"Why? Because I 'd been doing detective work on my own account. (How my heart sank at those words; Mr. Ewart had not attempted to find me then!). I 've been doin' it for the last six weeks. This is the third time I 've been in New York."

"But not here?"

"Yes, here--in this very house. I give Mis' Beaseley the credit; she knows how to hold her tongue. I see she ain't told you."

"No. But you have n't been here since I 've been in the house?"

"No, I just got here to-day."

"How did you happen to come this third time, Cale?"

"I come because the Doctor told me to try it again here--"

"The Doctor? Is he at home?"

"Guess he is by this time; I left him at Lamoral yesterday--"

"At Lamoral?" On hearing that word, a trembling I could not control seized upon me. If only Cale would speak of Mr. Ewart!

"Yes, Lamoral. I 've been lyin' right and left to Angelique an'

Pierre, an' Marie, an' Mere Guillardeau an' all the folks 'round that's been inquirin'; but I didn't lie to the Doctor--not much!"

"How--how did the Doctor happen to be in Lamoral?"

"Guess you fergot he said he 'd like enough come back by the C.P."

I was silent. I saw that Cale did not intend to speak Mr. Ewart's name first. He was leaving it to me.

"Look here, Marcia, I 'm goin' to talk to you for once in my life like a Dutch uncle. I don't mean to live through another six weeks like those I 've been through, if I should live to be a hundred."

"I am sorry, Cale, to have been the cause of any anxiety, any suffering on your part--but I, too, suffered--and far more than you can ever know." I spoke bitterly.

"I ain't denyin' you suffered--but there 's others to consider; others have suffered, too, I guess, in a way _you_ don't know nothin' about, bein' a woman."

"What do you mean, Cale?" I asked, trying to make him speak Mr. Ewart's name.

"Mean? Marcia Farrell, you know what I mean. Ain't you got a woman's heart beatin' somewhere in your bosom?"

"Oh, Cale, don't!"

"I 've got to, Marcia; you 've got to see things different, or you 'll rue the day you ever blinded yourself to facts."

"Is Mr. Ewart ill?"

"Ill?" There was a curious twitch to his mouth as he repeated that word. "Wal, it depends on what you call 'ill'. That's a pretty mild word for some sorts of diseases--"

"Oh, Cale, tell me quick--don't keep me waiting any longer--"

"Any longer for what?"

"You know, Cale, I want to hear of him--know about him--"

"Oh, you do, do you? Wal, it 's pretty late in the day for you to show some feelin'. Look here, Marcia, I ain't goin' to meddle. I meddled once thirty years ago when I tried to persuade your mother she loved George Jackson, an' I 've lived to curse the day I did it. I ain't goin' to fall inter the same trap _this_ time, you bet yer life on thet; but I 'm goin' to speak my mind 'fore I leave you here. Will you answer me one plain question, an' answer it straight?"

"I 'll try to."

"_Do_ you think different from what you did? Have you come to see things any different from what you put 'em to me?"

"Yes."

"Wal, thet's to the point; now we can talk. The Doctor and Ewart was talkin' this over 'fore I come away; I heard every word. I was right there, and they asked me to be. Gordon Ewart told the Doctor that when he fust see him aboard ship, that was nineteen years ago, he made his acquaintance because he knew he was the man who had brought you inter this world. He never let him go. He kept in touch with him. He come to be his closest friend. An' he never told that he, Gordon Ewart, is the one that puts that money regularly into the Doctor's hands, without his knowin' who it comes from, for the sake of helpin' others--"

"But he did not think of me." I could not help it; I spoke bitterly.

"No. He did n't want to think of you. He wanted to ferget there was anybody or anything in this world to remind him of what he 'd suffered from Happy Morey; an' he tried his best. An' he told the Doctor that when he 'd thought he 'd conquered, when he come to see things different too, he come back to settle in the old manor an' carry out his ideas. An' the very fust night, he found you there. He said he knew then, he couldn't get away from his past; it was livin' right there along with him.

"Marcia, I ain't meddlin', and mebbe I 'm to blame; but when I told you what I did, I done for the best as I thought. The Doctor done for the best as he thought. He believed you were Ewart's daughter, and he see what we all could n't help seein'--"

"What, Cale?" I longed to hear from Cale's lips that he had seen Mr.

Ewart's love for me.

"You _know_, Marcia Farrell, I ain't goin' ter tell you. The Doctor said he thought fust along, it was because Ewart knew he was your father; but he said his eyes was opened mighty sudden--an' it 'bout made him sick, for he thinks a sight of you, Marcia. I see from the fust how things was driftin' with George, and as him an' me had recognized one 'nother from the fust, an' as he did n't say he knew you, I kept still. I was n't goin' to meddle, an' I ain't goin' to meddle now--only I 'm goin' straight off to tell him where you are."

"But he has n't tried to find me--"

"No, nor he never will. Your mother 'bout killed him when he was a boy, an' he is n't goin' to run after you who has 'bout killed him again as a man. You don't know nothin' what you 've done. I 've been through h.e.l.l with him these last six weeks, an' I went through it with him once before twenty-eight years ago, an' that h.e.l.l compared with this was like a campfire to a forest-roarer.-- Now you know."

"Cale--Cale, what have I done?"

"You 've done what will take the rest of your life to undo. I ain't goin' to meddle, I tell you, but I 'm tellin' you just as things stand.

My part's done--for I 've found you; an' I 'm goin' to tell him so."

He stood up; as it were, shook himself together, and without any ceremony started for the door.

"Cale, don't go yet--I want to tell you; you don't see my position--"

"Position be hanged. I guess folks that find their lives hangin' by a thread don't stop to argify much 'bout 'position'; they get somewhere where they can _live_--thet 's all they want."

He was at the front door by this time. I grasped his arm and held it tight.

"You will come again, Cale, you must."

"I 'm goin' home to Lamoral as quick as the Montreal express can get me there. I can't breathe here in this hole!"

He loosened his shirt collar and took off his coat. It was an unseasonable day in November--an Indian summer day with the mercury at eighty-four. The life of the East Side was flooding the streets. He turned to me as he stood on the low step. "I hope it won't be goodby for another six weeks, Marcia."

"Cale, oh, Cale--"