eat again.

It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of my
journey had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her.
It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it. I told her I loved
her, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word or
deed.

I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense,
and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it by
mentioning and apologising for it.

I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder--the left shoulder. It
was an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had pondered
the matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise to
exhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorish
indiscretion. It was the only straw on which I could float an apology
for a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case by
mentioning it.

Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and assuring her of my
undying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted the
persuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.

I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer to
it.

Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival. Before he passed
away he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern town
where he was born. He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golf
links, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir. Thus by the
death of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocks
and other property for which I have no use.

Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the one
thing on earth I desire. I would rather--oh, what's the use of writing
that?

As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I
arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years,
and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.

I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house,
and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!
Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?
Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.

As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to Oak
Cliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first had
called me "Jacques Henri." How happy I was that day! I thought of the
terrors of the tornado and woul