ad not been able to make Alan feel that without
question Corvet was his father, but now shame and horror were making
him feel it; in horror at Corvet's act--whatever it might be--and in
shame at Corvet's cowardice, Alan was thinking of Benjamin Corvet as
his father. This shame, this horror, were his inheritance.

He left Luke and went to the window to see if the doctor was coming.
He had called the doctor because in his first sight of Luke he had not
recognized that Luke was beyond the aid of doctors and because to
summon a doctor under such circumstances was the right thing to do; but
he had thought of the doctor also as a witness to anything Luke might
say. But now--did he want a witness? He had no thought of concealing
anything for his own sake or for his father's; but he would, at least,
want the chance to determine the circumstances under which it was to be
made public.

He hurried back to Luke. "What is it, Luke?" he cried to him. "What
can you tell? Listen! Luke--Luke, is it about the _Miwaka_--the
_Miwaka_? Luke!"

Luke had sunk into a stupor; Alan shook him and shouted in his ear
without awakening response. As Alan straightened and stood hopelessly
looking down at him, the telephone bell rang sharply. Thinking it
might be something about the doctor, he went to it and answered it.
Constance Sherrill's voice came to him; her first words made it clear
that she was at home and had just come in.

"The servants tell me some one was making a disturbance beside your
house a while ago," she said, "and shouting something about Mr. Corvet.
Is there something wrong there? Have you discovered something?"

He shook excitedly while, holding his hand over the transmitter lest
Luke should break out again and she should hear it, he wondered what he
should say to her. He could think of nothing, in his excitement, which
would reassure her and merely put her off; he was not capable of
controlling his voice so as to do that.

"Please don't ask me just now, Miss Sherrill," he managed. "I'll tell
you what I can--later."

His reply, he recognized, only made her more certain that there was
something the matter, but he could not add anything to it. He found
Luke, when he went back to him, still in coma; the blood-shot veins
stood out against the ghastly grayness of his face, and his stertorous
breathing sounded through the rooms.

Constance Sherrill had come in a few moments before from an afternoon
reception; t