Kitabı oku: «The Inner Flame», sayfa 18

CHAPTER XXVI
TIDES

Philip paused a moment when he reached the grassy bank.

"You're quite sure you wish to walk?" he said.

"I certainly am," she returned with an effort at lightness. "It's the best thing I can do, now that I've been so careless."

He set her down gently, and picked up the cushions with one hand while he put the other under her arm, and they started; but there was no path; the points of granite and the grassy hummocks made difficult walking for sound feet. Phil felt his companion's sudden limps and cringes, the while she was talking valiantly of the satisfaction it was to feel that a little pain didn't matter, so long as one knew that the best thing for a strain was exercise; but all the time it seemed to her that home was miles away, and that this Transgressors' Boulevard would never end.

Phil smiled down at the dark uncovered head so near his shoulder; then as she sank in an unexpected hollow: —

"Pluck is all very well, Kathleen," he said, "but I'm going to pick you up again."

"No, no, Phil! You could never carry me home. I'm much too heavy to be doing these foolish things." Tears of vexation stood in the girl's eyes.

"I needn't carry you home," he returned quietly, "but it is all my fault that you slipped. As soon as we get to level ground you shall try again. Cushions will be safe in Arcadia, I fancy," he added, storing them at the foot of a rock they were passing. "I can come back for them."

"Put this heavy polo coat with them," said Kathleen, trying not to cry. "No need of carrying any more than you have to. Oh, Phil, really! I could hop. Couldn't I hop if you lifted me on one side?"

"We'll hop, skip, and jump when we get on the level," he returned, wrapping the coat carefully about her, and taking her up again.

"Put your arm around my neck, please. There we are." He moved on at a good pace. "Can't you feel that it's easy?"

"I'm so ashamed to make you this trouble." Kathleen's lip quivered.

"I'm so ashamed that you are hurt, but I need the exercise," rejoined her bearer. "What am I going to do now that I don't have to struggle with the Villa? Have you a rowboat?"

"Yes," returned Kathleen, in a small voice.

They were approaching a cottage with sightless midnight eyes. She had no idea what time it was, but devoutly hoped they were the only persons awake on the island. It was ridiculous to be carried about like this, and a terrible imposition on an innocent guest; but how wonderful he was, striding along from hummock to hummock with apparent ease.

"Then I'll do some rowing, if you'll let me. Do you like to row?"

"Yes," came again in such a small, choked voice, that Phil suddenly turned his head and his face came close to Kathleen's. The elegant remote Miss Fabian, with the slumbrous eyes and the red-brown hair, was a helpless child in his arms.

"Are you suffering?" he asked, and such a note of tenderness sounded suddenly in his voice that the girl's heart gave a great throb.

"Only in my mind," she faltered, trying to laugh. "You'll set me down as soon as we reach the point, won't you? It's easy from there."

It was not very easy from there, but Kathleen set her teeth, and walked it, leaning on Phil's arm, and sometimes stopping to rest.

"And I thought it was such a small island," she said with a little sighing laugh when at last the home piazza was reached.

Philip helped her upstairs to her room.

"Shall I knock on your mother's door?" he asked.

"No, indeed. I can get on perfectly well now." She held out her hand. "Will you forgive me?"

He took it and looked straight into her eyes without speaking.

For an instant he held her hand, still mute, then turned, and instead of going to his room went downstairs again.

Kathleen, closing her door softly, heard him. She stood a moment perfectly still, her lambent eyes looking into space, the long straight lines of her white coat shining in the dim room.

"If it should be!" she thought with awe. "If it should be!"

Philip went out on the porch. The tide was receding and dragging in and out the stones of the beach. He frowned thoughtfully at the rolling expanse. "This is disturbing," he reflected. His blood was pumping and dragging mightily at locked doors of his own which he knew must be locked for years to come.

"And even then it cannot be Kathleen who opens them," he reminded himself. While she was flashing about to fashionable functions in her limousine the coming season, he would still be planning which meal to make the substantial one of the day.

"The cushions!" he thought suddenly, and, finding relief in action, he began running back with long, even strides, through the silent, silvered fields.

Before ten o'clock the next morning Edgar presented himself at the farmhouse to make inquiries for the invalid. He was eager to begin treating Violet right; and as a commencement he brought a box of bonbons which he had ordered from the city before that resolution was made. However, flowers and candy were conventional attentions. So were books. He reflected that no one could criticize his giving Violet a marked copy of Tennyson.

