Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire. I would rather—oh, what's the use of writing that?
As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.
I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house,
and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!
Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?
Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.
As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to Oak Cliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first had called me "Jacques Henri." How happy I was that day! I thought of the terrors of the tornado and would have given all that I possessed to live through it again with her.
Handing my bags to the porter I hastened toward the club house. I was hurrying across the edge of the eighteenth green when someone shouted to me.
"Hello, Smith!"
I turned and saw Marshall and Chilvers. Marshall pitched his ball to the green with more than his usual deliberation, and then they came toward me and I advanced to meet them.
"Where in thunder have you been?" asked Chilvers, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had told no one of my mission, neither had I left my address. The next instant I realised that Miss Harding had not told of the receipt of my letter. This might mean much or little.
"My Uncle Henry died out in New Mexico," I said.
"Too bad," said the sympathetic Chilvers. "Unless one of my uncles dies pretty soon I'll have to go to work. But why didn't you let us know where you were."