"That's so. You put things right every time. She is worth living for. You are n't much good to people after you 're dead, are you?" "Not as far as we know." The boy hesitated a moment, a bit confused, and then blurted out, "I 'm going to take up some sort of work. Perhaps you can help me get after something. We have loads of money, you know. I don't think much of giving it out as cash,--the charity idea. I 've a hunch that I 'd like to study law and then give my services free to the poor devils who need a man to look after their interests. They are darned small interests to men who are only after their fee, but they are big to the poor devils themselves. And generally they get done. Do you think I have it in me to study law?" "You have it in you to study law with that idea back of you. You 'd make a great lawyer with that idea." "Do you think so?" asked the boy eagerly. "I know it." "Then perhaps--perhaps--say, would you be willing to take me in with you?" Donaldson moved uneasily. "It sounds sort of kiddish, but I know that I 'd do better alongside of you. I 'd help you around the office. I 'd feel better, just to see you. Anyway, would you be willing to try me for a while until I sort of get my bearings?" "I like the idea," answered Donaldson. "Let 's talk it over later. You see there's a chance that I may give up law." "Give it up?" "I may have to leave this part of the country--for good." "Why, man," burst out Arsdale, "you wouldn't leave Elaine?" The silence grew ominous. The fighting spirit rose in Arsdale at the suggestion. "You would n't leave Elaine?" he demanded again, turning towards the form on the bed which looked strangely huddled up. "I must leave her with you," answered Donaldson unsteadily. The boy scarcely recognized the voice, but it roused him to a danger which he felt without understanding. "Why, man dear," he exclaimed, "what would I count to Elaine with you gone? Don't you know? Have n't you seen?" They were the identical words Donaldson had used in trying to open Arsdale's eyes to another great truth. And Donaldson knew that if they cut half as deep into the boy as they now cut into him they had left their mark. He found no answer. He listened with his breath coming as heavily as the boy's breath had come when they had stood before the open window. Arsdale faltered for words. "Why--why Elaine loves you!" he blurted out. "Don't!" So, too, the boy had exclaimed. "Don't you know? I thought you knew everything, Donaldson! I don't see how you help seeing that. But I suppose it's because you 're so thoughtful of others that you can't see your own joys. But it's true, Donaldson. I don't suppose I ought to tell you about it, but man, man, she loves you! Give me your hand, Donaldson." He found it in the dark, hot and dry.