
 vou. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, I don 't think we do ! " Hester hurriedly 
 remonstrated behind him. 
 
 "I'm sure that Ave do," he replied, turning 
 back to her. "As far as I am concerned, I must 
 insist upon a clear understanding between you 
 two before I take instructions for legal instru- 
 ments of any kind. Come in, Mr. Desmond," he 
 continued, adressing the young man, who now 
 appeared at the window. "Miss Wargrave and 
 mvself wish to talk to vou a little. ' ' 
 
 "Mr. Blaisdell may wish to talk to you," 
 
380 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 Hester interposed with some spirit, "but I have 
 not expressed any desire of the kind." 
 
 "Then" (Desmond abruptly withdrew a leg 
 which he had advanced over the window-sill) 
 "I will have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Blais- 
 dell later at his office in Kingsf ord. ' ' 
 
 "No, you won't!" Mr. Blaisdell shot out a 
 long arm and drew him into the room. "You 
 will be good enough to see me here and now; 
 and I must beg Miss Wargrave to remain with 
 us" (for he detected a slight tentative move- 
 ment of Hester toward the door) "until certain 
 matters can be discussed, and a conclusion dis- 
 tinctly agreed upon by all concerned." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Blaisdell," Desmond objected, 
 "this seems rather an arbitrary proceeding, in 
 view of Miss Wargrave 's assurance that she 
 has nothing to discuss, and my strong convic- 
 tion that I am not in the least concerned in any 
 matter which you may have under considera- 
 tion with her." 
 
 Mr. Blaisdell regarded him with a sarcastic, 
 though friendly, glance. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Desmond," he said, "you must 
 kindly allow me to be the best judge of my own 
 business. We are not disposing of wills, by fire 
 or otherwise, at present; but are rather intent 
 upon a question of making them — " 
 
 "No, no!" Hester interposed quickly. "You 
 are quite mistaken. I do not want to make a 
 will — that is, something which will operate only 
 
LAURENCE STAYS 381 
 
 after I am dead — I want to arrange the matter 
 of which I spoke to you, so that it will be 
 immediately operative now." 
 
 "I quite understand," Mr. Blaisdell assented 
 with a nod, "and I used the word 'will' in a 
 comprehensive sense. But this being so, there 
 is all the more reason that the person in whose 
 favor you propose to resign your inheritance 
 shall have a word to say in the matter. ' ' 
 
 "What!" Desmond strode forward and 
 stood in front of her. "Is it possible that you 
 have for an instant entertained the idea of 
 resigning your inheritance in my favor?" 
 
 She looked up at him with something like 
 defiance in her eyes. 
 
 " It is not my inheritance, ' ' she told him. ' ' It 
 is yours. My grandfather chose you as his 
 heir ; he gave his estate to you in the will which 
 you destroyed ; and I positively decline to profit 
 by the destruction of that will." 
 
 "You forget that it was his desire that it 
 should be destroyed. ' y 
 
 "I do not forget that. But he was not only 
 in an irresponsible condition of mental excite- 
 ment when he desired it : he had even then no 
 intention of ignoring the Wargrave trust, or 
 of changing your place in it. I am sure of this, 
 and therefore I have told Mr. Blaisdell that I 
 wish him to prepare whatever papers are neces- 
 sary to put the entailed estate into your hands 
 
382 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 in exact accordance with my grandfather's 
 wishes and directions. ' ' 
 
 "And you think — yon really think — that I 
 would accept it?" 
 
 "You would have no alternative, since I 
 refuse to keep it." 
 
 "No alternative!" He threw back his head 
 with a laugh of angry scorn. "I would soon 
 show you whether or not I had an alternative. 
 I am very much obliged to Mr. Blaisdell" (he 
 swung round toward that gentleman) "for 
 letting me know what was being considered. I 
 think I need hardly tell him that I would not 
 tolerate such an arrangement for a moment." 
 
 "I warned Miss Wargrave that it might be — 
 er — well to consult you before she took any 
 decisive step, ' ' Mr. Blaisdell remarked. ' i That 
 is why I called you in. It seemed," he added 
 dryly, "a trifle unnecessary to prepare any 
 more papers to be burned. ' ' 
 
 "Quite unnecessary," Desmond assented, 
 with a laugh out of which the flash of anger had 
 gone, "since burned any such paper surely 
 would have been. Perhaps" (he turned back to 
 Hester) "you think me ungrateful — " 
 
 "No," she interrupted in a low tone, "I only 
 think you very unkind. ' ' 
 
 "Unkind!" He put out his hand impulsively 
 and caught hers, as he had caught it more than 
 once before. "Now, why, in Heaven's name, 
 should you think that?" 
 
LAURENCE STAYS 383 
 
 "Because," she told him, with something like 
 a suggestion of tears in her voice, ' i you brought 
 me here — for it was all your doing, — you have 
 placed me in a false position by destroying the 
 will which secured the Wargrave trust, and 
 you now refuse to let me do the only thing 
 possible to repair — atone for the trouble I have 
 caused." 
 
 "You have caused no trouble," Desmond 
 assured her ; while Mr. Blaisdell, after clearing 
 his throat in a significant manner, stepped 
 through the still open window, and walked away 
 unheeded. "Don't you know that, so far from 
 that, you have ended trouble by your coming; 
 you brought peace and comfort to a dying man ; 
 and there is no member of the family, either 
 near or remote, who is not glad that Harry 
 Wargrave has come into his inheritance in the 
 person of his daughter, and who is not willing 
 that the final disposition of that inheritance 
 should be left in your hands 1 ' ' 
 
 "But you are not willing!" she urged re- 
 proachfully. "You refuse to accept the dis- 
 position I wish to make of it. ' ' 
 
 "I said the final disposition," Desmond 
 reminded her. "For the present, you must 
 accept the burden that has come upon you. 
 There is no help for that. You can not tell yet 
 how life will deal with it or with you, or what 
 will be finally the best disposition to make of 
 it. I am only sure that with the Wargrave 
 
384 LAURENCE STAYS 
 
 trust, as with all else, you will act in a fine, 
 high spirit of conscientious endeavor to do your 
 duty toward God and man. ' ' 
 
 She looked up at him like a child, and the 
 tears suddenly overflowed from the clear 
 fountains of her eyes, as she sank into a chair. 
 
 "How shall I know the way to do all this — 
 after you are gone 1 ' ' she asked. 
 
 Infinitely touched, he knelt down beside her, 
 and gathered her hands again into the clasp of 
 his. 
 
 "Hester," he said softly, "if you wish me to 
 stay, I will never go. ' ' 
 
 PUNTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 


 
 
 
 
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