Hallowell rang
out in a sharp exclamation of terror. "Who is that!" he
demanded. He spoke as though he dreaded the answer. He threw
himself forward in his chair, peering into the darkness.
"Is that you, Kate?, he whispered. His voice was both
incredulous and pleading.
The answer came in feeble, trembling tones. "Yes."
The voice of Hallowell shook with eagerness. "Do you know me,
your brother, Stephen?"
"Yes."
With a cry the old man fell back, groping blindly. He found
Gaylor's arm and clutched it with both hands.
"My God! It's Kate!" he gasped. "I tell you, Henry, it is Kate!"
The voice of Vance, deep and hollow like a bell, sounded a note
of warning. "Speak quickly," he commanded. "Her time on earth is
brief." Mr. Hallowell's hold upon the arm of his friend relaxed.
Fearfully and slowly, he bent forward.
"Kate!" he pleaded; "I must ask you a question. No one else can
tell me." As though gathering courage, he paused, and, with a
frightened sigh, again began. "I am an old man," he murmured, "a
sick man. I will be joining you very soon. what am I to do with
my money? I have made great plans to give it to the poor. Or,
must I give it, as I have given it in my will, to Helen? Perhaps
I did not act fairly to you and Helen. You know what I mean. She
would be rich, but then the poor would be that much the poorer."
The confidence of the speaker was increasing; as though to a
living being, he argued and pleaded.
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