At the farm he paused on the veranda, turned his face westward where the light still lingered in pale tints of gold and scarlet. He remained staring across the level fields, hearing the murmur of the wind in the maples, the rustle of dead leaves in the grass, until the chauffeur spoke to him, took his arm and led him into the house. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE I Carroll and Bruce dined at the University Club on an evening early in October. The tragic end of Shepherd Mills and George Whitford had brought them into a closer intimacy and they were much together. The responsibility of protecting Shep’s memory had fallen upon them; and they had been fairly successful in establishing in local history a record of the tragedy as an accident. Only a very few knew or suspected the truth. “Have you anything on this evening?” asked Carroll as they were leaving the table. “Not a blessed thing,” Bruce replied. “Mr. Mills, you know, or rather you don’t know, is at Deer Trail. The newspaper story that he had gone south for the winter wasn’t true. He’s been ill--frightfully ill; but he’s better now. I was out there today; he asked about you. I think he’d like to see you. You needn’t dread it; he’s talked very little about Shep’s death.” “If you really think he wants to see me,” Bruce replied dubiously. “From the way he mentioned you I’m sure it would please him.” “Very well; will you go along?” “No; I think he’d like it better if you went alone. He has seen no one but Leila, the doctor and me; he’s probably anxious to see a new face. I’ll telephone you’re coming.” As Bruce entered Mills’s room a white-frocked nurse quietly withdrew. The maid who had shown him up drew a chair beside the bed and left them. He was alone with Mills, trying to adjust himself to the change in him, the pallor of the face against the pillow, the thin cheeks, the hair white now where it had only been touched with gray. “This is very kind of you! I’m poor company; but I hoped you wouldn’t mind running out.” “I thought you were away. Carroll just told me you were here.” “No; I’ve been here sometime--so long, in fact, that I feel quite out of the world.” “Mrs. Thomas is at home--I’ve seen her several times.” “Yes, Leila’s very good to me; runs out every day or two. She’s full of importance over having her own establishment.” Bruce spoke of his own affairs; told of the progress that had been made with the Laconia memorial before the weather became unfavorable. The foundations were in and the materials were being prepared; the work would go forward rapidly with the coming of spring. “I can appreciate your feeling about it--your own idea taking form. I’ve thought of it a good deal. Indeed, I’ve thought of you a great deal since I’ve been here.” “If I’d known you were here and cared to see me I should have come out,” said Bruce quite honestly.