“Yes.”
With a cry the old man fell back, groping blindly. He found Gaylor’s arm and clutched it with both hands.
“My God! It’s Kate!” he gasped. “I tell you, Henry, it is Kate!”
The voice of Vance, deep and hollow like a bell, sounded a note of warning. “Speak quickly,” he commanded. “Her time on earth is brief.” Mr. Hallowell’s hold upon the arm of his friend relaxed. Fearfully and slowly, he bent forward.
“Kate!” he pleaded; “I must ask you a question. No one else can tell me.” As though gathering courage, he paused, and, with a frightened sigh, again began. “I am an old man,” he murmured, “a sick man. I will be joining you very soon, what am I to do with my money? I have made great plans to give it to the poor. Or, must I give it, as I have given it in my will, to Helen? Perhaps I did not act fairly to you and Helen. You know what I mean. She would be rich, but then the poor would be that much the poorer.” The confidence of the speaker was increasing; as though to a living being, he argued and pleaded. “And I want to do some good before I go. What shall I do? Tell me.”
There was a pause that lasted so long that those who had held their breath to listen, again breathed deeply. When the answer came, it was strangely deprecatory, uncertain, unassured.
“You,” stammered the voice, “you must have courage to do what you know to be just!”
For a brief moment, as though surprised, Mr. Hallowell apparently considered this, and then gave an exclamation of disappointment and distress.
“But I don’t know,” he protested, “that is why I called on you. I want to go into the next world, Kate,” he pleaded, “with clean hands!”
“You cannot bribe your way into the next world,” intoned the voice. “If you pity the poor, you must help the poor, not that you may cheat your way into heaven, but that they may suffer less. Search your conscience. Have the courage of your conscience.”