"Jack!" cried Dick, holding out his hand eagerly. "Jack, old man, don't you know me?" he continued falteringly, seeing no sign of recognition in his friend's eyes.
Payson gasped, shocked and startled. The man before him was a stranger in looks, but the voice—the voice was that of Dick Lane, the last man in the world he wanted to see at that moment. Frightened, almost betraying himself, he glanced at the half-open door. If Dick entered he knew Echo would be lost to him. She might love him truly, and her love for Dick might have passed away, but he knew that Echo would never forgive him for the deception that he had practised upon her.
Grasping his friend's hand weakly, he faltered, "Dick! Dick Lane!"
Jack realized he must act quickly. Some way or somehow Dick must be kept out of the house until after the marriage. Then he, Jack, must take the consequences. Dick saw his hesitation. It was not what he had expected. But something dreadful might have happened while he was away, there had been so many changes.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously. "You got my letter? You knew I was coming?"
"Yes, yes, I know," lamely answered Jack. "But I expected notice—you know you said—"
"I couldn't wait. Jack, I'm a rich man, thanks to you—"
"Yes, yes, that's all right," said Payson, disclaiming the praise of the man he had so grievously wronged with a hurried acknowledgment of his gratitude.
"And I hurried back for fear Echo—"
"Oh, yes. I'll tell her about it, when she's ready to hear it."