if to return no more. Only two
chapters were yet to be written, and he knew, vaguely, what Elaine was
about to do when he left her, but his pen had lost the trick of writing.

Deeply troubled, Harlan went to the window, where the outer world still
had the curious appearance of unreality. It was as though a sheet of glass
were between him and the life of the rest of the world. He could see
through it clearly, but the barrier was there, and must always be there.
Upon the edge of this glass, the light of life should break and resolve
itself into prismatic colours, of which he should see one at a time, now
and then more, and often a clear, pitiless view of the world should give
him no colour at all.

Presently Lawyer Bradford came up the hill, dressed for a formal call. In
a flash it brought back to Harlan the day the old man had first come to
the Jack-o'-Lantern, when Dorothy was a happy girl with a care-free boy
for a husband. How much had happened since, and how old and grey the world
had grown!

"I desire to see the distinguished author, Mr. Carr," the thin, piping
voice was saying at the door, "upon a matter of immediate and personal
importance. And Mrs. Carr also, if she is at leisure. Privacy is
absolutely essential."

"Come into the library," said Harlan, from the doorway. Another
interruption made no difference now. Dorothy soon followed, much mystified
by the way in which Mrs. Smithers had summoned her.

Remembering the inopportune intrusion of Mr. Perkins, Harlan locked the
door. "Now, Mr. Bradford," he said, easily, "what is it?"

"I should have told you before," began the old lawyer, "had not the bonds
of silence been laid upon me by one whom we all revere and who is now past
carrying out his own desires. The house is yours, as my letters of an
earlier date apprised you, and the will is to be probated at the Fall term
of court.

"Your uncle," went on Mr. Bradford, unwillingly, "was a great sufferer
from--from relations," he added, lowering his voice to a shrill whisper,
"and he has chosen to revenge himself for his sufferings in his own way.
Of this I am not at liberty to speak, though no definite silence was
required of me later than yesterday.

"There is, however, a farm of two thousand acres, all improved, which is
still to come to you, and a sum of money amounting to something over ten
thousand dollars, in the bank to your credit. The multitudinous duties in
connection with the practice of my prof