At the Time Appointed

Just as the faint respirations had become almost imperceptible, Whitcomb

opened his eyes, looking straight into Darrell's eyes with eager

intensity, his face lighted with the winning smile which Darrell had

already learned to love. His lips moved; Darrell bent his head still

lower to listen.

"Kate,--you will see her," he whispered. "Tell her----" but the sentence

was never finished.

Deftly and gently as a woman Darrell did the little which remained to be

done for his young friend, closing the eyes in which the love-light

kindled by his dying words still lingered, smoothing the dishevelled

golden hair, wondering within himself at his own unwonted tenderness.

"An awful pity for a bright young life to go out like that!" said a

voice at his side, and, turning, he saw Parkinson.

"How did it happen?" the latter inquired, recognizing Darrell for the

first time in the dim light.

Briefly Darrell gave the main facts as he had witnessed them, saying

nothing, however, of his having seen the face of the murderer.

"Too bad!" said Parkinson. "He ought never to have made a bluff of that

sort; there were too many odds against him."

"He was impulsive and acted on the spur of the moment," Darrell replied;

adding, in lower tones, "the mistake was in giving one so young and

inexperienced a commission involving so much responsibility and danger."

"You knew of the money, then? Yes, that was bad business for him, poor

fellow! I wonder, by the way, if it was all taken."

At Darrell's suggestion a thorough search was made, which resulted in

the finding of a package containing fifteen thousand dollars which the

thief in his haste had evidently overlooked. This, it was agreed, should

be placed in Darrell's keeping until the arrival of the train at Ophir.

Gradually the crowd dispersed, most of the passengers returning to their

berths. Darrell, knowing that sleep for himself was out of the question,

sought an empty section in another part of the car, and, seating

himself, bowed his head upon his hands. The veins in his temples seemed

near bursting and his usually strong nerves quivered from the shock he

had undergone, but of this he was scarcely conscious. His mind,

abnormally active, for the time held his physical sufferings in

abeyance. He was living over again the events of the past few

hours--events which had awakened within him susceptibilities he had not

known he possessed, which had struck a new chord in his being whose

vibrations thrilled him with strange, undefinable pain. As he recalled

Whitcomb's affectionate familiarity, he seemed to hear again the low,

musical cadences of the boyish tones, to see the sunny radiance of his

smile, to feel the irresistible magnetism of his presence, and it seemed

as though something inexpressibly sweet, of whose sweetness he had

barely tasted, had suddenly dropped out of his life.