“You were asking if I could stay on until you had found some one else,” he said. “On second thought, I don’t know but I can, if it will be an accommodation to you.”
The colonel was too well pleased with the sudden change of front to show his surprise, though he could not help putting two and two together and wondering who was the writer of the dainty note which had evidently countermanded Brant’s marching orders.
“Of course it will be an accommodation,” he hastened to say. “I shall have to go back to the Extension to-night to figure on Hurlcrow’s estimates for next month, but I’ll come in as soon as I can, and then, if you are of the same mind, I’ll look around for some one to relieve you. But I hope you will find it possible to reconsider. I like you, and your work is as thorough and accurate as I knew it would be when you told me you were coached by my old friend Thirlwill.”
Brant did not commit himself, and the colonel tossed the lately opened letters into his desk and drew down the roll-top. “I shall be with the general manager and the president in the Aberystwyth till train time, and to-morrow you can reach me at the front,” he went on. “Take things a bit easy while I am gone, and see if you can’t make up your mind to stay with us.”
Being just then devoured with an impatience in comparison with which the restlessness of the long day was but a sedative, Brant did not seek to prolong the interview; and when he was once more alone he read and reread his letter until he could repeat it word for word. It was from Dorothy; and she had kept her promise to call upon him in the time of need. She wrote:
“Dear Mr. Brant: You were kind enough to offer to help us again if the occasion should arise. It has arisen. Will left home yesterday afternoon, and we have not seen him since. Mamma is wild with anxiety, and my father is so greatly discouraged that he will do nothing. Won’t you please try to find my brother again?
“P.S. Mrs. Hobart, whose husband is a friend of yours, is with us, and she will be glad to see you when you find it convenient to come.”
When he had quite committed the note to memory Brant set about answering it. Whatever else he was or might become—and under the sentence of ostracism this question seemed settled beyond peradventure of doubt—he was none the less Dorothy’s loyal liegeman, and while he could serve her, the future, good, bad, or indifferent, might wait for its due. Therefore, after a half dozen false starts, he wrote:
“My dear Miss Langford:
“Your note, which makes me both sorry and glad, has just found me. Be assured that, while I grieve with you in your present trouble, I am only too happy to place myself at your service. Be of good cheer. I trust we shall speedily find your brother, and that nothing serious has befallen him. If he should not come home to-night, send me a line in the morning; and believe me, now as always,