o his eyes.

"Yes, I think she was pretty well broken up," he answered, "but the
thing about which she seemed most anxious was that you should not lose
any time in attending to the property your cousin left. I believe he
wrote you concerning his disposition of it before he sailed."

I looked up, startled. Dicky's words brought something to my mind
that I had completely forgotten. I was the heiress to all that Jack
possessed, not great wealth, it is true, but enough to insure me a
modest competence for the rest of my life.

"Do you object to my taking this money, Dicky?" I asked, and my voice
was tense with emotion.

"Object!" the words came from Dicky's mouth explosively, then he
jumped to his feet and paced up and down the room rapidly for a moment
or two, his jaw set, his eyes stern. When he stopped by the bed he had
evidently recovered his hold on himself, but his words came quickly,
jerkily, almost as if he were afraid to trust himself to speak.

"You are in no condition to discuss this tonight," he said, dropping
his hand on my hair, "we will speak of it again tomorrow, when you
have somewhat recovered. Now you must try to go to sleep. I shall have
to call a physician if you don't."

I lay awake for hours, debating the problem which had come to me. I
saw clearly that Dicky did not wish me to take this bequest of Jack's.
Indeed, I knew that he expected me to refuse it, and that he would be
bitterly disappointed if I did not do so.

My heart was hot with rebellion. It seemed like a profanation of
Jack's last wish, like hurling a gift into the face of the dead, to do
as Dicky wished.

And yet--Dicky was my husband. I had sworn to love and honor him. I
knew that he felt sincerely, however wrongly, that my acceptance of
Jack's gift would be a direct slap at him. I felt as if my heart were
being torn in two, with my desire to do justice both to the living
and the dead. It was not until nearly daylight that the solution of my
problem came to me. Then I fell asleep, exhausted, and did not awaken
until Dicky came into the room, dressed for the journey which he took
daily to the city.

"I wouldn't disturb you, sweetheart," he said, "only it's time for
me to go in to the studio, and I did not want to leave you without
knowing how you are."

"Oh, have I slept so late?" I returned, contritely, springing up in
bed.

Dicky put me back with a firm hand.

"Lie still," he commanded, gently. "Katie will bring you up s