"I think I understand you, George," said Thorpe slowly. "You are telling me that you believe I took my grandfather's life by design. You-"

"No," said George quietly, "I'm not saying that, Brady. I'm saying that you owe as much to him now as you did when he was alive. If you had not consented to operate, this will would never have been drawn. If you had refused, the first will would have been read to-day. I guess you are entirely responsible for the making of this new will, and that's why I say you ought to be man enough to stand by your work."

Thorpe turned away. His face was very white and his hands were clenched.

Anne shook her brother's arm. "Why,-oh, why did you say that to him, George? Why-"

"Because it ought to have been said to him," said George coolly; "that's why. He made old Mr. Thorpe see things from his point of view, and it's up to him to shoulder the responsibility."

Mrs. Tresslyn spoke to Murray. "Is there any reason why we shouldn't have tea, Murray? Serve it, please." She turned to Judge Hollenback. "I don't see any sense in trying to settle all the little details to-day, do you, Judge Hollenback? We've done all that it is possible to do to-day. The will has been read. That is all we came for, I fancy. I confess that I am astonished by several of the provisions, but the more I think of them the less unreasonable they seem to be. We have nothing to quarrel about. Every one appears to be satisfied except Dr. Thorpe, so let us have tea-and peace. Sit down, Braden. You can't decide the question to-day. It has too many angles."

Braden lifted his head. "Thank you, Mrs. Tresslyn; I shall not wait. At what hour may I see you to-morrow, Judge Hollenback?"

"Name your own hour, Braden."

"Three o'clock," said Braden succinctly. He turned to George. "No hard feelings, George, on my part."

"Nor on mine," said George, extending his hand. "It's just my way of looking at things lately. No offence was meant, Brady. I'm too fond of you for that."

"You've given me something to think about," said Thorpe. He bowed stiffly to the ladies and Judge Hollenback. George stepped out into the hall with him.

"I intend to stick pretty close to Anne, Brady," he said with marked deliberation. "She needs me just now."

Thorpe started. "I don't get your meaning, George."

"There will be talk, old man,-talk about you and Anne. Do you get it now?"

"Good heaven! I-yes, I suppose there will be all sorts of conjectures,"

groaned Braden bitterly. "People remember too well, George. You may rest easy, however. I shall not give them any cause to talk. As for coming to this house again, I can tell you frankly that as I now feel I could almost make a vow never to enter its doors again as long as I live."

"Well, I just thought I'd let you know how I stand in the matter," said George. "I'm going to try to look out for Anne, if she'll let me. Good- bye, Brady. I hope you'll count me as one of your friends, if you think I'm worth while. I'm-I'm going to make a fresh start, you know." He grinned, and his teeth chattered.

"You'd better go to bed," said Braden, looking at him closely. "Tell Anne that I said so, and-you'd better let a doctor look you over, too."

"I haven't much use for doctors," said George, shaking his head. "I wanted to kill you last winter when you cut poor little Lutie-Oh, but of course you understand. I was kind of dotty then, I guess. So long."

Simmy came to the library door and called out: "I'll be with you in a second, Brady. I'm going your way, and I don't care which way you're going. My car's outside." Re-entering the room, Mr. Dodge walked up to Anne and actually shook her as a parent would shake a child. "Don't be silly about it, Anne. You've got to accept the house. He left it to you without-"

"I cannot live up to the conditions. The will says that I must continue to make this place my home, that I must reside here for-Oh! I cannot do it, that's all, Simmy. I would go mad, living here. There is no use discussing the matter. I will not take the house."

"'Pon my soul," sighed Judge Hollenback, "the poor man seems to have made a mess of everything. He can't even give his property away. No one will take it. Braden refuses, Mrs. Thorpe refuses, Wade is dissatisfied-Ah, yes, Murray seems to be pleased. One lump, Mrs. Tresslyn, and a little cream. Now as for Wade's att.i.tude-by the way, where is the man?"

Wade was at the lower end of the hall, speaking earnestly in a tremulous undertone to Braden Thorpe.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Braden, there's only one thing to do. We've got to have it set aside, declared void. You may count on me, sir. I'll swear to his actions. Crazy as a loon, sir,-? crazy as a loon."

CHAPTER XIX

Two days later George Tresslyn staggered weakly into Simmy Dodge's apartment. He was not alone. A stalwart porter from an adjacent apartment building was supporting him when Dodge's man opened the door.

"This Mr. Dodge?" demanded the porter.

"Mr. Dodge's man. Mr. Dodge isn't at 'ome," said Baffly quickly.

"All right," said the porter, pushing past the man and leading George toward a couch he had observed from the open door. "This ain't no jag, Johnny. He's sick. Out of his head. Batty. Say, don't you know him? Am I in wrong? He said he wanted to come here to-"

George had tossed himself, sprawling, upon the long couch. His eyes were closed and his breathing was stertorous.

