corrective. As Paul's face grew darker during this languid criticism,
Yerba, who had been watching it with a new and absorbing sympathy,
seized the first moment when they left the table to interrogate him
with heartbreaking eyes.

"You don't think, Paul, that the colonel is really poor?"

"God only knows," said Paul. "I tremble to think how that scoundrel
may have bled him."

"And all for me! Paul, dear, you know you were saying in the woods
that you would never, never touch my money. What"--exultingly--"if we
gave it to him?"

What answer Paul made did not transpire, for it seemed to have been
indicated by an interval of profound silence.

But the next morning, as he and Mr. Woods were closeted in the library,
Yerba broke in upon them with a pathetic face and a telegram in her
hand. "Oh, Paul--Mr. Hathaway--IT'S TRUE!"

Paul seized the telegram quickly: it had no signature, only the line:
"Colonel Pendleton is dangerously ill at St. John's Hospital."

"I must go at once," said Paul, rising.

"Oh, Paul"--imploringly---"let me go with you! I should never forgive
myself if--AND IT'S ADDRESSED TO ME, and what would he think if I
didn't come?"

Paul hesitated. "Mrs. Woods will let Milly go with us and she can stay
at the hotel. Say yes," she continued, seeking his eyes eagerly.

He consented, and in half an hour they were in the train for New York.
Leaving Milly at the hotel, ostensibly in deference to the Woods's
prejudices, but really to save the presence of a third party at this
meeting, Paul drove with Yerba rapidly to the hospital. They were
admitted to an anteroom. The house surgeon received them respectfully,
but doubtingly. The patient was a little better this morning, but very
weak. There was a lady now with him--a member of a religious and
charitable guild, who had taken the greatest interest in him--indeed,
she had wished to take him to her own home--but he had declined at
first, and now he was too weak to be removed.

"But I received this telegram: it must have been sent at his request,"
protested Yerba.

The house surgeon looked at the beautiful face. He was mortal. He
would see if the patient was able to stand another interview; possibly
the regular visitor might withdraw.

When he had gone, an attendant volunteered the information that the old
gentleman was perhaps a little excited at times. He was a wonderful
man; he had seen a great deal; he talked much of California and the