* *

The month of February brought an interruption to the smooth and pleasant
course of The Dreamer's life. A long time had passed since he had heard
anything of his friends down in Virginia, and it was therefore with
quick interest that he broke the seal of a letter bearing the Richmond
post-mark and addressed to him in the unforgotten hand of his early
admirer, Rob Sully. Dear old Rob, the sight of the familiar hand-writing
alone warmed The Dreamer's heart and brought the soft, melting
expression to his eyes!

The object of the letter was to tell him that Mr. Allan was extremely
ill--dying, some thought, though the end might not be immediate. Rob was
taking it upon himself to write because he felt that Eddie ought to
know. Mr. Allan had lately been heard to speak kindly of Eddie, he had
been told, and it had occurred to him that Eddie might like to come on
and have a word of forgiveness from him before he died.

As "Eddie" read, the pleasure the first sight of the letter had given
him turned to sudden, sharp pain. Mr. Allan and--_death_! He had never
thought of associating the two. Under the influence of the shock his
heart became all tenderness and regret.

He hurriedly packed his carpet-bag, kissed Mrs. Clemm and Virginia
goodbye, and set out post-haste for Richmond and the homestead on Main
and Fifth Streets.

He did not stop to lift the brass knocker this time. The forlorn
details of his last visit, his lack of right to cross that threshold
uninvited--what mattered such considerations now? They were, indeed,
forgotten. Everything was forgotten--everything save that the man who
had stood in the position of father to him was dying--dying without a
word of pardon to him, the most wayward (he felt at that moment of
severe contrition)--_the most wayward_ of prodigal sons. Everything was
forgotten save that he was having a race with death--a race for a
father's blessing!

He flung wide the massive front door and hastened through the spacious
hall, up the stair and into the room where the ill man sat in an
arm-chair. On the threshold he paused for a moment. Mr. Allan saw and
recognized him, and at once the misunderstanding of the actions of his
adopted son for which he seemed to have a gift, asserted itself,
construing the visit as an unpardonable liberty. The only motive Mr.
Allan could imagine which could have prompted Edgar Poe to force
himself, as it seemed to him, into his presence at this time was a