"Of course I know him. What-what is the matter with him? My Gawd, man, don't tell me he is dying. What do you mean, bringing 'im 'ere? There will be a coroner's hinquest and-"

"You better get a doctor first. Waste no time. Get the coroner afterward if you have to. You tell Mr. Dodge that he came into our place half an hour ago and said he wanted to go up to his friend's apartment. He was clean gone then. He wanted to lick the head porter for saying Mr. Dodge didn't live in the buildin'. We saw in a minute that he hadn't been drinkin'. Just as we was about to call an ambulance, a gentleman in our building came along and reckonised him as young Mr. Tresslyn. Friend of Mr. Dodge's. That was enough for us. So I brings him around. Now it's up to you guys to look after him. Off his nut. My name's Jenks. Tell it to Mr. Dodge, will you? And git a doctor quick. Put your hand here on his head. Aw, he won't bite you! Put it _here_. Ever feel anything as hot as that?"

Baffly arose to the occasion. "Mr. Dodge 'as been hexpecting Mr. Tresslyn.

He will also be hexpecting you, Mr. Jenks, at six o'clock this evening."

"All right," said Mr. Jenks.

Baffly put George Tresslyn to bed and then called up Mr. Dodge's favourite club. He never called up the office except as a last resort. If Mr. Dodge wasn't to be found at any one of his nine clubs, or at certain restaurants, it was then time for calling up the office. Mr. Dodge was not in the club, but he had left word that if any one called him up he could be found at his office.

"Put him to bed and send for Dr. Thorpe," was Simmy's order a few minutes later.

"I've put 'im to bed, sir."

"Out of his head, you say?"

"I said, 'Put 'im to bed, sir,'" shouted Baffly.

"I'll be home in half-an-hour, Baffly."

Simmy called up Anne Thorpe at once and reported that George had been found and was now in his rooms. He would call up later on. She was not to worry,-and good-bye!

It appears that George Tresslyn had been missing from the house near Washington Square since seven o'clock on the previous evening. At that hour he left his bed, to which Dr. Bates had ordered him, and made off in the cold, sleety night, delirious with the fierce fever that was consuming him. As soon as his plight was discovered, Anne called up Simmy Dodge and begged him to go out in search of her sick, and now irresponsible brother.

In his delirium, George repeatedly had muttered threats against Braden Thorpe for the cruel and inhuman "slashing of the most beautiful, the most perfect body in all the world," "marking for life the sweetest girl that G.o.d ever let live"; and that he would have to account to him for "the dirty work he had done."

Acting on this hint, Simmy at once looked up Braden Thorpe and put him on his guard. Thorpe laughed at his fears, and promptly joined in the search for the sick man. They thought of Lutie, of course, and hurried to her small apartment. She was not at home. Her maidservant said that she did not know where she could be found. Mrs. Tresslyn had gone out alone at half-past seven, to dine with friends, but had left no instructions,-a most unusual omission, according to the young woman.

It was a raw, gusty night. A fine, penetrating sleet cut the face, and the sharp wind drove straight to the marrow of the most warmly clad. Tresslyn was wandering about the streets, witless yet dominated by a great purpose, racked with pain and blind with fever, insufficiently protected against the gale that met his big body as he trudged doggedly into it in quest of-what? He had left Anne's home without overcoat, gloves or m.u.f.fler. His fever-struck brain was filled with a resolve that deprived him of all regard for personal comfort or safety. He was out in the storm, looking for some one, and whether love or hate was in his heart, no man could tell.

All night long Dodge and Thorpe looked for him, aided in their search by three or four private detectives who were put on the case at midnight. At one o'clock the two friends reappeared at Lutie's apartment, summoned there by the detective who had been left on guard with instructions to notify them when she returned.

It was from the miserable, conscience-stricken Lutie that they had an account of George's adventures earlier in the night. White-faced, scared and despairing, she poured out her unhappy tale of triumph over love and pity. The thing that she had longed for, though secretly dreaded, had finally come to pa.s.s. She had seen her former husband in the gutter, degraded, besotted, thoroughly reduced to the level from which nothing save her own loyal, loving efforts could lift him. She had dreamed of a complete conquest of caste, and the remaking of a man. She had dreamed of the day when she could pick up from the discarded of humanity this splendid, misused bit of rubbish and in triumph claim it as her own, to revive, to rebuild, to make over through the sure and simple processes of love! This had been Lutie Tresslyn's notion of revenge!

She saw George at eight o'clock that night. As she stood in the shelter of the small canvas awning protecting the entrance to the building in which she lived, waiting for the taxi to pull up, her eyes searched the swirling shadows up and down the street. She never failed to look for the distant and usually indistinct figure of _her man_. It had become a habit with her. The chauffeur had got down to crank his machine, and there was promise of a no inconsiderable delay in getting the cold engine started.

She was on the point of returning to the shelter of the hallway, when she caught sight of a tall, shambling figure crossing the street obliquely, and at once recognised George Tresslyn. He was staggering. The light from the entrance revealed his white, convulsed face. Her heart sank. She had never seen him so drunk, so disgusting as this! The taxi-cab was twenty or thirty feet away. She would have to cross a wet, exposed s.p.a.ce in order to reach it before George could come up with her. She realised with a quiver of alarm that it was the first time in all these months that he had ventured to approach her. It was clear that he now meant to accost her,-he might even contemplate violence! She wanted to run, but her feet refused to obey the impulse. Fascinated she watched the unsteady figure lurching toward her, and the white face growing more and more distinct and forbidding as it came out of the darkness. Suddenly she was released from the spell. Like a flash she darted toward the taxi-cab. From behind came a hoa.r.s.e cry.