him alone with her invalid, sat down by the Count’s bedside. He told him in detail of what he had done since leaving the ship. The information cheered the sick man and brought a brighter look into his tired eyes. He pressed the young man’s hand gratefully. “I trust you implicitly, dear friend,” he murmured.
Morton smiled and promised that he would wire and write whenever he could do so without endangering the attainment of his ultimate object. He begged him to be of good cheer and to be patient—all would end well. His father’s agent had instructions to be at the Count’s service. Mr. Kelly, Morton’s agent, would call on him from time to time, and he begged Count Rondell to make liberal use of his time.
The old man could not speak, so overcome was he with emotion; but he pressed Morton’s hands and looked the gratitude he felt.
The hour had now approached when Morton must