That night Norman sat down and wrote a letter.
A few days later than this, Gordon Keith received a letter with the post-mark "New York." Who was there in New York who could know him? Not his young engineer. He knew his hand. He was now abroad. As he read the letter he wondered yet more. It was from Norman Wentworth. He had met an old friend, he said, who had told him about Gordon and about his father's misfortunes. He himself, he said, was at college, and he found himself in a position to be able to help a friend. He did not know to what extent aid might be of service; but he had some means of his own, and he asked that Gordon would allow him to make him a loan of whatever might be necessary to relieve his father and himself.
When Gordon finished reading the letter there were tears in his eyes.
He laid the letter in his father's lap, and the old gentleman read it through slowly. He sat lost in reflection for a few moments and then handed the letter back to Gordon.
"Write to him and thank him, my son--thank him warmly for both of us. I will never forget his kindness. He is a gentleman."
This was all; but he too showed in his face that that far-off shaft of light had reached his heart and rested there.
The General afterwards meditated deeply as to the wisdom of this action. Just then, however, Providence seemed to come to his aid.
Old Adam Rawson, hearing that he was hard up, or moved by some kindly impulse, offered to make him a loan. He "happened to have," he wrote, "a little pile lying by that he didn't have any particular use for just then, and it had come to him that, maybe, the General might be able to use it to advantage. He didn't care anything about security or interest."
The General was perplexed. He did not need it himself, but he was glad to borrow enough to send Gordon to college for a year. He sent Gordon up to old Rawson's with a letter.
The old man read the letter and then looked Gordon over; he read it and looked him over again, much as if he were appraising a young steer.