"Ah!" thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're tired, Allen. Why not take Betty for a sea trip? There'll still be time for fall publication." "I'm going to try everything possible. I'd rather be dead than do work like this!" * * * * * When Parker left his friend he was somewhat encouraged. After the first shock Cartwright had been inclined to make light of the difficulty, and by the time Allen Parker reached Pine Hills his stride had the usual swing and snap. He ran up the steps of his house and burst into the living room with a smile. Betty was sitting by one of the windows, her hands lying relaxed in her lap. She turned a somber face toward her husband, and spoke before he had time to say a word of greeting. "You knew that Cordelia Lyman died a short time ago, didn't you?" "What's that?" exclaimed Parker, bewildered. "Lyman? Oh, the old lady down the street who left her money to found a home for aged spinsters? What about it?" "But she didn't leave her money to found a home for aged spinsters, Allen. She had said she was going to, and everybody thought so. Her will was admitted to probate, or whatever they call it, yesterday. She left half a million, all she had, to Dr. Friedrich von Stein, to be used as he thinks best for the advancement of science!" "Good heavens!" Parker stared. "Why, I didn't know she knew him. He'd only been here a week or so when she died." "There isn't a flaw in the will, they say. You can imagine that Pine Hills is talking!" "Well," said Parker philosophically, "he's lucky. I hope he does something with it." "He will," replied Betty, with conviction. "He'll do a great many things!" * * * * * Parker told her of his interview with Cartwright, but she seemed little interested. He did not try to work that day but, after he had put the offending drawings and manuscript out of sight, he wandered, read, smoked, and in the evening persuaded Betty to take a moonlight walk with him. They passed the house of Dr. von Stein, from which came a faint humming that sounded like a dynamo. Across the street the church was alight for some service. Triumphant music drifted to them. The moon hung above the spire, with its cross outlined darkly against the brilliant sky. The windows were great jewels. Betty drew a deep breath. "Sometimes, Allen," she said, "I feel like praying!" "You _are_ a beautiful prayer," whispered Parker. She walked close to him, holding his arm, and repeated softly: "Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid?" But that was the end of that mood. By the time they arrived home Betty was again the strange, aloof, cold, slightly hard woman of the past few days. Again depression settled upon Allen Parker. * * * * *