"She isn't here," Mrs. Wright told him when he reached the house. "She has gone somewhere to get an extra coat of tan and see the tide come in."

"Why didn't I come sooner!" exclaimed Edgar, vexed. "I thought her headache – I thought she wouldn't be up early."

"Oh, I think you must have exorcised that last night," said Mrs. Wright. "How we all enjoyed the medicine! Will you promise to sing every night if one of us will fall ill?"

Edgar smiled and twisted his mustache. "We have a lame duck over at our house," he said. "Kathleen managed to slip on the rocks last night. She's as plucky as they make 'em, though. She's limping around. Phil was with her – not very bright of him, I must say."

"Oh, I'm sorry he has that cloud over his first morning at the studio," returned Mrs. Wright. "I saw him go in there an hour ago."

"You're sure Violet isn't there?" asked Edgar quickly.

"Oh, perfectly," rejoined Mrs. Wright quietly. "We're as much warned off the Villa as ever, now, you know. I hope he is going to do great things."

"Yes, I hope so," said Edgar absently. "This full sunlight isn't particularly good for Violet's head. Don't you think I'd better find her and get her out of it?"

"Oh, it's the steadiest little head in the world. Last night was simply the exception that proves the rule."

"Well, then, she'll be fit for tennis. I'm going to find her and see if we can't have some singles before dinner."

"All right, if you can find her."

Edgar tossed his head. "Perhaps I couldn't put a girdle 'round the earth, but this island's a cinch"; and with the beribboned box under his arm and the sun glinting on his polished blond head, Edgar set off running toward the rocks where Kathleen had met her slip.

Perhaps, he reflected, it was just as well that Violet had been hors de combat last evening. If they had come down here in the moonlight, and he had sung, and she had turned upon him that wonderful, confiding, devout look which warmed every fibre of his vanity, there is no telling what he might have said or done. He was shrewd enough to know that Mrs. Larrabee's rebuff had caused a rebound in which just such an innocent, womanly girl as Violet Manning could catch his heart in both hands. She had laughed at him yesterday afternoon, and to force her to capitulate he might have done something foolish in the evening. Now that pitfall – the time, the place, and the girl – was past, and the bright clear winds of morning found him forewarned and forearmed; but friendly, perfectly friendly. He thoroughly liked Violet Manning.

All this time he was running toward the show-place at high tide, the precipitous rocks whose walls and crannies repulsed the crashing waves, causing a never-ending series of fountains, and cascades of crystal water.

A few penguins in shade hats studded the heights this morning, but Violet was not among them. He walked past slowly, scanning the rocks. A few rods farther on, a small harbor pierced the island's side. Its farther bank was soft with evergreens; a sturdy growth of tall spruces which fixed their roots amid the inhospitable rocks.

An artist had set up his easel on the near shore, and was sitting on a camp-stool before it, working busily. A large straw hat was crowded down to the tops of his ears to thwart the wind, and Edgar wondered who might be the competitor of the painter who was working away at the Villa Chantecler. He glanced carelessly at the artist and then renewed his scrutiny of the rocks; being so engrossed, that the next time his gaze went forward, he saw that a girl was lying on the rock near the easel, leaning on her elbow and alternately watching the artist and the sea.

Edgar suspected the truth with a wave of anger. How could Phil be in two places at once? He had allowed Kathleen to slip on the rocks. Probably he had been absent-minded. This had been planned for; Mrs. Wright couldn't have known it.

He strode forward.

"Good morning!" he said, with awe-inspiring dignity.

"Oh, hello," returned Violet carelessly, turning her head so as to see the newcomer.

Could this nonchalant girl be she who had wept at the window!

"I went over to the house to see how you were," said Edgar severely, "and Mrs. Wright said you were watching the tide."

"Yes," returned Violet, lazy in the sun, "but I found something so much better to watch."

"You can't see anything from there," declared Edgar, speaking crisply.

"Do you allow that, Mr. Sidney?" asked the girl.

"I allow anything but people to talk to me," said Phil, busy with the blues and greens of the water.

"There, you see!" said Violet accusingly. "He hadn't said a word of reproach to me before you came"; and the little minx allowed herself to throw a devoted glance in the direction of the artist's hat. If the mouse were going ultimately to make its escape, surely the kitten was entitled to whatever fun it could find in the situation.

Edgar pulled himself together.

"It's great just now," he said. "Don't you want to come out on the rocks, and see the row?"

Violet shook her head and touched her finger to her lips warningly.

