The Ely miner., 1940-03-07
eAAarriA OsIEksO-wrSu SERVICE

with the Laird's deserted study up
stairs, where Saint Pat alone kept
his dumb, broken-hearted vigil, this
room was a mystically serene de-
nial of death. Or, rather, it was an
affirmation of life beyond temporal
things.
Autumn pressed her fingers against
her eyes at the feeling of ight-head-
edness that was coming over her.
The ordeal of listening to Snyder
read her fathers will had undone
her completely. And that extraordi-
nary codicil, that footnote that he
had written into it to Bruce Landor
only short time since
But here came Hannah, with a
steaming pot of teal Snyder had
refused tea-had helped himself gen.
erously to the Laird's choice brandy,
instead. Funny how resentful one
could become, in times of emotional
upheaval, over a small and irrele-
want thingi
She glanced at the tiny watch that
hung on a cord about her neck. Hec-
tor Cardigan would be here again
soon. He had been coming faith
fully every day, and now she felt
that without him she would be ut
terly lost.
A shadow, unobtrusive, gentle, fell
across the threshold, and Hector en-
tered through the French windows
from the lawn. Autumn rose and
drew another chair close to her own
beside the low table on which Han
nah, with a silence that marked her
own personal grief and not the de-
corum Of a servant in the house Of
bereavement, had placed the tea
things. With pale humor, Autumn
had noted how Hannah had taken
the loss of her master unto herself,
after due observance of the anne
mites In consoling the masters
daughter.
Hannah withdrew noiselessly, and
Hector seated himself beside Au-
| tumn.
Zone sugar, I believe, Hectorl"
she said, with an effort at brisk
ness. "And Iemon?"
"Quite so," Hector returned.
Her very hands, she thought as
she poured the tea with an uncon-
trollable trenble, seemed to have
lost their character. They looked
weak and purposeless.
Setting her cup on the table be-
side her, she leaned back in her
chair and closed her eyes. I'm
adrift, Hector" she murmured.
Absolutely adrift."
Nov, now, my dear" Hector
stammered. Life must go on, child.
Even after-after terrible things
happen to u.s."
Life must go on? Why?" She
opened her eyes and gazed at him,
as though in genuine wonderment.
Hector shifted uneasily. He looked
worn and shaken, she thought with
idle compassion. His friendship for
Jarvis had been a long and tried
one; he was the only living being
who had witnessed the extraordina-
ry drama of that ill-starred soul
from beginning to end. Perhaps it
was unfair to infict upon poor Hec-
tor the irony of the epilogue.
THAT is an absurd question, Au-
tumn," Hector said grufhy. "The
daughter of the Laird will 60 on.
You are shocked and exhausted, my
dear"
ST have not been the daughter Of
the Laird for long time" Autumn
interrupted in pensive voice. SCI
know now that father died twenty
years ago. The ghost of him came
back now and then-and on one of
those visits he wrote a note in his
will to Bruce Landor."
Hector started. 'A note?"
Autumn rose slowly and went to
the desk at the farther end of the
room, where Snyder had sat with
her and Hannah a half hour ago.
When she returned she held an en-
velope In her hand. She removed
from it narrow sheet of paper.
Father must have written this on
the bottom of his will Immediately
after Bruce came to visit him one
day, at fathers request. Snyder
could make neither head nor tail of
it, of course. We shall have to give
it to Bruce"
Hector took the paper from her
hand.
He read, in the Laird's bold, i'm
patient hand: 'sTo Bruce Landor, the
admission that I may have been
wrong in many things. At this mo-
ment's writing seem to see light.
But it fickers and goes out, leaving
an old man In darkness. I cannot
help it if I blunder through the night
that envelops me. Life has PLAYED
me false, making of me that which
I would not be-"
For some seconds Hector sat look
ing attentively at the writing. Then
his eyes lifted and Autumn was sur
prised at the solemn radiance of his
face. 1t was look of relief, almost
of happiness.
ITO BE CONTINUED