Directly after the funeral, Jim and Norine left for New York. Conway was to stay long enough to settle the business that originally brought the brother and sister there. This did not detain him long, however; for Morain was anxious to do all in his power to make amends for the trouble Elwell had caused. “You just go to some of the other mill men,” he said to Conway. “Find out what that land is really worth, and I will give you a check for the amount; and as for his interest in the business, we will settle that the same way.” But Conway would not listen to this. “My friends do not want his money,” he replied. “Do with that as you see fit.” “Well, mebbe they’re right,” said Morain, sighing heavily; “but I’ll close out the business, anyway, as soon as possible. You see, I’m getting to be an old man now, though I never felt my age until this trouble struck me, and I think I’ll give up the business altogether. So, since you don’t want it, we’ll just give the money to some charity.” Conway coöperated heartily in this, and before he departed from the city he had the gratification of seeing Morain send checks to various charitable institutions--the full amount of the dead man’s interest in the business. Morain followed out his intentions, and disposed of his large business as rapidly as possible, and within a few months he and his daughter had departed from the little town for the last time, leaving Peter Coleman to inherit the mantle of his dead friend’s ambition; which by the way he is still wearing to great advantage to himself. CHAPTER XXXII. NORINE’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT. It was late at night when Conway reached New York--too late to go to Jim’s, he thought; so he was driven through the raging storm to a hotel. He was tired and worn out after his long ride, but he could not sleep; so, after registering and leaving some directions with the clerk regarding his room, he buttoned his overcoat closely around him, and strode forth into the storm. He was worn and anxious from the repeated shocks his nerves had withstood, and he felt gloomy over his future prospects with Norine. The last obstacle had been removed, and he felt sure of winning her--in time. But this additional delay, after all his patient waiting, oppressed him with gloomy forebodings. She would want to wait a year, at least, he thought; for although she had been a widow all these years, her husband was just dead, and he did not doubt that Norine would insist on waiting the full year. He was tired and sick of all this waiting and longing for the unobtainable. He would have to go back to his old life, he thought, wearily, and perhaps it would be better if they were never to meet again. But even as he thought this he was walking mechanically in the direction of Norine’s house.