Edgar scowled and looked at Phil's swift brush. Confound the girl, how was he to treat her magnanimously if she wouldn't give him an opportunity?

He held out the beribboned box and raised his eyebrows, gesturing with his head toward the rocks.

"Is there a string tied to it?" asked Violet, with a saucy, lazy smile; and Edgar lifted his chin superbly and tossed the box into her lap.

"The only girl here," she reflected; for she felt tempted to be flattered by the implied forethought.

"How perfectly sweet," she said and opened the luxurious box. Rising to her knees she lifted a chocolate in the little tongs and put it in Philip's mouth.

"Mille remerciments," he mumbled; "but don't do it again, please."

"Phil wants to be alone," said Edgar. "Can't you see that?" He held out his hand to Violet to rise. She ignored it, but rose with supple grace.

"Well," she said, "if little boys will come and chatter to me, I suppose I shall have to go. It's been so interesting, Mr. Sidney. That's going to be wonderful. I hope you'll let me watch you again sometime."

"You didn't really want to stay there, did you?" asked Edgar, when they had begun to climb out on the rocks at a point where there were no other gazers.

"Indeed I did, marplot," returned the girl, "but three's a crowd when one is painting."

"Oh, very well," said Edgar, stiffly; "I'll stay away the next time."

"That's right. Do," returned Violet. "Have a chocolate? These are delicious."

"No, I thank you." Edgar gave a dark glance at his companion. He did not like her mood.

"I didn't know you cared more for painting than for music," he said.

"More?" she returned with wide eyes. "Oh, no, I'm an impartial and humble admirer of all the arts."

Wasn't she going to speak of last evening? He stood in silence beside her for a space to give her opportunity; but she was engrossed in munching a chocolate.

"My!" she said, regarding the heavy, satin, heart-shaped crimson box admiringly, "I've gazed at these with awe in shop windows, and then gone in and bought ten cents worth in a striped bag. I feel so grand!"

"I was disappointed last night," said Edgar, his gloomy regard changing slowly to his best look of devotion. There was nothing for him in Violet's eyes this morning. The expression he craved must be brought back in order that he might exercise care to treat her fairly.

"Because I couldn't go to walk with Mr. Sidney?" she rejoined, with the ironical gayety Edgar hated. "I was, too; but your charming serenade almost made up for it."

Edgar ground the even teeth. "I suppose it was foolish of me to exert myself," he said. "I probably waked you up."

"Oh, it didn't sound like the least bit of exertion," replied Violet. "The ease of your singing is really its great charm. You didn't mind my laughing, right at the end, did you?"

"Laughing!"

"Yes; you see Miss Foster is on my side of the house, and when you sang

 
'Turn down an empty glass,'
 

I knew she'd think it was a prohibition song, and I nearly suffocated."

Edgar met her dancing eyes, and glared at her while she ate a chocolate with relish.

"And I thought you were temperamental!" he muttered.

"Do you wonder really that Maine is a prohibition state?" she asked conversationally. "Here, eat this peppermint one for me. I don't like them," and the even teeth opened mechanically to receive the bonbon she popped between them. "I mean because it's so intoxicating here anyway. Why, I can hardly keep my feet still this morning"; and as they were standing, Violet, on her flat rock, and with the great crimson heart pressed to her breast, began to clog.

Edgar half unconsciously moved away to where he could see her nimble feet. "Whistle," she laughed. "Whistle, and I won't come to you, my lad!"

Edgar whistled, he couldn't help it. Her fair hair blowing, her sea-blue eyes shining, and her sure feet dancing, she seemed the incarnation of the radiant morning. He found himself patting in rhythm, and whistling like a bird until she tired and sank in a blue heap on the rock.

"Oh, it's a jolly world," she cried.

"And you're a jolly girl!" he exclaimed, striding over and flinging himself down beside her. "Why don't you teach me to do that? You promised."

"I've begun twice, haven't I? You haven't any patience."

"Oh, that was in the woods. What could I do on a hillside? Teach me in the summer house this afternoon."

"That's where you ought to be now, practising," said Violet.

"I've put in half an hour this morning."

"That isn't enough. It's time for another."

"Oh, you want me to go, do you, so you can go back and watch Phil?"

"Well, I never before had a chance to see the wheels go 'round in a painting. Don't you think it's wonderful?"

"Yes, he's a wizard. It's a pity you couldn't go with him last night. He took Kath and she managed to turn her ankle."

