Dicky bent his face so quickly to mine that I could not catch his expression.  He kissed me tenderly, and, kneeling down by the side of the bed, gathered my head up against his shoulder.

“Cry it all out, if you want to, sweetheart,” he said, and I fancied the tension was gone from his voice.  “It will do you good.”

So, “cry it out” I did, against the blessed shelter of my husband’s shoulder.  And the tears seemed to wash away all the shock of the news I had, heard, all the bitter, morbid remorse I had felt, all the secret wonder as to whether I might have loved and married my brother-cousin if Dicky had not come into my life.  There was left only a sane, sisterly sorrow for a loved brother’s death, and a tremendous surge of love for my husband, and gratitude for his tenderness.

“Try to sleep if you can,” he said.

I tried to obey his injunction, but I could not.  I could see the hands of my little bedroom clock, and after the longest quarter of an hour I had ever known I turned restlessly on my pillow.

“It’s no use, Dicky,” I said, “I cannot go to sleep.  I would rather talk.  Tell me, did Mrs. Stewart’s voice sound as if she were much upset?  She is an old woman, you know, and she was very fond of Jack.”

Dicky hesitated, and a curious, intent expression came into 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.