On the following evening, just as early as the rules of propriety would permit, Mr. McGowan turned into the private road that led up to the Fox estate. He walked slowly along the wide avenue beneath the spreading elms and stately chestnuts. He had dined with the Elder many times during the few months he had been in the village, but on those other occasions Elizabeth had been absent. The house had always seemed cold and forbidding both outside and inside. As he came out of the shaded roadway into the sweeping semicircle described before the main entrance to the house, he caught himself wondering if the stiff interior would seem softened by the presence of the girl. He began at once to chide himself for entertaining such a sentimental notion, but before he could finish the rebuke the door swung back, and Elizabeth Fox stood in the opening. She was dressed in a simple blue frock of clinging stuff, which 54 set off the perfect lines of her athletic body. The blue of her eyes took on a deeper hue as though to harmonize with the shade of her gown.

“Good evening, Mr. McGowan. We are so glad you could come. Father will be right down.”

The minister’s emotions played leap-frog with his heart, and he stumbled awkwardly on the upper step. He made some stupidly obvious observation concerning the condition of the weather as he followed his hostess into the library. He realized that he was acting strangely for one who had reached the supposedly practical view of life where all sentiment is barred from social intercourse with the fair sex, but he also realized that he was powerless to check the surge of what he now felt within. With kaleidoscopic rapidity there flashed through his mind every occasion when he had been with Miss Fox, from the first meeting beneath the elm-tree in the Captain’s yard to the present time, and he recognized what it was that had sent scurrying his practical views of life. He was in love, not 55 with the beauty of this girl, but with her. That love had come like the opening strains of a grand symphony, subtly and gently disturbing his emotional equilibrium, but with accumulative effect the transitions had come with the passing weeks, till now every interest in his life seemed to be pouring out into the one emotion he felt.

Elizabeth had preceded him into the library, and was standing motionless before the mantel. She became suddenly aware of what was going on within the mind of Mr. McGowan, and a shy embarrassment crept into her eyes.

Simultaneously, an unreasoning determination took possession of the minister. Unconsciously, he began to move in her direction, unmindful of the sound of footfalls on the stair. Only one step remained between Mr. McGowan and Elizabeth when Elder Fox entered the room.

“I trust I’m not intruding–––”

The Elder began nervously to stroke his chops. His breath came heavily, shutting off his words. A hunted look leaped into his eyes 56 as he studied the tense face of the eager young man. Could it be possible that the fears of the Reverend Mr. Means––privately made known to the Elder after the installation service––had foundation in fact? Or had the suggestion of Mr. Means lodged in the Elder’s mind, playing havoc with his imagination?

Mr. McGowan drew off to the far end of the mantel, and began, figuratively, to kick himself. He had often declared that a man in love was the biggest mule on earth, and now here he was, the king of them all, a genuine descendant of Balaam’s mount with all his asinine qualities, but lacking his common mule sense.

“I––I beg your pardon,” he stammered.

“There is no occasion for excuses,” graciously replied the girl. “Father, Mr. McGowan and I were–––” She paused, blushing in confusion. “Really, Mr. McGowan, what were we saying?”

She laughed, and it was so infectious that the men forgot to look serious, and joined with her.

“I should say––er––that you have put the 57 matter in a very diplomatic way,” observed the Elder, apparently once more himself. “No explanations are necessary––er––I assure you. I was once a young man, and have not forgotten that fact. I apologize, Mr. McGowan, if by my attitude I appeared––er––to misjudge you. The trouble was with me, not with you. An odd fancy momentarily got the upper hand of me, and upset me for an instant. Make yourself quite at home, sir.”

It was not long till they were called to table, and in the discussion of parish matters the strangeness of the Elder’s action was for the time being relegated to the background.

“You have doubtless heard a hundred times to-day how proud we all were of the way you answered the questions yesterday,” commented the Elder enthusiastically. “You showed a fine spirit, too, sir, one––er––which some of the older men might well emulate.”

“I feel greatly indebted to you, Mr. Fox, for the final outcome.”