"So he has been telling me. I'm sorry. So you'd rather have had mine turned? Then I couldn't have taught you to clog, remember."

"No; he might not have gone mooning around then. He might have paid more attention to you."

Violet glanced at the speaker out of the tail of her eye and ate a chocolate. Then she cast a look over on the point where the easel stood. "He is so good-looking," she sighed. "I like smooth-faced men."

"My mustache is catching it next, is it?" said Edgar irritably, twisting that treasure.

"Oh, I simply despise mustaches," rejoined Violet equably; "but of course if it makes you look older, or more dignified, or helps you in your career, you have to wear one."

"I don't know as there's any 'have to' about it," returned Edgar. "It's just a matter of taste with me"; he made the addition with a superior carelessness.

"So it is with me," returned Violet with engaging frankness. "Here's another peppermint." She picked it up in the silver tongs. "Open your mouth and shut your eyes and I'll give you something to make you wise."

Edgar jerked back his head, seized the confection in his fingers, and scaled it across the rocks.

"I loathe peppermint," he said shortly, "and as for making me wise, you're making me wiser every day. Will you, or will you not give me a lesson in clogging this afternoon?"

"I will!" returned Violet, dramatically. "You paid partly in advance last night, and I'm the soul of honor!"

He met her mischievous eyes with a baffled look. He longed to shake her. His hand lifted mechanically to his mustache and dropped again. He had lost faith in that, too.

CHAPTER XXVII
THE SON

When Philip returned to dinner that day he found a strange man sitting on the veranda with Kathleen. The table beside her was filled with loose sheets of paper, and she was reading aloud.

As Phil approached she looked up.

"We spoke of an angel last night," she said, "and lo, he appeared to-day. This is Mr. Tremaine, and he knows you already."

Phil laid down his impedimenta and his hat, and shook hands.

The grey-eyed portly stranger smiled as they greeted. "Miss Fabian has told me so much about you," he said, "that I am wondering if you belong to the Sidneys who took me in in the mountains of Montana one night five or six years ago."

Philip's perfunctory gaze quickened.

"And you left my mother a little book?" he asked quickly.

The pressure of the newcomer's handclasp tightened. He nodded.

"The very same," he said. "And you do belong to that charming woman."

"You did a great deal for us, Mr. Tremaine," said Phil heartily.

"And this Kathleen child says we're not through with each other. She wants you to illustrate this clever little book of hers."

"If he will," put in the girl quickly. "You don't know yet what small business it will be for him to picture my stuff. Show us what you have done this morning."

"I hear you are my neighbor in Gramercy Park," said Mr. Tremaine while Phil stooped to get his picture. "I hear that the artist who did my son's treasure, 'The Proud Robin,' stands before me."

Phil laughed and turned his canvas about. A great wave uplifted its heavy snowy crest, just at the point of breaking into rushing surge.

"Stand back," cried Kathleen, "it's coming!" Her cheeks reddened. "You do such true things, Phil!"

"Upon my word!" said Mr. Tremaine, "Miss Fabian is right. That's really great, Mr. Sidney. One gets the weight of the water. I think the breadth and perception of the mountains helped you in that. How long have you been so intimate with the physiognomy of old Ocean?"

"I have been at this off and on for some days in time stolen from house decoration."

"There is time before dinner," said Kathleen, "and Mr. Tremaine is going to stay such a little while, take him over to the Villa. I want him to be sure to see it though I begrudge his seeing it without me, too!"

"Sure you can't go?" asked Mr. Tremaine.

Kathleen looked ruefully at her right foot, wearing a loose slipper of her mother's.

"That field is so rough," she said.

"We'll make an armchair," said Phil.

The girl shook her head. "No, I'll gather up my book. Mr. Tremaine likes it, so I'm happy though lame, and you must talk over the illustrations together."

In truth she was glad that these two should have the opportunity for a tête-à-tête and she smiled happily to herself as she picked up the flying sheets. There was color in her cheeks, the rose-color that seemed this morning to tinge the universe. It was such a beautiful world, and for Mr. Tremaine suddenly to appear and to approve her work and to meet Phil – Phil whose eyes had seemed this morning always to see her and regard her reflectively, instead of looking over or through her – all this made a wonderful combination, a strange, sweet expectancy, as of harmonious progressions which could but resolve into one triumphant chord.

The dinner hour approached and Mrs. Fabian came out on the piazza.

"How are you, poor child?" she asked with commiseration; then meeting Kathleen's eyes, she laughed. "Here I am pitying you, and you look as if you'd been left a million. What is it? Is Mr. Tremaine so pleased with your stories?"

