o! Why didn't you wait for me? What did you clear out for and
leave me in the lurch? Fresh as a daisy, you are, old chap, and I'm
done for, dead."

"You're not scientific in your pleasures." Robert Kater lifted his
eyes and looked at his friend. "Are you alive enough to hear me and
remember what I say? Will you do something for me? Shall I tell you
now or will you breakfast first?"

"Breakfast? Faugh!" He looked disgustedly around him.

"I'm sorry. You drink too much. Listen, Ben. I'll tell you what I mean
to do and what I wish you to do for me--and--you remember all you can
of it, will you? I must do it now, for you'll be asleep soon, and this
will be the last I shall see of you--ever. I'm leaving in two
hours--as soon as I've breakfasted."

"What's that? Hold on!" Ben Howard sprang up, and darting behind a
screen where they washed their brushes, he dashed cold water over his
head and came back toweling himself. "I'm fit now. I did drink too
much champagne, but I'll sleep it off. Now fire away,--what's up?"

"In two hours I'll be en route for the coast, and to-morrow I'll take
passage for home on the first boat." Robert closed and sealed the long
letter he had been writing and tossed it on the table. "I want this
mailed one week from to-day. Put it in your pocket so you won't lose
it among the rubbish here. One week from to-day it must be mailed.
It's to my great aunt, Jean Craigmile, who gave me the money to set
up here the first year. I've paid that up--last week--with my last
sou--and with interest. By rights she should have whatever there is
here of any value, for, if it were not for her help, there would not
have been a thing here anyway, and I've no one else to whom to leave
it--so see that this letter is mailed without fail, will you?"

The Englishman stood, now thoroughly awake, gazing at him, unable to
make common sense out of Robert's remarks. "B--b--but--what's up? What
are you leaving things to anybody for? You're not on your deathbed."

"I'm going home, don't you see?"

"But why don't you take the letter to her yourself--if you're going
home?"

"Not there, man; not to Scotland."

"Your home's there."

"I have allowed you to think so." Robert forced himself to talk
calmly. "In truth, I have no home, but the place I call home by
courtesy is where I was brought up--in America."

"You--you--d--d--don't--"

"Yes--it's time you knew this. I've been leading a double life, and
I'm done with it. I