ere were
tears in her eyes Burgess knew they were born of Dennie's sweet spirit
of sympathy.

"What is wrong, then?" she asked. "Is Elinor unwilling?"

"Elinor and I are bound by promises to each other, although no word has
ever been spoken between us. It is impossible to make any change now. We
are very happy, of course."

"Of course," Dennie echoed.

"I had a letter from Dr. Wream last night. A pitiful letter, for he's
getting near the brink. Dennie--these funds I hold--I have never quite
understood, but I had felt sure there was no other claimant. There was
a clause in the strangely-worded bequest: 'for V. B. and his heirs.
Failing in that, to the nearest related V. B.' It was a thing for
lawyers, not Greek professors, to settle, and I came to be the nearest
related V. B., Vincent Burgess, for I find the money belonged to my
sister's husband, and I thought he left no heirs and I am the nearest
related V. B. by marriage, you see?"

"Well?" Dennie's mind was jumping to the end.

"My sister married a Victor Burleigh, who came to Kansas to find his
brother. Both men are dead now. The only one of the two families living
is this brother's son, young Victor Burleigh, junior in Sunrise College.
He knows nothing of his Uncle Victor, my brother-in-law--nor of money
that he might claim. He belongs to the soil out here. Nobody has any
claims on him, nor has he any ambition for a chair in Harvard, nor any
promise to marry and provide for a beautiful girl who looks upon him as
her future guardian."

Vincent Burgess suddenly ceased speaking and looked at Dennie.

"I cannot break an old man's heart. He implores me not to reveal all
this, but I had to tell somebody, and you are the best friend a man
could ever have, Dennie Saxon, so I come to you," he added presently.

"When did this Dr. Wream find out about Vic?" Dennie asked.

"A month ago. Some strange-looking tramp of a fellow brought him proofs
that are incontestable," Burgess replied.

"And it is for an old man's peace you would keep this secret?" Dennie
questioned.

"For him and for Elinor--and for myself. Don't hate me, Dennie. Elinor
looks upon me as her future husband. I have promised to provide for
her with the comforts denied her by her father, and I have lived in the
ambition of holding that Harvard chair--Oh, it is all a hopeless tangle.
I could never go to Victor Burleigh now. He would not believe that I had
been ignorant of his claim all this time. He w