These thoughts occupied but a few seconds’ time, and Kenyon was about following where they led when he was arrested by a gesture which the old man made to the two girls. They seemed to understand, and each raised her right hand; the fair-haired one was choked with sobs; the other proud and cold-eyed and looking unflinchingly into Kenyon’s face. Then the sick man spoke in the panting, broken way of a man who had run a long race; and the girls repeated the words after him without hesitation.
“I solemnly swear that I will willingly become the wife of,” here one spoke Forrester’s name and the other Kenyon’s, “but not until he has performed the service of which he knows.”
As they finished the old man reached the end of his strength. A deep purple ring showed about his mouth, his head hung limply to one side. His iron will was still unbroken, for he managed to gasp out:
“My friends, it is for you to—”
But death killed the speech in his mouth. And as the two girls sank sobbing beside him, Forrester took two quick strides to Kenyon’s side.
“Quick, now,” he whispered. “Everything is ready. Your share of this work will stand no delay.”
And with that he all but forced the adventurer from the room and down the stairs. In another moment Kenyon found himself upon the outer steps with the door closed behind him, and all about him the clustering shadows of the night.
V
GARRY WEBSTER, OF CHICAGO
“It’s always best to have a pal; you can frame things up
with him, you know.”
—The Advice of Big Slim.