“Perhaps,” says Aleck wisely, “we had better look for your brother.”
It pleases him to look upon their relationship in this light. Once he felt the pangs of jealousy when thinking of this same young miner. Then again, at the mention of John’s name, a sudden regret flashes into his mind. He remembers that there is also a sword hanging over him, liable to descend at any moment—a sword in the hands of Bob Rocket, who waits for final instructions, unaccountably delayed, before arresting his man.
Surely a cruel fate has conspired to bring about this crisis on the very night when gayety abounds in the speculator’s mansion.
Dorothy realizes the wisdom of his words. Whatever he may seem to Aleck, who has the privilege of reading between the lines and looking behind the scenes, to her John is a bulwark of strength, and in a crisis like this can be depended on.
As luck will have it the object of their search is near at hand, and catching his eye Aleck beckons. When John joins them he is told in a few brief sentences what has occurred.
They approach the library door, but Colonel Rocket, not willing to lose sight of his man even for a minute, saunters after.
Upon opening the door they discover the old speculator with his head lying on both arms, which are thrown upon the table. He does not move, does not apparently hear their entrance. His manner is that of one entirely given over to despair. It would be difficult indeed to recognize in this bowed, broken figure the bold speculator whom previous storms have failed to bend. When the sturdy oak goes before the tempest, it is with a mighty crash.
Aleck closes the door. He would lock it, but finds no key. Dorothy has already flown to the side of her father, and drops on her knees.
So long as he lives Craig can never forget the picture thus presented—the fair girl dressed in her exquisite reception robes, a princess by right of beauty, kneeling there and fondly stroking the silvered head of the old wheat king.
“Dear father, what is the matter? Some terrible trouble has come upon you, some crushing sorrow. I am your child, your Dorothy. Let me share it with you—confide in me, dear.”