IN the street below, Nelson took a car for his uncle's residence, and fifteen minutes later he was standing on the veranda ringing the bell. Through a window on his left he looked into a lighted room. He saw old Floyd's bent figure moving about within, and then the housekeeper admitted him into the dimly lighted hall. She regarded him with surprise as she recalled his face.

“You want to see Mr. Floyd?” she said. “I'll see if he will let you come in. He's in a frightful condition, sir, over his troubles. Really, sir, he's so desperate I'm afraid he may do himself some harm.”

Leaving Nelson standing in the hall, she went into the lighted room, and the young man heard her talking persuasively to her master. Presently she came back and motioned the visitor to enter. He did so, finding the old man standing over a table covered with letters, deeds, and other legal documents. He did not offer his hand, and the young man stood in some embarrassment before him.

“Well,” old Floyd said, “what do you want? Are you here to gloat over me?”

“No, I am not,” returned the visitor. “It is simply because I do not feel that way that I came. A friend of mine was here to-day, and he said you were in trouble.”

“Trouble?—huh!” snarled old Floyd. “I guess you are glad to know that.”

“I certainly am not,” Nelson said, warmly. “I heard of it only a few minutes ago at the Kimball House, where I am staying, and I took the first car to reach you. I wish I had heard of the matter earlier—that is, if you will allow me to help you out.”

“You—you help me?” Old Floyd extended his thin hand and drew a chair to him and sank into it. “They've all talked that way—every money-lender and banker that I have applied to. They all say they want to help, but when they look at these”—Floyd waved his hand despondently over the documents—“when they look at these, and see the size of the mortgage, they make excuses and back out. I don't want to waste time with you. I know what sort of man you are. You have made what you've got by being as close as the bark on a tree, and I'm going to tell you at the outset that I haven't any security—not a dollar's worth.”

“I didn't want security,” Nelson said, looking sympathetically down into the withered face.

“You don't want—” The old man, his hands on his knees, made an effort to rise, but failed. “My Lord, you say you don't want security; then—then what the devil do you want?”

“I want to give you the money, if you'll do me the honor to accept it,” Nelson declared. “My friend told me the amount was exactly three thousand. I have drawn this check for four.” The young man was extending the pink slip of paper towards him. “And if that is not enough to put you squarely on your feet, I am ready to increase it.”

“You mean—” The old man took the check and, with blearing eyes and shaking hands, examined it in the lamplight. “You mean that you will give—actually, give me four thousand dollars, when I haven't a scrap of security to put up?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I mean.”

Old Floyd took his eyes from the check and shrinkingly raised them to the young man's face. Then he dropped the paper on the table and groaned. There was silence for a moment. The housekeeper, passing by the open door, looked in wonderingly, and moved on. The old man saw her, and, rising suspiciously, he shambled to the door and closed it. Then he turned aimlessly and came slowly back, his hand pressed to his brow.

“I can't make it out,” Nelson heard him muttering. “I'm afraid of it. It may be a trick, and yet what trick could anybody play on a man in the hole I'm in? Four thousand?” He was looking first at the check and then at his caller. “Four thousand would save me from actual ruin—it would make me comfortable for life. I can't believe you mean to give it to me—really give it. The world isn't built that way. It would be very unbecoming in me to doubt you, to impugn your motives, sir, but I'm all upset. The doctors say my mind is affected. One lawyer, a sharper, suggested that I could get out of this debt by claiming that I was not mentally responsible when I signed the papers, but that wouldn't work. I knew mighty well what I was doing. Now, on top of it all, here you come—you of all living men—and, in so many plain English words—offer to give me a thousand more than the debt. Sir, I don't want to be impolite, but I simply can't believe that you mean it.”

Greatly moved, the young man put his hands on the old man's shoulders and gently pressed him down into his chair; then he got another and sat close to him.

“Try to look at this thing calmly,” he said. “In the first place, you don't understand me. You are not a relative of mine by law, but by blood you are the only one I ever saw. You are the brother of the man who gave me life—such as it is—and, for aught I know, you may even resemble him. I have been in great trouble over the revelations you made recently, but all that has burned itself to a cinder within me, and I have determined to go back up there in the mountains and face it. But that isn't all. Certain investments I have made in the past are turning out money in the most prodigal manner. The amount I am offering you is a mere trifle to what I have made in one single transfer of property to-day. I sincerely want you to take it. It would give me great joy to help you, and, if you refuse, it will pain me more than I can say. We are not relatives before the world, but we are by ties of nature, and I pity you to-night as I never pitied any human being in my life.”

“My God! my God!” The old man struggled again to his feet, his eyes avoiding Nelson's earnest stare. “Wait here. Keep your seat, sir. Let me think. I can't take your money without making a return for it. Let me think.” He tottered to the door, opened it, and passed out into the hall. There Nelson heard him striding back and forth for several minutes. Presently he came back. He was walking more erectly. There was in his eyes a flitting gleam of hope. Approaching, he laid a quivering hand on Nelson's shoulder. “I have thought of a plan,” he said, almost eagerly. “Your partner in business, Mr.—Mr. Mayhew, came down here looking for you, and he told me how my unpleasant disclosure had unstrung you, upset your prospects, and caused you to leave home. Now, see here. It has just occurred to me that I am actually the only living individual who knows the—the true facts about your birth and your father's life. Now here is what I can and will do—you see, what I say, what I testify to during my lifetime will stand always. I am willing to take that—that money, if you will let me give you sworn papers, showing that it was all a mistake, and that your parents were actually man and wife. This could harm no one, and it would be only justice to you.”

