Hamlen looked up at him anxiously. Everything was progressing so well that the new tone in Huntington's voice gave him apprehension.
"It is always well to have these matters provided for, and if you haven't a will it is time you drew one up. As to the disposition of your property, it is yours to do with as you like, and I appreciate the compliment you have paid to me. Up to this point I have no right to interfere."
Hamlen stiffened at the suggestion of interference. "There are limits," he said quietly, "even to the rights of a friendship such as ours."
"True; but we haven't begun to reach them yet. You acknowledge—don't you?—that you still have an obligation to our Alma Mater which is unsatisfied?"
"I think I have acknowledged that in a substantial way," Hamlen replied, surprised.
"What can you think of an Alma Mater which would accept money in exchange for the life of one of her sons? Do you consider her as mercenary as that?"
"When the son has forfeited his right to life—"
"Who are you to take upon yourself the judicial ermine, Hamlen?" Huntington said sternly. "You have years before you yet to devote to her welfare. If you are a man, fulfil your obligations during your natural lifetime, and then supplement your labors by the princely gift you have in mind. If you will insist on assuming all the blame for this regrettable affair, don't let it make you shirk your duty, but go at life again with an added incentive to pay your debt."
"You demand of me what is beyond my strength. I can't go on."
"That is cowardice, Hamlen.—Forgive the word," he added quickly as he saw the color mount to his friend's cheeks, "forgive the cruelty; but I must make you see yourself."