But it was the bitterness of pain, not of reproach, she knew.

She said: "Why didn't you let me come up with you? Why didn't you send
for me?"

"I've been busy doing a thing that no one could help me with. I've been
burning my dreams." He pointed to a smoldering heap of ashes on the
hearth.

"Terry!"

"Yes, all the Colby pictures that I've been collecting for the past
fifteen years. I burned 'em. They don't mean anything to anyone else, and
certainly they have ceased to mean anything to me. But when I came to
Anthony Colby--the eighteen-twelve man, you know, the one who has always
been my hero--it went pretty hard. I felt as if--I were burning my own
personality. As a matter of fact, in the last couple of hours I've been
born over again."

Terry paused. "And births are painful, Aunt Elizabeth!"

At that she cried out and caught his hand. "Terry dear! Terry dear! You
break my heart!"

"I don't mean to. You mustn't think that I'm pitying myself. But I want
to know the real name of my father. He must have had some name other than
Black Jack. What was it?"

"Are you going to gather his memory to your heart, Terry?"