returned to Mr. Trevlyn.

"Margie!" he said, feebly, "Margie, come here." She flew to his side.

"I want you to send for Archer Trevlyn," he said with great difficulty.

She made a gesture of surprise.

"You think I am not quite right in my mind, Margie, that I should make
that request. But I was never more sane than at this moment. My mind was
never clearer, my mental sight never more correct. I want to see my
grandson."

Margie despatched a servant with a brief note to Archer, informing him
of his grandfather's desire, and then sat down to wait his coming.

It was a wild, stormy night in March; the boisterous wind beat against
the old mansion, and like a suffering human thing, shrieked down the
wide, old-fashioned chimneys.

In a lull of the storm there was a tap at the chamber door. Margie opened
it, and stood face to face with Archer Trevlyn.

"Come in," she whispered, "he is asleep."

"No, I am not asleep," said the sick man; "has my grandson come?"

"He is here," said Margie. "I will leave him with you, dear guardian. Let
him ring for me when you want me."