To my vast satisfaction they melted away, save only a few of the idlest spirits, who hung about the gate, and cheered as we drove off.  Mr. Stewart was very nervous, and profuse in his gratitude.  I replied that I had acted only as would have any other responsible citizen.  On the way he told me enough of his case to convince me that there was much to be said on his side, but I thought it the better part of wisdom not to commit myself.  The street in front of the committee rooms was empty, and I was informed that a town meeting had been called immediately at the theatre in West Street.  And I advised Mr. Stewart to attend.  But through anxiety or anger, or both, he was determined not to go, and drove back to his house without me.

I had got as far as St. Anne’s, halfway to the theatre, when it suddenly struck me that Mr. Swain must be waiting for news.  With a twinge I remembered what Mr. Chase had said about the barrister’s condition, and I hurried back to Gloucester Street, much to the surprise of those I met on their way to the meeting.  I was greatly relieved, when I arrived, to find Patty on the porch.  I knew she had never been there were her father worse.  After a word with her and her mother, I went up the stairs.

It was the hour for the barrister’s nap.  But he was awake, lying back on the pillows, with his eyes half closed.  He was looking out into the garden, which was part orchard, now beginning to shrivel and to brown with the first touch of frosts.

“That is you, Richard?” he inquired, without moving.  “What is going forward to-day?”

I toned down the news, so as not to excite him, and left out the occurrence in Hanover Street.  He listened with his accustomed interest, but when I had done he asked no questions, and lay for a long time silent.  Then he begged me to bring my chair nearer.

“Richard,—­my son,” said he, with an evident effort, “I have never thanked you for your devotion to me and mine through the best years of your life.  It shall not go unrewarded, my lad.”

It seemed as if my heart stood still with the presage of what was to come.

“May God reward you, sir!” I said.

“I have wished to speak to you,” he continued, “and I may not have another chance.  I have arranged with Mr. Carroll, the barrister, to take your cause against your uncle, so that you will lose nothing when I am gone.  And you will see, in my table in the library, that I have left my property in your hands, with every confidence in your integrity, and ability to care for my family, even as I should have done.”

I could not speak at once.  A lump rose in my throat, for I had come to look upon him as a father.  His honest dealings, his charity, of which the world knew nothing, and his plain and unassuming ways had inspired in me a kind of worship.  I answered, as steadily as I might: 

“I believe I am too inexperienced for such a responsibility, Mr. Swain.  Would it not be better that Mr. Bordley or Mr. Lloyd should act?”