There in the solitude of the library, he remembered, among other things, that his father would never read his novel, now. Why had he waited, wishing to have it entirely finished before his father should read this first beloved product of his eager pen?
Stephanie found him striding about the library, lips distorted, quivering with swelling grief.
"Oh, Steve," he said, seeing her in the doorway, "I am beginning to realize that I can't talk to him any more! I can't touch him—I can't talk—hear his voice—see——"
"Jim—don't——"
"The whole world is no good to me now!" cried the boy, flinging up his arms in helpless resentment toward whatever had done this thing to him.
Whatever had done it offered no excuse.
CHAPTER XII.
The reading of John Cleland's will marked the beginning of the end of the old régime for Stephanie Quest and for James Cleland.
Two short letters accompanied the legal document. All the papers were of recent date.
The letter directed to Jim was almost blunt in its brevity: