“Dr. Colton,” she said, “I don’t know what to do about Helga. She is like a dazed person. Your brother and I have been with her constantly. She has not broken down once. The tears seem frozen within her. I am frightened for her reason. She seems to blame herself for this dreadful thing.” “There is something I want her to know,” said Dick. “Will you tell her?” “Had you not better see her yourself?” “I think not. You will tell her better. It is this: Poor Haynes had not a year to live. He knew this himself.” “How did you know?” asked the girl incredulously. “He told me of the disease that was killing him. It was when I asked him whether I might send for Everard to come down.” “Then you let me accuse you wrongly,” she said very low. “Why did you not tell me that Mr. Haynes knew of Everard’s coming? Was it fair in you to let me be so unfair? I am ashamed of myself for the way I spoke to you. I have been ashamed——” She raised her appealing eyes to his and moved a step nearer him. Dick held his breath like a man afraid of dispelling some entrancing vision. “I did not mean it,” she went on bravely, though her eyes fell before his look. “When I saw how it hurt you I was sorry.” “It is for me to beg your pardon,” said Dick hoarsely, “for believing your words against what my own heart told me of you. You know why it hurt me so?” “Yes,” she said, in sweet acceptance of his reason. “Dolly, do you care at all?” he cried, stretching out his hands to her. “I don’t know,” she faltered. “Don’t ask me yet. It has been so short a time. I must speak of Helga now.” “Yes,” said Dick, “I shall wait, and wait happily.” And—so strange a thing is the heart of woman—a pang of disappointment accompanied the quick thrill of admiration in Dolly’s heart at her lover’s loyalty and self-repression. “I will tell her what you say,” said Dolly. She paused for a moment, and then a wonderful smile flickered over her sobered beauty. “It ought to have been Helga you cared for,” she said. “But I’m glad it isn’t!” And she was gone. The evening train brought, in response to Dick’s telegram, a grave and quiet young fellow who introduced himself as Eldon Smith, a reporter from _The New Era_, Haynes’ paper, and an older man with a face of singular beauty, whose name was a national word by virtue of his gifts as an editorial writer. Archer Melbourne had been the dead man’s only confidant. He at once took charge. “I have heard from Mr. Haynes within a week,” he said to Dick Colton. “If I believed in such things, I should say that he had a premonition of death. He is to be buried in the hill behind Third House, so he wrote me. His property, which is considerable, including his life insurance, goes to Miss Helga Johnston, in trust, until her marriage. I am named as one trustee, and he writes me to ask you to act as the other.” “Surely Haynes must have had friends of older standing,” began Dick, “who——”