Nelson stood up suddenly. It was as if a great light had suddenly burst over him. His blood bounded through his veins.

“You will do that?” he cried—“to?”

“Yes, and not a living soul could ever contradict it,” the old man said, eagerly. “I can put into your hands indisputable proof. More than that, I'll write up to Mayhew and Duncan in your neighborhood and show the matter in a thoroughly new light.”

The eyes of the two men met. For a moment there was silence in the room so profound that the flame of the lamp made an audible sound like the drone of an imprisoned insect. The old man was the first to speak.

“What do you say?” he asked, almost gleefully, and he rubbed his palms together till the dry skin emitted a low, rasping sound.

Suddenly Nelson sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.

“What do you say?” repeated the old man; “surely you won't re—”

He was interrupted by Nelson, who suddenly looked up, and with a frank stare into the old man's face he said, calmly:

“No, I can't be a party to that, Mr. Floyd. I fully understand all it would mean to me before the world, but I am not willing to bear the stamp of a lie, no matter how justifiable it may seem, all through life. A man can enjoy being only what he really is, either high or low. No, sir, I appreciate your willingness to help me, but you can't do it that way.”

“Why, you—you can't mean to refuse!” old Floyd gasped.

“I have to,” said the young man. “As for the real dishonesty of the thing, I might as well be any other sort of impostor. No, I want to be only what I am in this world. Besides, I can't be a party to your swearing a lie. No, I'll have to decline.”

“Then—then,” the old man groaned—“then I can't take your money.”

“But you'll have to,” Nelson smiled, sadly. “I can make you do it. I'll give you no other recourse. I shall simply instruct the bank in the morning to place it to your credit and charge it to my account. If you don't draw it out, neither you nor I will get the benefit of it, for I shall never touch it again.”

Taking his hat, Nelson moved towards the door, followed by the tottering, faintly protesting old man. And as he was leaving the last words the visitor heard were: “I can't take it, sir. I can't take money from you, as bad as I need it. I can't—I can't!”

When Nelson Floyd reached the hotel it was eleven o'clock. He found Pole seated in the dark at an open window, his coat and shoes off. He was smoking.

“Well, here you are,” was the mountaineer's greeting. “I was sorter sleepy, but I wanted to hear what you done, so I run down an' got me a nickel cigar. Then I've put in my time watchin' the folks in the street. I'll be dadblasted ef thar ain't as many night-hawks on the wing now as thar was jest after supper.”

Nelson threw off his coat and hat and sat down and recounted briefly all that had taken place at Floyd's, Pole smoking thoughtfully the while. When Nelson ceased speaking Pole rose and began to undress.

“So the blamed old codger talked like he wasn't goin' to draw the money, eh?” he said. “Well, that sorter upsets me; I can't exactly make it out, Nelson. I'll have to think that over. It ain't what I expected him to do. I thought he'd pounce on it like a duck on a June-bug. No, that's quar, I tell you—powerful quar!”

They had been in bed perhaps two hours and Floyd was asleep, when something waked him and he lay still, listening. Then, looking through the darkness, he saw Pole sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor.

“It ain't no use,” Floyd heard him muttering; “I can't sleep—thar ain't no good in tryin'.”

“What's the reason you can't sleep?” Floyd asked, suddenly.

“Oh!” Pole exclaimed, “I didn't know you was awake. I heard you breathin' deep an' natural jest a minute ago.”

“But why can't you sleep?” Floyd repeated.

“I don't know, Nelson,” Pole answered, sheepishly. “Don't you bother. Turn over an' git yore rest. I reckon I'm studyin' too much. Thar's nothin' on earth that will keep a feller awake like studyin'. I hain't closed my eyes. I've been lyin' here wonderin' an' wonderin' why that old cuss didn't want to take that money.”

“Why, he simply didn't feel like accepting it from a—a stranger and a man he had treated coldly, and perhaps too severely, on a former meeting. You see, he felt unworthy—”

“Unworthy hell! That ain't it—you kin bet yore socks that ain't it! That sort o' man, in the hole he's in, ain't a-goin' to split hairs like that, when he's on the brink o' ruin an' ready to commit suicide. No, siree, you'll have to delve deeper into human nature than that. Looky' here, Nelson. I'm on to a certain thing to-night fer the fust time. Why didn't you tell me before this that Henry A. Floyd got his start in life by a plantation left him by his daddy?”

“Why, I thought you knew it!” Floyd said, sleepily. “But what's that got to do with his not wanting to take the money?”

“I don't know,” Pole said. “I'll have to study on it. You turn over an' git that nap out. Yo're a-yawnin' fit to bust that night-shirt.”