“Yes,” said Dick, “I shall wait, and wait happily.” And—so strange a thing is the heart of woman—a pang of disappointment accompanied the quick thrill of admiration in Dolly’s heart at her lover’s loyalty and self-repression.
“I will tell her what you say,” said Dolly. She paused for a moment, and then a wonderful smile flickered over her sobered beauty.
“It ought to have been Helga you cared for,” she said. “But I’m glad it isn’t!” And she was gone.
The evening train brought, in response to Dick’s telegram, a grave and quiet young fellow who introduced himself as Eldon Smith, a reporter from The New Era, Haynes’ paper, and an older man with a face of singular beauty, whose name was a national word by virtue of his gifts as an editorial writer. Archer Melbourne had been the dead man’s only confidant. He at once took charge.
“I have heard from Mr. Haynes within a week,” he said to Dick Colton. “If I believed in such things, I should say that he had a premonition of death. He is to be buried in the hill behind Third House, so he wrote me. His property, which is considerable, including his life insurance, goes to Miss Helga Johnston, in trust, until her marriage. I am named as one trustee, and he writes me to ask you to act as the other.”
“Surely Haynes must have had friends of older standing,” began Dick, “who——”
“Haynes had few intimates. He was a quick and keen judge of men, and you seem to have inspired a strong confidence. There is a peculiar request attached. He asks that you use all your influence to guard Miss Johnston against making any marriage under conditions which you could not approve for the woman you loved best in the world.”
“God helping me, I will!” said Dick solemnly.
“As for the circumstances of Haynes’ death, the stories I heard are too wild for credence.”
“So are the facts,” said Dick briefly.