"He thinks they'll do," returned Kathleen.

"Very modest," said Mrs. Fabian; "but I'm quite sure from your looks that he said you were a second Hans Christian Andersen. Keeping it a secret from me, too! I'm a very good judge of stories, and you might have asked my opinion about those, at any rate."

"I felt very shy about it, mother, but now I'm just bubbling with encouragement; and perhaps Phil will make the pictures."

Mrs. Fabian regarded the rosy face admiringly.

"There, you see his business is coming along, and this morning I gave him the commission to paint our portraits."

Even this news could not dampen Kathleen's present mood.

"Yours," she returned. "Remember, I told you I refused to be perpetuated as I look now."

"I never saw you look as pretty as you do to-day, in your whole life," said Mrs. Fabian, gazing as she spoke.

The girl laughed from sheer satisfaction. "Is the big head so becoming?" she returned.

"I saw Phil taking Mr. Tremaine over to the studio," said Mrs. Fabian. "Edgar said this morning he wanted to bring Violet to dinner. He will be surprised to find Mr. Tremaine here. We shall have quite a party. I hope they won't all be late. If Phil and Mr. Tremaine get to talking over at the studio they won't know what time it is."

The air at the island, however, was of a nature to create an inner monitor which called to dinner, so the two couples soon approached from opposite directions. Mr. Tremaine and Phil were talking busily as they came, and Kathleen noted Violet's crimson heart while she drew near. She gazed questioningly at her brother whose alert happy face turned red as he met her eyes; but Violet was self-possessed when Kathleen greeted her.

"Pardon my remaining enthroned, Violet," she said. "I'm not precisely wasting steps to-day."

"I heard about it," returned the guest, coming up the steps and meeting Mrs. Fabian. "I do hope it's nothing serious."

"No, indeed. I shall soon forget it."

"I suppose neither of you will have a chocolate before dessert, but they're very very good." Violet opened the box temptingly as she took a seat beside Kathleen.

"Who is that coming with Phil?" asked Edgar.

"My publisher," returned Kathleen, proudly. "Just think, Edgar! I've written some stories, and Mr. Tremaine has accepted them!"

Edgar lifted his eyebrows and smiled wonderingly into his sister's happy face. "Good work, Kath! It may really pay to be a highbrow. Why have you kept so still about it?"

"Oh, that was natural. Supposing Mr. Tremaine had said, 'You're a nice child, Kathleen, but your little yarns are trash.' How then! Shouldn't I be glad nobody saw me hide my diminished head?"

Edgar continued to regard her curiously. He had never before noticed how really good-looking Kath was.

Violet expressed her interest and sympathy heartily, and while she was speaking, the other guests arrived and Mr. Tremaine met his son's dancing-teacher with pleasure.

It was a gay dinner-party, and Kathleen glowed with satisfaction in Mr. Tremaine's manifest interest in Phil. He could be such a useful friend.

They had coffee on the veranda, and while Edgar was planning in what manner and how soon he could segregate himself and Violet in the summer house, the boy whose duty it was to bring the mail appeared with the letters. At a sign from Mrs. Fabian he handed them to her.

She ran them over with a smile. "I'm always impolite," she said, "when Mr. Fabian's letter comes, and I think everybody will forgive me." She laid the others on the rail beside her and opened the letter she held.

"I'm hoping so much he will set the day for coming."

The smiling expectancy of her face gave way to bewilderment and incredulity as she read. No one observed it, for Kathleen had started to tell an island adventure.

Her mother's voice broke in upon the tale.

"Kathleen!" she said breathlessly, "I don't understand this letter. Father is in trouble of some kind. He is trying to comfort me. He says to ask you – "

Mrs. Fabian looked up at Kathleen whose face was transformed while her mother spoke. The color left it, the laughing eyes grew startled, and she tried to rise.

Phil sprang to his feet, "What do you want, Kathleen?"

"The letters!" she said. "See if there is one for me?"

Edgar, who had been observing how remarkably good was the line of Violet's hair at the nape of her neck, brought his thoughts back with difficulty to his sister. Kath was looking frightened. What was the matter?

Mr. Tremaine leaned forward in his chair and looked with serious questioning at Kathleen while she tore open a letter from her father. Her brow drew together as she read. Mrs. Fabian regarded her helplessly, two sheets of paper blowing in her fingers.

When finally the girl dropped her letter her face had flushed again. She rose from her chair with difficulty.

