If anything should happen to me, my attorney, William Faye, 149 Broadway, will attend to everything for you.  He is also my executor.

“Most of what I have, would have come to you by law, anyway, Margaret, for you are ’my nearest of kin’—­isn’t that the way the law puts it?  But you might have some unpleasantness from those Pennsylvania cousins of ours, so I have protected you against such a contingency.

  “And now, Margaret, good-by and God bless you.

  “Your affectionate cousin, Jack.”

I finished the letter with a numb feeling at my heart.  It seemed to me as if one of the foundations of my life had given away.

When Jack had left me after that miserable reunion dinner where he had been hurt so cruelly by the news of my marriage during his year’s absence, he had said—­ah, how well I remembered the words—­“I shall not see you again, dear girl, unless you need me, if you ever do.  I can’t be near you without loving you and hating your husband, whoever he may be, and that is a dangerous state of affairs.  But wherever I am, a note or a wire to the Hotel Alfred will be forwarded to me, and if the impossible should happen, and your husband, ever fail you, remember Jack is waiting, ready to do anything for you.”

I had not expected to see Jack for months, perhaps years, but the knowledge of his faithfulness, of his nearness, had been of much comfort to me.  And now he was going away, probably to his death.

The most bitter knowledge of all, was that which forced itself upon my mind.  Jack was going to the war because he was unhappy over my marriage.  He had not said so, of course, in the letter which he knew my husband must read, but I knew it.  The remembrance of his face, his voice, when I told him of my marriage was enough.  I did not need written words to know that perhaps I was sending him to his death!

I glanced at the clock—­11:15.  Only three-quarters of an hour till the train which was bringing my mother-in-law to our home was due!  She would be in the house within three-quarters of an hour!  Would I have time to dress, go after the flowers and cream we needed for luncheon and be back in time to welcome her?

Common sense whispered to omit the flowers, and send Katie for the cream.  But one of my faults or virtues—­I never have been able to decide which—­is the persistence with which I stick to a plan, once I have decided upon it.  I made up my mind to take a chance on getting back in time.

I made my purchases and on my way back I stepped into the corner drug store and telephoned Jack.  He would not hear of my seeing him sail, and he would not promise to write me.  Then there was a long silence.  I wondered what he was debating with himself.

“I am going to let you in on a little secret,” he said at last.  “I have provided myself with the means of knowing how you fare, and I suppose I ought to let you have the same privilege.  You know Mrs. Stewart, who keeps the boarding house where you and your mother lived so many years?”