out that he himself had been
found on the train. The column ended with the statement that Mr.
Santoine had passed through Minneapolis and gone on to Chicago under
care of Dr. Douglas Sinclair.

Eaton stared at the newspaper without reading, after he saw that. He
thought first--or rather, he felt first--for himself. He had not
realized, until now that he was told that Harriet Santoine had
gone,--for if her father had gone on, of course she was with him,--the
extent to which he had felt her fairness, almost her friendship to him.
At least, he knew now that, since she had spoken to him after he was
first accused of the attack on her father, he had not felt entirely
deserted or friendless till now. And with this start of dread for
himself, came also feeling for her. Even if they had taken her father
from the other end of this car early in the night to remove him to
another special car for Chicago, she would be still watching beside him
on the train. Or was her watch beside the dying man over now? And
now, if her father were dead, how could Harriet Santoine feel toward
the one whom all others--if not she herself--accused of the murder of
her father? For evidently it was murder now, not just "an attack."

But why, if Santoine had been taken away, or was dead or dying, had
they left Eaton all night in the car in the yards? Since Santoine was
dying, would there be any longer an object in concealing the fact that
he had been murdered?

Eaton turned the page before him. A large print of a picture of
Harriet Santoine looked at him from the paper--her beautiful, deep eyes
gazing at him, as he often had surprised her, frankly interested,
thoughtful, yet also gay. The newspaper had made up its lack of more
definite and extended news by associating her picture with her father's
and printing also a photograph of Donald Avery--"closely associated
with Mr. Santoine in a confidential capacity and rumored to be engaged
to Miss Santoine." Under the blind man's picture was a biography of
the sort which newspaper offices hold ready, prepared for the passing
of the great.

Eaton did not read that then. The mention in the paper of an
engagement between Avery and Harriet Santoine had only confirmed the
relation which Eaton had imagined between them. Avery, therefore, must
have gone on with her; and if she still watched beside her father,
Avery was with her; and if Basil Santoine was dead, his daughter was
turning to Avery for