He heard them again when a case was reported to him of a man living in one of his tenement-houses, who could not pay his rent because he was too ill to work, and could not hope to recover in his present surroundings.  The stifling heat of the crowded tenement was killing him.  In his weakened condition he was slowly sinking under his burden of debt and worry, and the thought that his helpless family was almost starving and would be left uncared for when he died.

Mr. Forbes turned away with an impatient frown from his collector’s report, but that voice from far Samoa seemed to speak again.  It was Tusitala’s, and again he saw the road dug to last for ever, in the white light of the tropic skies.  He sat with his head on his hand a moment, and then, slowly reaching for his check-book filled out a blank, signed it, and sealed it in an envelope.

Pushing it toward his astonished collector, he said:  “Here, Miller, take that down to Wiggins, and tell him I said to pick up himself and family, and go down to the seashore for a couple of weeks.  It will put them all on their feet again to get out of that place into the salt air, and, wait a minute, Miller,”—­as the collector moved off,—­“take him a receipt for two months’ rent.”

Miller walked away, speechless with astonishment, but he had found his tongue by the time he got back.  He went into the private office, hat in hand, and waited patiently until Mr. Forbes looked up.

“Well?”

“Wiggins says to tell you, sir, that he will write to you to-morrow, but if you’ll excuse me, sir, for meddling in what is none of my business, I’d like you to know before then what a little heaven on earth you have made in that tenement-house.  Wiggins was so weak he could hardly sit up, and he cried for pure joy, at the thought of getting away.  He says he knows it will save his life.  He kept wringing my hand, over and over, and saying, ’It isn’t just the money and all that it will do for me in the way of unloading me of that debt and getting my strength back, but it’s the kindness of it, Miller, the heavenly kindness of it!  Doing all this for me as if he had been my brother!’”

“Thank you, Miller,” said Mr. Forbes, waving him hastily aside and turning again to his letters.  He seemed impatient, but there was a glow in his heart that made the world seem pleasanter all day.

On his way home he stopped at a jeweller’s, and selected a little ring.  It was only a simple twist of gold tied in a lover’s knot, but inside he had them engrave the word, "Tusitala," and ordered it sent to the hotel that evening.

Late that night it was brought up to his room, where he sat writing a letter to Eugenia.  He had just finished the paragraph:  “I am sending you by this mail a sort of talisman.  Maybe the daily sight of it on your finger will be a helpful reminder of that noble life that shall never be forgotten, while the Road of the Loving Heart endures.  It is so easy to forget to take time to be kind.  I find it so in my daily rush of business.  I shall carry your letter with me as a reminder.  Tell your little friend Betty so.  The ripple she started will circle farther than she ever dreamed.”