The Elder waved his hand as though lightly to brush aside such words of praise, and yet in the same movement he modestly acknowledged 58 that without his aid the young minister could have done nothing.

“I might also add, that we are delighted with the work you are doing at the church,” continued the Elder magnanimously. “It is––er––very good. Though I am still a little dubious about your associations down at the club, still–––”

“Father’s ambition is to have all the pews filled,” broke in Elizabeth, attempting to divert her father from a delicate topic.

“No, my dear. That is hardly my position. There must never be a sacrificing of principle, even for the sake of full pews. A full church––er––is not the most important part of parish work. Am I not right, Mr. McGowan?”

“Quite right, if that is the end sought in itself.”

“I am convinced from what you said yesterday that you will furnish us––er––with both. I am confidently looking forward to one of our most prosperous years.”

“Both?” queried the minister.

“Yes. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in the need of––er––the saving power of 59 the gospel. Full pews without that would make our church the sounding of brass and the tinkling of cymbal. We must have the old-time power in our churches to-day, Mr. McGowan.”

“You think Little River needs reforming, Father?”

“That is exactly the point I make: it is more than reformation we need, it is conversion. Take the Athletic Club, for example. Will reform stop them? No, sir, no more than a straw-stack would stop a tornado. They need––er––a mighty thunderbolt from heaven, and I hope that you will let God use you, sir, as the transmitting agency.”

A picture of himself occupying the place of Zeus, holding in his hand the lightnings of heaven, flitted through the minister’s mind. He smiled faintly. Elizabeth evidently caught what was in the young man’s mind, for she met his glance with a merry twinkle.

“Really, Father, don’t you think Mr. McGowan would look out of place as a lightning-rod, even on Little River Church?”

“I was speaking figuratively, my dear,” 60 he replied, somewhat crestfallen that his reference should be thus irreverently treated. “The boys in that club are a reckless lot, and they are doing the work––er––of the devil. They must be brought to repentance.”

“I don’t think that is fair, Father. The church is not wholly without blame for what those boys have done,” declared Elizabeth emphatically. “What did we do to keep them from going out and organizing as they have?”

“No doubt we did make mistakes in the beginning, but our errors do not atone for their sins.”

“But, Father–––”

“There, Beth, never mind. We can never agree on that point, and we should not entangle Mr. McGowan in our differences. I only hope he will do all in his power to make them see the sinfulness of their ways.”

Conversation turned into other channels under the direction of Elizabeth. They were discussing modern fiction when the door at the end of the hall swung back with a bang and a loud halloo echoed through the house. 61 Elizabeth sprang up from her place and ran to the dining-room door just as a tall young man bounded through. He came up erect at sight of the stranger.

“Harold!” cried Elizabeth. “When did you come?”

“Just now. Didn’t my war-whoop announce me?”

“But how did you get over from Little River station?”

“Walked.”

“Why didn’t you telephone? I’d have come over to meet you.”

“Needed the exercise. Hello, Dad.”

The Elder greeted the young man with a cold nod. His hand trembled slightly as he stiffly extended it.

“We are just a short time at table. Will you join us?”

“Be glad to, Dad. I’m starved,” he declared, eyeing the minister as he drew up a chair.

“Oh, Mr. McGowan, please excuse us!” cried Elizabeth. “This is my brother. Harold, this is our new minister, Reverend Mr. 62 McGowan. Harold comes home so seldom that I fear his unexpected arrival demoralized our manners.”

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. McGowan,” cordially greeted Harold. “Heard of you before I got in sight of the house.”

The young men gripped each other’s hands. Consternation took possession of the Elder. Had his son fully understood?

“Mr. McGowan is the minister at our little church,” he said significantly.

“That’s what Beth just said. Didn’t I say the right thing to him, Dad? Want me to start all over again like I had to when I was a kid?”

He eyed the minister with a curious expression as they took their seats about the table.

“Maybe Dad wants me to repeat some verses to you. Used to do it and get patted on the head.”

Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, but the Elder showed his displeasure.

“That will do, Harold,” he commanded sternly. “I shall not allow profane jesting about sacred things in my house.”

