The Man Thou Gavest

confused him; the crowds irritated him. When he remembered the few weeks that lay between the present and the days when he was part and parcel of this so-called life, he experienced a sensation of ha

be with settled ideas, de

return, and while his plans, nicely arranged, seemed feasible the actual readjustment struck him as lurid and impossible. The fact was that his experience of life in Pine Cone made him now shrink from contact with the outside world as one of its loyal natives might have done. It could no more survive in the garish light of a city day than little Nella-Rose coul

ear, north wind. Brace was at the New York station-Brace with the armour of familiarity and unbounded friendliness. "Old Top!" he called Tru

hundred and sixty. And look at your paw! Why, it's callous and act

been read, of course, but there was a letter found in your uncle's desk that commanded-that's the only word to express it, really-Lynda and you and me to come to

in the delivery of the telegram. Such things do not count down where

imate of your uncle. Since his-his going, we've seen him, Lyn and I, in a

already!" Conning said, l

t she's managed to make a home

le seemed to take in the whole picture at once. Behind the girl lay the warm, bright hall that had always been so empty and drear in his boyhood. It was furnished now. Already it had the look

me hom

They could not understand, of course, but every word and tone of appropriation seemed an insult to the reality that he knew existed. He no longer belonged to them, to the li

illed with pity and sympathy shone in her eyes. She led him to the library and there familiarity greeted him-the room

e until dinner-talked of indifferent things,

ynda explained, "are the same. For the

h had never been furnished in the past; like much of the house it had been a sad tribute to the empti

xplained Lynda; "a dining room should be the

nterfere with your appetite!" They were all trying to keep cheerful u

nticipation of play upon his emotions. By tacit consent the low chair was left vacant and by

e said, huskily, "

my mother! He bought this house hoping she would come and, as its mistress, make it beautiful. When my mother married my father, nothing mattered-nothing about the house, I mean. Before my mother died she told me-to be kind to Uncle William. She, in a sacred way, left him to me; me to him. That was one of the things I told him that last night. I wish I had told him long ago!" The words were passionate and remorseful. "Oh, it might have eased his pain and loneliness. When shall we ever learn to say the right thing when it is most needed? W

w where he sat, Br

as the only suggestion he had to offer i

ale said heavily. "Go o

ember your

es

ared that too much e

in to un

From his detachment and loneliness he planned-almost plotted-for you, but he did not tell you. It would

e told me that. He left his servants and employees generous annuities. He left me this house-for my mother's sake. He insisted that it should be a home at last. A large sum is provided for its furnishing and upkeep-I'm a trustee! The most beautiful

hat presented itself-"he's left me a thousand dollars as a token o

ot understood in the past, he could not express himself now. He was suffering the tortur

and Thomas put him to bed. He asked for some medicine that i

red that. Good God!" The tragedy and loneliness clutched h

e; he-he told me that he was going on a long journey he had often contemplated-I did not understand then! I fancy the-the journey was very short. There was no suffering. I wish you could ha

"Thank you, Lynda. I did not realize h

h glow. Brace shook the ashes from his pipe upon t

here and feel-friendless. This is my trust; it shall be as he wished it, and I mean to have my own life, too! Why, the house is big enough for us all to live our live

his feet, then, hands pl

not until the will is read. I think I shall go back-I left

e is a great deal of business: many interests of your uncle's that he expected you to represent in his name-to

ack," he spoke almost harshly. "I will arrange affairs somehow. I'm

r owe him that, I fancy. You know you cannot run to cover just now, old man. This has been a jog, but by morning you'll reconsider and play your part." There was a new note in Kendall's voice. It was a call to something he hoped w

at I should. My body's all right but my nerves still jangle at a shock. To-morrow the whole thing will settle into shape. You and Lynda have been-well-I cannot express what I feel." He pau

room that was yours is yours still. I saw to it myself that not a book or picture was displ

old way. His eyes were dim and he said hoarsely: "That's about

surrounding him seemed impossible. To-morrow he would explain everything. It was this slowness in reaching a

d to his maturer years. The pictures on the walls-the few shabby books that had drifted into his lonely and misunderstood childhood-remained. There was the locked box containing, Conning knew full well, the pitiful but sacred attempts at self-expression. The key was gone, but he recollected every scrap of

now," he thought. "After to-

d his work. He did not consider the rest of his uncle's estate, it did not matter. Lynda was provided for and so was he. And then, for the first time in many days, Truedale speculated upon bringing

imed; "the coming back unsettled me for the

caught and held Truedale's imagination. He tried to recall the lines, but only the theme wa

h man's "interpretation" of the story already wr

er one chose to call it. One followed the path upon which one's feet had been set. One might

house was still at last-deathly still

g forth from his uncle's house to this night of return. He tried to understand himself, to estimate the man he was. In no egotistical sense did h

g self-respect with it. He re-lived the barren years when, longing for love and companionship, he found solace in a cold pri

ation-not indifferent action. He hid, from all but the Kendalls, his private ambitions and hopes. He studied in order that he might shake himself free from his uncle's hold upon him. He meant to pay every cent he had borrowed-to secure, by some position t

efeated-old longings for love, understanding and self-revealment arose and conquered the weak creature he was. But they had appealed to the best in him

" thought Truedale. "I have chosen my own course-chosen the simple and best things life has to offer.

om him as he faced the demands of the morrow. He was never again to succumb to the lack of confidence his deso