"Then I made another struggle. I cut for the woods. I got to Hillcrest—when word came—that she had—died!" A dumb suffering stopped the words. Drew laid his hot hand over Filmer's, which were clenched, until the finger-tips were white.
"It was the hope—of making myself fit to go home and hear her sing and laugh that had brought me to Hillcrest. Well, I wrote the old man—that I was going further north. You see, he blamed me. Said the longing for me, the disappointment and the rest, had weakened her heart. I couldn't bear the thought of ever going back—then; so I tramped over the hill and—St. Angé adopted me. It's been a tame plot since then, but it's never been as bad as it was before. I dropped into their speech and ways, and things sank to a dead level. I got word from Hillcrest the other day." Filmer looked blankly into the red embers. "The governor has left—it all to me with this saving clause: if I have any honour I am not to take the money until I can use it as my parents would desire. You see, the old man had what I never suspected—a soft place in his heart for me, and a glimmer of hope. It might not have made any difference—but I wish to God I had known it before."
Drew could not stand the misery of the convulsed face. He turned his eyes away.
"Drew!" Filmer had risen suddenly and now confronted his companion with deep, flashing eyes. "Drew, I'm not going to take the fortune unless—I'm fit to handle it. I've been a tramp long enough to know that I can keep on being a tramp, but I'm going to make one more almighty try before I succumb. I may be all wrong, but lately I've thought the—the motive power has—come to me." A strange, uplifting dignity seemed to fall upon Filmer. Drew tried to speak; to say the right thing, but he merely smiled feebly and rose unsteadily to his feet.
"I wouldn't blame you if you—cut me after this, Drew, but it's got to be said. It's—your—sister."
"My—sister? Connie?" Drew was never so surprised and astounded in his life before.
"Connie?" he gasped again. "Connie?"
"If—if—I was what I might be? If I come into my own, Drew, do you think she—could care—for me?"
"How under heaven can I tell?" Drew said slowly; "she has never—how could she? shown—" he paused.
"How indeed, could she?" Filmer laughed a hard, bitter laugh.