“Closet next, is it? Never mind, Dad, I’ll try not to shock you again. Haven’t had much hankering for closets since I got shut up in that hole over in Sydney. They called it a prison, but it was more like a potato-pit than anything else.”

“Sydney?” questioned the minister.

“Yes, Australia. You see, Mr. McGowan, I was a real prodigal for more than two years. Chased out to California after I graduated from Yale, and got mixed up out there in another fellow’s scrape. To save my skin I shipped on a freighter to Australia. Over there I tried to save another poor devil from the lock-up, and got in bad with the authorities. Yes, I was a real prodigal, always trying to help the other fellow out of trouble and getting the worst end of it every time. The only difference between me and the Bible chap was that Father did not heap treasure on me when I left, and didn’t kill the fatted calf when I returned.”

During this recital the Elder had fidgeted to the end of his chair. “I cannot see, son, why you persist in telling of your wickedness 64 to everybody. It’s a thing rather to be ashamed of.”

“I acknowledge that, Dad, but the closet idea suggested it to my mind. Then, perhaps, it’s not a bad idea for Mr. McGowan to know the worst side of me first. I spent about a week in that hole they called a prison,” he said turning to the minister, “and seven days there couldn’t be very easily effaced from my memory unless I went bugs and had an awful lapse. But the result was not so bad, for that place proved to be my swine-pen where I came to myself. It was just about as much like a pig-sty as any place I ever didn’t sleep in.... Do you happen to know anything about Sydney, Mr. McGowan?”

“Not much. I know it’s quite a trading center, but most of my information is second-hand.”

“It is the best trading center on the Australian coast. An odd case came to the office from there last week. You know, perhaps, that I’m a member of the Starr and Jordan law firm in New York. Well, our branch office in Sydney referred this case to our office 65 in London, and they, in turn, sent it over here. The reason it was transferred here is that the documents say the client now lives in America. I happened to be put on the case because I knew a little about Sydney. The same case has been up several times, it seems, for some woman over there keeps pounding away at it. The queer part of it is that the trail has been followed up to a certain point and then lost at that point every time. It is the same old story of what is happening every day. Relatives of a wealthy trader left Sydney several years ago, the trader died, and the heirs to his fortune can’t be found. The strange part of it is that these people can be traced as far as America without the slightest trouble, and then, without any apparent reason, they suddenly drop out of existence as completely as though they had been kidnapped and carried to a desolate island. So little data has been collected from the other side that the firm has decided to send me over to Sydney. It promises to be quite an adventure. That’s why I came home to-night, Dad. I’m leaving in the morning.”

Elder Fox had been listening intently, and at mention of the proposed trip he grew pale.

“I––er––should not go if I were you, Harold. They may arrest you again. The police of Australia have a way of remembering things against former prisoners.”

“How do you know so much about the police of Australia?”

“I’ve read it, sir,” hastily explained the Elder.

“But I’ve got to go, Dad. They’ll not pinch me. They found the right chap before they let me go, and couldn’t do enough for me when they discovered their mistake.... You say you’ve never visited Sydney, Mr. McGowan?”

“I was born there. But I don’t remember anything about the place, as we moved away when I was a mere lad. I’ve often heard my father speak about it. He was a trader there in the early days.”

“May I see your father to-night?” asked Harold eagerly. “He may be able to save me a trip over. Where does he live?”

“He is not living. He and Mother both 67 died a few years after coming to America. The climate was too severe for them.”

“I beg your pardon,” apologized Harold. “I didn’t know. I’m so anxious to get news of this man that I rush in where angels would fear to tread.”

“That is perfectly all right. It’s no more than natural that you should think he would be able to help you in your search.”

“Yes. He could have doubtless given me valuable information concerning the traders of his day, and thus have put me on the trail of my client. This man was arrested on some charge trumped up by two scamps, but was later released and exonerated. They’d arrest a man over there for looking at his own watch if he happened to cross his eyes while doing it. At the time when my client was in trouble the convict-ships were in business.”

