Norman and his wife were now living with old Mrs. Wentworth, and they had all invited her to come to them; but she had declined.  Keith was much disturbed.

Lois, however, was nearer than Keith dreamed.

Her aunt’s death had stricken Lois deeply.  She could not bear to go to
New York.  It stood to her only for hardness and isolation.

Just then a letter came from Dr. Balsam.  She must come to him, he said.  He was sick, or he would come for her.  An impulse seized her to go to him.  She would go back to the scenes of her childhood:  the memories of her father drew her; the memory also of her aunt in some way urged her.  Dr. Balsam appeared just then nearer to her than any one else.  She could help him.  It seemed a haven of refuge to her.

Twenty-four hours later the old Doctor was sitting in his room.  He looked worn and old and dispirited.  The death of an old friend had left a void in his life.

There was a light step outside and a rap at the door.

“It’s the servant,” thought the Doctor, and called somewhat gruffly, “Come in.”

When the door opened it was not the servant.  For a moment the old man scarcely took in who it was.  She seemed to be almost a vision.  He had never thought of Lois in black.  She was so like a girl he had known long, long ago.

Then she ran forward, and as the old man rose to his feet she threw her arms about his neck, and the world suddenly changed for him—­changed as much as if it had been new-created.

From New York Keith went down to the old plantation to see his father.  The old gentleman was renewing his youth among his books.  He was much interested in Keith’s account of his yachting-trip.  While there Keith got word of important business which required his presence in New Leeds immediately.  Ferdy Wickersham had returned, and had brought suit against his company, claiming title to all the lands they had bought from Adam Rawson.

On his arrival at New Leeds, Keith learned that Wickersham had been there just long enough to institute his suit, the papers in which had been already prepared before he came.  There was much excitement in the place.  Wickersham had boasted that he had made a great deal of money in South America.

“He claims now,” said Keith’s informant, Captain Turley, “that he owns all of Squire Rawson’s lands.  He says you knew it was all his when you sold it to them Englishmen, and that Mr. Rhodes, the president of the company, knew it was his, and he has been defrauded.”

“Well, we will see about that,” said Keith, grimly.

“That’s what old Squire Rawson said.  The old man came up as soon as he heard he was here; but Wickersham didn’t stay but one night.  He had lighted out.”

“What did the squire come for?” inquired Keith, moved by his old friend’s expression.

“He said he came to kill him.  And he’d have done it.  If Wickersham’s got any friends they’d better keep him out of his way.”  His face testified his earnestness.