m Storm. Her voice broke off in the
middle of a sentence, and the two reporters, exchanging glances,
tactfully withdrew.

Kate was suddenly very weak in the knees. She stood by the window for a
moment, clinging to the curtains, with closed eyes. "I must be prepared
for changes," she said to herself. "It is many years, many years--"

She opened her eyes and looked down. Philip had alighted, throwing the
lines to a porter. As he crossed the sidewalk, he glanced up at her
window and she saw his face. No one followed him.

She met him at the head of the stairs. "Where is he, Philip?" Her voice
was very quiet.

"Gone."

He led her into the room, closing the door in the faces of the eager
reporters.

"Father caught a train that went through Frankfort just after dawn," he
said tonelessly.

She cried out. "Just after dawn!" It was the hour of her vision. "He did
not get our letters, then? He did not know that we were coming to take
him home? There was some mistake!"

"There was no mistake. From the first he did not mean to see us. The
warden said so."

"Where has he gone?"

"I do not know. The warden would not tell me."

Kate ran into her room, and returned with a hat and coat. "He will tell
me," she said. "Come."

The warden received them in his private office, grave with sympathy.

"I understand what a blow this is to you," he said. "I argued with him
to make him change his intention--Dr. Benoix was as nearly my personal
friend as was possible under the circumstances. But from his first
coming here he was determined never to be a burden upon his son--nor
upon you, Mrs. Kildare. He felt, rightly or wrongly, that he had already
darkened your life too much. It was for that reason he declined to write
to you or to receive letters from you. He did not wish to keep alive
a--a sentiment which would be better dead."

Kate gasped, "He said that?"

"Yes," said the warden, gently. "He asks that you forget him, if it is
possible, or that you think of him as one who has died."

After a moment she said in her resolute voice, "You must tell us where
he is."

The other shook his head. "I cannot, and I would not if I could. He has
the right to make his life as he chooses. But you may be sure that
wherever he has gone, there will be a place for him." The warden's voice
changed, "He will be missed here. My business is not a sentimental one.
It does not soften a man. We see a great deal of evil in this place, and
very lit