The Elder dropped back from the edge of his chair which he had held since the beginning of the conversation. He gave his son a look of dumb appeal. With an effort he straightened and glared vacantly across the table.

“I was aboard the convict-ship Success while she was in the New York harbor this spring,” commented the minister. “I don’t see how civilized men could think out so many different modes of torture and remain civilized, let alone human.”

“Nor I. I was aboard the old tub, too. That was the ship my client was on. It was when she first came out.”

The Elder was acting queerly.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” asked Harold, with concern.

“Nothing,––er––nothing. Only I do wish you would not take this trip. Can’t you send some one else?”

“I’m afraid not. You see, I’m not my own boss. No, Dad, I can’t get out of it.”

Harold had never seen his father so concerned for his welfare, and it greatly affected him.

“They won’t trouble me, not in the least. To ease your mind I’ll go under an assumed name, if you say so. But I must get my data at the source concerning this man Adoniah Phillips, if–––”

The Elder was sipping his coffee, and his cup fell into the saucer with a crash, breaking both fragile pieces into fragments. The contents were sprayed over the linen, and drops stained the Elder’s white waistcoat.

“Father!” cried Elizabeth. “What is the matter? You are ill!”

He did not answer. He turned an ashen face toward Mr. McGowan, and with a wild stare studied that young man’s face. The two men sprang to the old man’s assistance, but as the minister reached out his hand Mr. Fox gave a startled cry and threw up his arm as though to ward off a blow.

“Go back to your seats!” ordered the Elder thickly. “Do not mind me. I’m all right, or shall be in a few seconds.”

He fought helplessly for self-control.

“Come, Dad, you must go to your room,” declared Harold, taking his father tightly by the arm.

“I’m not ill, sir,” answered the father, stubbornly. “But it might be as well for me to retire from the table. You need not trouble, 70 Mr. McGowan. I shall get on quite well with my son’s assistance,” he affirmed, waving the minister back.

Mr. Fox drew his handkerchief across his perspiring forehead, and dazedly eyed the stained cloth. “I’m sorry, Beth, very sorry I was so awkward.”

“Don’t mind the cloth, Father,” begged the girl tearfully.

“You remain with Mr. McGowan, Beth. I shall soon be quite myself. Fainting spell, I guess.”

Harold led his father from the room. Elizabeth turned to the minister.

“Oh, Mr. McGowan! Is it––do you think–––Oh! I can’t say it! It’s too awful!”

“We must telephone for the doctor at once. It may be serious.”

“Then, you do think it’s a stroke! What shall we do!”

Mr. McGowan telephoned for the doctor, and when he arrived he sent him at once to the Elder’s room. The physician entered unannounced, stopped short on the threshold, and 71 stared at the two men who were in the midst of a heated discussion.

Elizabeth met the doctor as he came down the stair.

“Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to tell me if your father has had bad news, or sudden grief?”

“Not that I know of, Doctor. Harold had just told him that he must start for Australia to-morrow when Father nearly fainted. That is all that happened.”

“Then, I see no occasion for this. There is nothing organically wrong so far as I can discover. But I shall take his blood pressure to-morrow just to be on the safe side. Call me any time during the night if anything out of the ordinary happens. Keep him perfectly quiet. Good night.”

Harold called Elizabeth from the head of the stair.

“Excuse me, Mr. McGowan. I shall send my brother right down.”

“Please, don’t do that. Your father will need you both. I shall be going.”

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, offering her 72 hand. “You will come again, very soon, won’t you?”

“I shall call in the morning to inquire about your father.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Mr. McGowan took his hat from the hall-tree and left the house. As he walked very slowly through the avenue of trees a strange passage from the Bible kept tantalizing his attention. “Behold, a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.... Then there was no breath in them.... Then from the four winds the breath came into them, and they lived.”

Half provoked for allowing these words to arouse suspicion, he tried to cast them out. But the effect of them remained. He had witnessed the coming together of the dry bones of a past. Were the four winds from the four corners of the earth to give them life? Had he unwittingly helped to furnish the dry bones with breath?

He had gone but a short distance when he heard footsteps behind him.