"Not quite, sir. You see-"

"But I don't see!"

"It had occurred to me that as Mr. Pickering's allowance

wasn't what you might call generous it was better

to augment it-Well, sir, I took the liberty of advancing

a trifle, as you might say, to the estate. Your

grandfather would not have had you starve, sir."

He left hurriedly, as though to escape from the consequences

of his words, and when I came to myself

Larry was gloomily invoking his strange Irish gods.

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"Larry Donovan, I've been tempted to kill that fellow

a dozen times! This thing is too damned complicated

for me. I wish my lamented grandfather had left

me something easy. To think of it-that fellow, after

my treatment of him-my cursing and abusing him

since I came here! Great Scott, man, I've been enjoying

his bounty, I've been living on his money! And

all the time he's been trusting in me, just because of

his dog-like devotion to my grandfather's memory.

Lord, I can't face the fellow again!"

"As I have said before, you're rather lacking at times

in perspicacity. Your intelligence is marred by large

opaque spots. Now that there's a woman in the case

you're less sane than ever. Bah, these women! And

now we've got to go to work."

Bah, these women! My own heart caught the words.

I was enraged and bitter. No wonder she had been

anxious for me to avoid Pickering after daring me to

follow her!

We called a council of war for that night that we

might view matters in the light of Pickering's letter.

His assuredness in ordering me to leave made prompt

and decisive action necessary on my part. I summoned

Stoddard to our conference, feeling confident of his

friendliness.

"Of course," said the broad-shouldered chaplain, "if

you could show that your absence was on business of

very grave importance, the courts might construe in

that you had not really violated the will."

Larry looked at the ceiling and blew rings of smoke

languidly. I had not disclosed to either of them the

cause of my absence. On such a matter I knew I should

get precious little sympathy from Larry, and I had,

moreover, a feeling that I could not discuss Marian

Devereux with any one; I even shrank from mentioning

her name, though it rang like the call of bugles in

my blood.

She was always before me,-the charmed spirit of

youth, linked to every foot of the earth, every gleam of

the sun upon the ice-bound lake, every glory of the winter

sunset. All the good impulses I had ever stifled

were quickened to life by the thought of her. Amid the

day's perplexities I started sometimes, thinking I heard

her voice, her girlish laughter, or saw her again coming

toward me down the stairs, or holding against the light

her fan with its golden butterflies. I really knew so

little of her; I could associate her with no home, only

with that last fling of the autumn upon the lake, the

snow-driven woodland, that twilight hour at the organ

in the chapel, those stolen moments at the Armstrongs'.

I resented the pressure of the hour's affairs, and chafed

at the necessity for talking of my perplexities with the

good friends who were there to help. I wished to be

alone, to yield to the sweet mood that the thought of her

brought me. The doubt that crept through my mind

as to any possibility of connivance between her and

Pickering was as vague and fleeting as the shadow of a

swallow's wing on a sunny meadow.




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