“Come on, me brave bucko!” And together they walked to the corner and then down the Avenue to 777. “Huntington, you wait here; and if I am not back by nine-forty-five go to my house. At ten o'clock have my valet deliver the letter I gave him for my father. You can be of help to the governor if you will.” And Huntington Andrews asked no questions--he was a friend. Tom rang the bell of 777. The door opened. One of the four over-intelligent-looking footmen stepped to one side respectfully. “Is your--” began Tom. “Yes, Mr. Merriwether,” answered the man, with a deference such as only royalty elicits. He then delivered Tom to footman number two, who in turn escorted him as far as number three; then number four led him to the door of the master's library. The footman knocked, opened the door and announced, with a curious solemnity: “Mr. Thomas Thorne Merriwether, 7-7-77.” The strange man was there in his arm-chair, his back to the window. The room was lit by candles. The man rose and said, respectfully: “I thank you, Mr. Merriwether.” “Don't mention it,” said Tom, amiably. The man bowed his head and looked at Tom meditatively. Tom was the first to break the silence. “May I ask what--” Tom began, but was checked by the other, who held up his right hand with the gesture of a traffic policeman and said, slowly: “A message in the dark! You carried one to another soul, who waited for it. And that other soul is taking one to you. Some day you will meet her. You will marry her. There is no doubt whatever of that. None! Ask me no questions, Mr. Merriwether. I ask nothing of you--no money, no time, no services, no work, no favors--nothing! Your fate is not in my hands. It never was! You will follow your destiny. It will take you by the hand and lead you to her!” “That is very nice of destiny.” “My young friend, you are very rich, very powerful. You can do everything. You fear nothing. This is the year nineteen hundred and thirteen. But I tell you this: the woman who will be your wife, in this world and throughout eternity has received your message. It was ordained from the beginning. You have not seen her; you have not heard her; you have not touched her. And yet you will know her when you see her and when you hear her and when you feel her. Into the darkness you went. Out of the darkness she will come. Nothing you can do can change it. Improve your hours by thinking of her. Think of the love you have to give her! Think of it constantly! Of your love! Yours! Of hers you cannot guess. The love you will give will make her your mate! Your love! And so, Thomas Thome Merriwether, think of the One Woman!” “I think--”