He wired orders to his caretaker at "The Barracks" to investigate at that end, and returned to the State capital, distracted, baffled, not knowing what step to take next. The session had not closed for the day when he arrived at the State House.
Men in the lobby stared at him as he passed. It was evident that tongues had been busy with his affairs. His grandfather, striding up and down, tried to intercept him, but he kept on to his seat. All the eyes of the House were on him. Word of the "Thornton Bill" had gone abroad. Now, in spite of his mental distress, he remembered his duty.
When he rose to ask the privilege of introducing a bill, interrupting the order of business, he anticipated objection.
No objection was made.
The opposition did not propose to waste effort on pettifogging preliminaries.
The bill went in and on its way—and that night the capital buzzed with the discussion of it.
Harlan Thornton spent half the night at the telegraph-office, his mind intent on something far from prospective legislation.
But no word came to comfort him—no clew that he could pursue.
Days grew into weeks. He did not attempt search in person. It would have been vague wandering about the country. He remained to hold up the hands of Governor Waymouth, finding relish for fight in the rancor that settled within him.
He and Linton silently faced the gossip that beat about them in regard to their encounter—and kept away from each other. Theirs was a balanced account.