It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of my journey had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her.  It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it.  I told her I loved her, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word or deed.

I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense, and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it by mentioning and apologising for it.

I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder—­the left shoulder.  It was an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had pondered the matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise to exhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorish indiscretion.  It was the only straw on which I could float an apology for a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case by mentioning it.

Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and assuring her of my undying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted the persuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.

I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer to it.

Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival.  Before he passed away he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern town where he was born.  He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golf links, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir.  Thus by the death of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocks and other property for which I have no use.

Of what special use is property to me?  It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire.  I would rather—­oh, what’s the use of writing that?

As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale.  I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure.  It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.

I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house, and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight.  She was there!  Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?  Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.

As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to Oak Cliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first had called me “Jacques Henri.”  How happy I was that day!  I thought of the terrors of the tornado and would have given all that I possessed to live through it again with her.

Handing my bags to the porter I hastened toward the club house.  I was hurrying across the edge of the eighteenth green when someone shouted to me.

“Hello, Smith!”

I turned and saw Marshall and Chilvers.  Marshall pitched his ball to the green with more than his usual deliberation, and then they came toward me and I advanced to meet them.