“Con!” Lynda laid her firm hand upon his arm, “I have learned to call it something else. It has helped me; perhaps it will help you. He had waited wearily on this side of the door of release; he—he told me that he was going on a long journey he had often contemplated—I did not understand then! I fancy the—the journey was very short. There was no suffering. I wish you could have seen the peace and majesty of his face! He could wait no longer. Nothing mattered here, and all that he yearned for called loudly to him. He simply opened the door himself—and went out!”
Truedale clasped the hand upon his arm. “Thank you, Lynda. I did not realize how kind you could be,” was all he said.
The logs fell apart and filled the room with a rich glow. Brace shook the ashes from his pipe upon the hearth—he felt now that he could trust himself.
“For the future,” Lynda’s calm voice almost startled the two men by its practicability and purpose, “this is home—in the truest, biggest sense. No one shall even enter here and feel—friendless. This is my trust; it shall be as he wished it, and I mean to have my own life, too! Why, the house is big enough for us all to live our lives and not interfere with each other. I mean to bring my private business here in the rooms over the extension. I’ll keep the uptown office for interviews. And you, Con?”
Truedale almost sprang to his feet, then, hands plunged in pockets, he said:
“There does not seem to be anything for me to do; at least not until the will is read. I think I shall go back—I left things at loose ends; there will be time to consider—later.”
“But, Con, there is something for you to do. You will understand after you see the lawyers in the morning. There is a great deal of business: many interests of your uncle’s that he expected you to represent in his name—to see that they were made secure. Dr. McPherson has told me something about the will—enough to help me to begin.”
Truedale looked blankly at Lynda. “Very well, after that—I will go back,” he spoke almost harshly. “I will arrange affairs somehow. I’m no business man, but I daresay Uncle William chose wise assistants.”
“What’s the matter with you, Con?” Brace eyed his friend critically; “you look fit as a fellow can. This has demanded a good deal of self-denial and faith from us all, but somehow this duty was the biggest thing in sight; we rather owe him that, I fancy. You know you cannot run to cover just now, old man. This has been a jog, but by morning you’ll reconsider and play your part.” There was a new note in Kendall’s voice. It was a call to something he hoped was in his friend, but which he had never tested. There was a sudden fear, too, of the change that had come to Truedale. It was not all physical. There was a baffling suggestion of unreality about him that made him almost a stranger.
“I dare say you are right, Ken.” Truedale walked the length of the room and back. “I own to being cut up over this. I never did my part—I see that now—and of course I’ll endeavour to do what I should. My body’s all right but my nerves still jangle at a shock. To-morrow the whole thing will settle into shape. You and Lynda have been—well—I cannot express what I feel.” He paused. The hour was late, and for the first time he seemed to realize that the old home was not his in the sense it once had been. Lynda understood the moment’s hesitation and smiled slightly.