No one saw the sudden crimson that dyed Lynda’s white face and throat.  “He was very fantastic about that.  He made certain arrangements that were to take effect at once.  He has left you three thousand a year, Con, without any restrictions whatever.  He 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 thing, perhaps, was the thought expressed in these words of his, ’I want you to do your mother’s work and mine, while still following your own rightful desires.  Make this house a place of welcome, peace, and friendliness!’ I mean to do my best, Con.”

“And he’s left me”—­Brace found relief in the one touch of humour that presented itself—­“he’s left me a thousand dollars as a token of his appreciation of my loyalty to you, when you most needed it.”

But Truedale hardly heeded.  His eyes were fixed upon the empty chair and, since he had not understood in the past, he could not express himself now.  He was suffering the torture that all feel when, too late, revealment makes clear what never should have been hidden.

“And then”—­Lynda’s low, even voice went on—­“he sent me away and Thomas put him to bed.  He asked for some medicine that it seems he always had in case of need; he took too much—­and—­”

“So it was suicide!” Truedale broke in desperately.  “I feared that.  Good God!” The tragedy and loneliness clutched his imagination—­he seemed to see it all, it was unbearable!

“Con!” Lynda laid her firm hand upon his arm, “I have learned to call it something else.  It has helped me; perhaps it will help you.  He had waited wearily on this side of the door of release; 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 have seen the peace and majesty of his face!  He could wait no longer.  Nothing mattered here, and all that he yearned for called loudly to him.  He simply opened the door himself—­and went out!”

Truedale clasped the hand upon his arm.  “Thank you, Lynda.  I did not realize how kind you could be,” was all he said.

The logs fell apart and filled the room with a rich glow.  Brace shook the ashes from his pipe upon the hearth—­he felt now that he could trust himself.

“For the future,” Lynda’s calm voice almost startled the two men by its practicability and purpose, “this is home—­in the truest, biggest sense.  No one shall even enter 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 lives and not interfere with each other.  I mean to bring my private business here in the rooms over the extension.  I’ll keep the uptown office for interviews.  And you, Con?”