"An amusing little minx," he laughed to himself, as he pa.s.sed out of the house.

Alice lost no time in seeking Eleanor, eager to pour into her sympathetic ears the new problem which had presented itself. Instead, she found Patricia, curled up in an easy-chair, rereading her _Knights of the Round Table_ with renewed interest. She bent over to kiss her, but the child drew away.

"I don't love you any more," she announced.

"You don't!" asked Alice, taken by surprise.

"No; you're so mean to Allen."

The girl laughed. "Don't be silly, Pat. Why, Allen is only a kid, like you. Where's mamma Eleanor?"

"Lying down in her room; but he isn't a kid--he's my Knight."

"All right; you may have him," Alice answered, lightly, turning toward the door.

"Alice!"

The older girl turned. "Well?" she interrogated.

"Is Mr. Covington a cat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allen said to me the other day, 'Listen to him purr.'"

"Allen ought to have his ears boxed."

"No, he oughtn't"--but the door had slammed, and Patricia was alone with her Knights.

Alice tiptoed into Mrs. Gorham's room, then started to withdraw as Eleanor appeared to be asleep, but the older woman stopped her.

"Come in, dear," she said; "I am only resting."

"Are you ill?" the girl asked, anxiously, all thought of her errand vanishing; "you were looking very tired at breakfast."

"I did not sleep last night," she replied, rising wearily from the bed, and pressing her hands against her temples as she sat down. "I am so perplexed that I don't know which way to turn. I wonder if you could advise me, Alice?"

"If only I could be of help to you!" the girl exclaimed, drawing another chair close to Eleanor's, and taking both her hands in her own.

Eleanor made no reply for several moments. "I don't know what to do,"

she said simply at last. "I want to have my life an open book to your father, yet in this one instance I can't see my way clear."

"Why, Eleanor!" cried the girl, surprised, "how can that be possible?"

"I don't wonder you ask; that is the question I have set myself to answer. I saw Ralph Buckner yesterday as I was driving up Fifth Avenue, and the sight of him filled me with apprehension."

"Your first husband--in New York?" Alice asked, surprised.

"Yes--what can he be doing here?"

"You don't know that it has anything to do with you, do you?"

"No; but I am so apprehensive that I imagine everything."

"But the past is dead, Eleanor dear. To have it recalled is of course painful, but why should you dread it?"

Mrs. Gorham did not answer at once, and the girl was amazed to witness the conflict of emotion which her face expressed. At last Eleanor raised her eyes.

"The past is not wholly dead," she said, in a low voice. "That is the unfortunate part. There is one event which happened back there in Colorado, right after Carina was killed, which has never--can never be explained. It is the only detail of that awful tragedy which I have not told your father, and I could not even tell you."

"Can't you tell me enough so I can really help you, Eleanor?"

"No, not even as much as that. The appearances were all against me. I know that nothing occurred of which I need feel ashamed, but the circ.u.mstantial evidence is so strong that it would be beyond human possibility to expect any one, even one as generous as your father, to accept my unsupported statement."

"Has this to do with your first husband?"

"I fear that if he has come in possession of the facts he may intend to use them against me."

"Then the only thing for you to do is to see father at once, and to tell him everything yourself before that horrid man has the opportunity.

There is nothing, Eleanor, which you could tell him which he would not accept exactly as you stated. Why, of course there isn't."

"I wish I had your confidence, dear," Eleanor sighed, "but that would be asking too much."

"Was Mr. Buckner concerned in it?"

"No; it was another man--the only other man I ever met except your father whom I would include among G.o.d's n.o.blemen."

"Some one you loved, Eleanor?" the girl asked, hesitatingly.

"No, dear, not that!" she cried, hastily. "I was in no condition at that time to love any one. It was, as I told you, right after Carina's death.

He was the friend who protected me and who helped me at that time--I told you about it--but who would believe that it was simply an act of humanity?"

"Father would believe it, Eleanor," the girl cried, firmly. "You must tell him, and you must tell him now--now--he is in the library."

"Oh, I cannot!" cried Eleanor, shrinking; "Robert is so much to me that I cannot run the risk of having even a doubt disturb the perfect understanding that has always existed between us."

"You must, Eleanor," insisted Alice, rising and urging Mrs. Gorham to her feet. "You must--shall I go with you?"

"No, dear," Eleanor replied. "I will go"; and with slow footsteps she left the room.

Gorham was well satisfied with the successful formation of the Manhattan Traction Company, as he was also with the general progress of the Consolidated Companies. Its expansion and success were phenomenal, and it was, of a certainty, coming into its own. The volume of business had quadrupled; its list of stockholders was nearly complete, and already included a sufficient proportion of those who controlled the world's pulse to make the acquisition of the others certain; its political strength, exercised under his firm hand for peace always, even now exceeded any similarly exerted power the world had known.

It was natural that Gorham should be filled with a certain sense of satisfaction that his work was bearing such magnificent fruit. One by one the necessities of life were being given to the public at a lower cost; one by one the luxuries, which had previously been denied them, were being brought within their reach. Wars had been prevented and taxation reduced. Everywhere the Consolidated Companies was looked upon as the people's friend, and those connected with it as public benefactors. And yet--the profits were increasing so rapidly that before long they bade fair to defy human computation!

For the first time since he began his work of forming the corporation Gorham gave himself up to day-dreams. Sitting back in an easy-chair in his library he watched the smoke curl upward from his cigar, and gave his mind free rein. With the momentum now acquired, nothing could stem the triumphal advance. The business scope had extended nearly as far as he would let it go--he would confine it to public utilities and public necessities. In the future, it might break beyond the confines he had set for it, and even become the single employer of all labor, but for his own time he would keep it within his limitations, so that he might devote his thought and energy to the development of its political power.

Why should he not eventually succeed even in forcing a disarmament of nations, relieving the people of their most grievous burden, and insuring peace by the absolute control the Companies was certain to acquire of foodstuffs and the munitions of war? Then, indeed, his life would not have been in vain!