Two Boys and a Fortune Part 35

"Syd, what do you mean?"

Rex looked at his brother in deep perplexity, his handsome brow wrinkled with the anxiety Sydney's appearance and demeanor were causing him.

"You will know soon enough, Reggie, and then promise me that you will try to think of me as friendly as you can; not give away utterly to your contempt. It was partly for y--. No, I will not say that. No, go home, Rex. Tell mother I am all right, and will be back some time to-night, and not to worry."

"But you ought not to stay here and work, Syd," Rex persisted. "You are not fit to do it."

"I must do what I've set out to do." Sydney's voice was almost stern as he made this reply.

Rex saw that it was useless to linger, and went sadly home. Something dreadful had evidently come over Sydney. What it was he did not pretend to know. But he made up his mind not to tell the family all that Sydney had said.

It was nearly nine that night before the young lawyer finished the letter to Mrs. Fox to suit him. He dropped it in the corner letter box on his way home, and then stepped in at a restaurant to at least go through the form of eating something.

"When shall I tell them at home about it?" was his one thought, and the ever recurring echo to it was, "Not yet! not yet!"

Almost his greatest trial of the day was forcing himself to remain in the library a half hour after he reached the house, and trying to appear himself. He was conscious that Rex was watching him closely.

But it was natural for him to plead fatigue after a hard day's work.

He locked himself in his room after he reached it. With hands tightly pressed against his forehead, he sank into a chair.

"I foresaw all this," he muttered. "I knew that I must always suffer.

That what I did was done for others is no excuse; and now they must suffer, too."

He slept this night from sheer exhaustion, but the sleep was much disturbed by dreams, in all of which a white haired old lady with the face of a fox seemed to be trying to do him some bodily injury.

The next day he seemed to exist for nothing but the arrival of the mails. But night came, and no response to his letter to Mrs. Fox.

The following morning he tried to get up, but his head was so dizzy that he was forced to drop back on the pillow again. Fortunately he had not locked his door this time, so that when they came to inquire about him, they were able to get in.

It was Roy who came first.

"My mail from the office," was all Sydney had strength to say when he saw him.

"Yes, I will bring it for you," replied Roy, and he decided to give up school for the day.

The doctor was summoned again, and prescribed perfect quiet, but after he had gone, Sydney asked so persistently if Roy had come with his letters, that when he did arrive, Mrs. Pell thought that the quickest way to quiet the patient was to let him come in with them.

"I only want to see one of them," Sydney whispered quickly, as Rex took a seat by the bedside, some dozen letters in his lap.

"Which one, Syd?" asked Roy, gently.

"It is from an old lady-- a Mrs. Fox. It will probably be in a plain envelope."

"Perhaps this is it, then. Shall I open it and see?"

"No, no. Give it to me," replied Sydney quickly.

He took the envelope and the knife Roy handed to him, but his fingers trembled so that he could do nothing.

"I shall have to let you open it after all, Roy," he said, and handed them both back.

Roy slit the end of the envelope in a second, and once more put it into his brother's hands. With dilated eyes and breath coming in brief gasps, Sydney drew out the inclosure.

He unfolded it and looked eagerly at the signature.

"I can't see quite clearly, Rex," he said after an instant. "Is that Fox signed to this?"

"Yes. Hannah M. Fox."

"Thank you." Sydney turned to the front page and began to read.

Suddenly he gave a little cry.

"I can't see the words, Roy," he said. "Something is the matter with my sight. You will have to read it to me. Never mind if some of the things it says sound strange to you. I will explain them by and by.

Here."

Roy took the letter, and read as follows:

Mr. Sydney F. Pell.

Dear Sir:-- Come tomorrow night at midnight. Don't ring. Knock lightly on the door. Yours truly,

Hannah M. Fox.

"And that is to-night," murmured Sydney. "How can I go?"

CHAPTER XXIX

A MIDNIGHT VISIT

"Do you want me to write a note for you saying you can't come?" said Roy.

"No, no. I must go," replied Sydney.

"But you can't," Roy was about to answer. Then he checked himself, and said instead: "Well, perhaps you will be well enough to go to-night.

Is it far?" for there was no address given in the letter.

"No, not very. It is right in the city here. But you can't write for me. The old lady mustn't know that you've seen her letter. She'd notice the difference in the handwriting. But midnight! What a queer time to appoint. It's just like her, though. Now I will try and get some sleep so as to help prepare myself for to-night."

The receipt of the letter appeared to have eased Sydney's mind somewhat, for he slept until well on in the afternoon, and then he woke feeling somewhat better.

"I can go to-night, Roy, after all," he said to his brother cheerfully.

But Roy did not see how he could go. Still he thought it was best not to say anything till the time came.

Just before night, Sydney called Roy to the bedside.

"Order a coupe for me to be here at half past eleven to-night," he said.