"I must go to father immediately," she said.

Phil was at her side in an instant. "You can't do that," he returned, "but you can send me."

Mrs. Fabian's lips were parted. Edgar frowned and looked from one to another; then he too sprang to his feet.

"What is this, Kath?" he asked with sudden authority.

His sister regarded him absently. Edgar would suffer, of course, but just now, in the crucial moment, he didn't count; and she! Oh, how could fate have been so unkind as to hamper her at the only time in her life when it would make any difference! A time when she longed for wings to carry her to her father's side and let her throw her arms around his neck.

She looked at Edgar's frowning, questioning face with curious vagueness.

"Father has lost a great deal of money," she said, "and friends as well, because he would not yield to plans which he considered dishonorable. He told me before we left that it might come; but he had no idea the crisis was right upon him. Oh, I must, I must go to father – at once – at once!" The girl limped toward the door.

"You can't go to-day," said Phil decidedly, "but I can. I will go on this next boat with Mr. Tremaine. Tell me what – "

"What are you talking about!" It was Edgar who spoke, and his tone turned every eye upon him. His nostrils were dilated and his eyes looked dark. "Father in trouble! I'm going to him, of course."

He tried to speak quietly, but there was a thrill in his tone that echoed in Kathleen's heart. She knew as she looked at the new stern expression of the debonair countenance that in that minute the boy had become a man.

Violet gazed at him with a swelling heart and swept poor Phil with a supercilious glance wholly undeserved, but of which he was unconscious.

Edgar hastened into the house to make his preparations and Kathleen and Phil exchanged a look.

"It's all for the best," said Phil in a low tone. "Edgar will find himself."

Kathleen's hands were clasped on her breast. Mrs. Fabian regarded her beseechingly. "What do you mean?" she cried, her voice breaking hysterically. "Money and friends! What do you mean?"

Kathleen sank into the chair beside her. "I mean that father is an honest man," she said proudly.

Mr. Tremaine came to Mrs. Fabian's other side. "I was at college with your husband," he said. "Henry Fabian was always doing fine things. I suspect that this last move, whatever it is, is one of the finest. I would trust him before I would myself."

Mrs. Fabian looked from one to the other, tears running down her cheeks.

"I can't have my portrait painted, Phil," she faltered. "We're very poor."

Phil knelt down before her and put his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed quietly.

"Perhaps not poor," he said; "but what if you are, Aunt Isabel? Look about at this beautiful place with everything to make people happy. Health and freedom and honor beside; and Edgar will bring his father here and everything will straighten out and we shall make him forget his troubles."

"No motor, Phil," came from the sobbing woman. "I can't imagine living without a motor."

"Indeed you can. You're going to show Mr. Fabian what a good sport he married; and we're all going to cheer him up and make him forget his nightmare before fall. You have everything that's real left – unless Mr. Fabian breaks down under this strain," added Phil artfully.

He had struck the right note. Mrs. Fabian lifted her head and wiped her eyes wildly. "I'm going with Edgar," she cried. "Henry may be ill. I shall go."

"No, dear mother," said Kathleen, gently taking her hand. "Let Edgar manage this alone. He will wire us at once."

It was nearly time for the boat and Edgar came out of the house with his bag. All his machinations of the morning had not succeeded in bringing to Violet's eyes the expression that grew there when she saw him ready to start on his hard journey. Speechless and unsmiling he pressed her hand, then kissed his mother and listened to her exhortations. Mr. Tremaine was ready, and together they started toward the wharf.

Philip was going to accompany them, but his aunt clung to him.

"Stay with us, Phil," she begged. "You are my son, too."

Mr. Fabian, heavy-lidded from a sleepless night, was working at the desk in his private office, when the door opened and closed quietly and quickly, and he looked up to see Edgar standing beside him. An added cloud passed over his face.

The young man saw it and he paid for many a misdemeanor in the pang it gave him.

"Father, I've come to see if I can be of any use," he said.

Mr. Fabian pushed his chair back and looked up at his visitor, the deep line in his forehead deeper.

"I know I have no experience, and little business sense; but if you'll take the trouble to explain the situation to me, I'll try to understand as I've never before tried to do anything; and I can at least carry out your instructions to the letter."

Mr. Fabian continued to gaze up into the sunburned face and the eyes that regarded him with steady purpose.

"I've lost a lot of money for you, my boy," he said. "Quite a half of everything I possessed."

"And come out clean," returned the other promptly. "Good for you."