soon, what am I to do with my money? I have made
great plans to give it to the poor. Or, must I give it, as I have given
it in my will, to Helen? Perhaps I did not act fairly to you and Helen.
You know what I mean. She would be rich, but then the poor would be
that much the poorer." The confidence of the speaker was increasing; as
though to a living being, he argued and pleaded. "And I want to do some
good before I go. What shall I do? Tell me."

There was a pause that lasted so long that those who had held their
breath to listen, again breathed deeply. When the answer came, it was
strangely deprecatory, uncertain, unassured.

"You," stammered the voice, "you must have courage to do what you know
to be just!"

For a brief moment, as though surprised, Mr. Hallowell apparently
considered this, and then gave an exclamation of disappointment and
distress.

"But I don't know," he protested, "that is why I called on you. I want
to go into the next world, Kate," he pleaded, "with clean hands!"

"You cannot bribe your way into the next world," intoned the voice. "If
you pity the poor, you must help the poor, not that you may cheat your
way into heaven, but that they may suffer less. Search your conscience.
Have the courage of your conscience."

"I don't want to consult my conscience," cried the old man. "I want you
to tell me." He paused, hesitating. Eager to press his question, his awe
of the apparition still restrained him.

"What do you mean, Kate?" he begged. "Am I to give the money where it
will do the most good--to the Hallowell Institute, or am I to give it to
Helen? Which am I to do?"

There was another long silence, and then the voice stammered; "If--if
you have wronged me, or my daughter, or the poor, you must make
restitution."

The hand of the old man was heard to fall heavily upon the arm of his
chair. His voice rose unhappily.

"That is no answer, Kate!" he cried. "Did you come from the dead to
preach to me? Tell me--what am I to do--leave my money to Helen, or to
the Institute?"

The cry of the old man vibrated in the air. No voice rose to answer.
"Kate!" he entreated. Still there was silence. "Speak to me!" he
commanded. The silence became eloquent with momentous possibilities. So
long did it endure, that the pain of the suspense was actual. The voice
of Rainey, choked and hoarse with fear, broke it with an exclamation
that held the sound of an oath. He muttered thickly, "What in the name
of--"