34. A message from the past. It was my mother's own girlhood-trunk, one in which she had kept her treasures and mementos all her life. The chief delight of my childhood had been sitting by her side when she took out the different things from it and showed them to me. Dear, thoughtful little mother of mine, almost the last thing she did before her strength failed her utterly was to repack the little trunk, wrapping and labeling each thing it contained, and putting into it only the things she knew I would not use, but wished to keep as memories of her and of my own childhood. I do not wish you to have to look over these things while your grief is still fresh for me," she had said, with the divine thoughtfulness that mothers keep until the last breath they draw. There is nothing in it that you will have to look at for years if you do not wish to do so, that is, except one package that I am going to tell you about now. She stopped to catch the breath which was so pitifully short in those torturing days before her death, and over her face swept the look of agony which always accompanied any mention by her of my father. "'In the top tray of this trunk,' she said, "'you will find the inlaid lock-box that was your grandmother's, and that you have always admired so much. I do not wish to lay any request or command upon you concerning it. You must be the only judge of your own affairs after I leave you, but I would advise you not to open that box unless you are in desperate straits, or until the time has come when you feel that you no longer harbor the resentment you now feel toward your father." The last words had come faintly through the stiffened white lips, for her labor at packing and the emotional strain of talking to me concerning the future had brought on one of the dreaded heart attacks which were so terribly frequent in the last weeks of her life. We had never spoken of the matter afterward, for she did not leave her bed again until the end. At one time she had motioned me to bring from her desk the old-fashioned key-ring on which she kept her keys.  You know where the others belong.' Then she closed her eyes as if the effort of speaking had exhausted her, as indeed it had. In the wild grief which followed my mother's death, there was no thought of my unknown father except the bitterness I had always felt toward him. I knew that the terrible sorrow he had caused my mother had helped to shorten her life, and my heart was hot with anger against him. I had never opened the trunk since her death. The exciting, almost tragic experiences of my life with Dickie had swept all the old days into the background. I could not analyze the change that had come over me. As I lifted the lid of the trunk and took from the top tray the inlaid box which my mother's hands had last touched, my grief for her was mingled with the strange new longing to find out anything I could concerning the father I had never known. For my daughter Margaret's eyes alone, the superscription on the envelope which I held in my hand stared up at me with all the sentience of a living thing. The letters were in the crabbed, trembling, old-fashioned handwriting of my mother, the last words that she had ever written. It was as if she had come back from the dead to talk to me. With the memory of my mother's advice I hesitated for a long time before breaking the seal. With the letters pressed close against my tear-wet cheeks I sat for a long time, busy with memories of my mother, and debating whether or not I had the right to open the letter. I certainly was not in desperate straits, and I could not conscientiously say that I no longer harbored any resentment toward the father of whom I had no recollection. I felt that never in my life could I fully pardon the man who had made my mother suffer so terribly, but the longing to know something of my father, which I had felt since the coming into my life of Robert Gordon, had become almost an obsession with me. Little mother, I whispered, forgive me if I am doing wrong, but I must know what is in this letter to me. With trembling fingers I broke the seal and drew out the closely written pages which the envelope contained. Mother's only comfort! the letter began, and the sight of the dear familiar words which I had so often heard from my mother's lips, it was the name she had given me when a tiny girl and which she used until the day of her death. Tears again blinded my eyes. When you read this I shall have left you for ever. It is my prayer that when the time comes for you to read it, it will be because you have forgiven your father, not because you are in desperate need. How I wish I could have seen you safe in the shelter of a good man's love before I had to go away from you for ever. Safe in the shelter of a good man's love, I repeated the words thoughtfully, had my mother been given her wish when she could no longer witness its fulfillment? I was angry and humiliated at myself that I could not give a swift, unqualified assent to my own question. A good man, Dicky certainly was, and I was in the shelter of his love at present. But safe would Dicky I was afraid I could never be. Mingled always with my love for him, my trust in him was a tiny undercurrent of uncertainty as to the stability of my husband's affection for me. As I turned to my mother's letter again, there was a tiny pang at my heart at the thought that by my marriage with Dicky I had thwarted the dearest wish of my little mother's heart. For between the lines I could read the unspoken thought that had been in her mind since I was a very young girl. Safe in the shelter of a good man's love meant to my mother only one thing. If she had written the words, Safe in the shelter of Jack Bickett's love, I could not have grasped her meaning more clearly. But my mother's wish must forever remain ungranted. Jack was somewhere in France, and for me, safe or not safe, stable or unstable, Dicky was my man, the only man I had ever loved, the only man I could ever love. For better or worse, the dear old minister had said who performed our wedding ceremony, and my heart reaffirmed the words as I bent my eyes again to the closely written pages I held in my hands. Because you have always been so bitter, Margaret, against your father, and because it has always caused me great anguish to speak of him, I have allowed you to rest under the impression that I have never heard anything concerning him since his disappearance, and that I do not know whether he be living or dead. The last statement is true. For years ago I definitely refused to receive any communication from him. But I must tell you that I believe him to be living, and that I know that living or dead he has provided money for your use if you should ever wish to claim it. The address he last sent me, and that of the firm of lawyers who has the management of the property intended for you, are sealed in envelopes in this box. In it also are all the things necessary to establish your identity by marriage certificate, your birth record, pictures of your father and of me, and of the three of us taken when you were two years old, before the shadow of the awful tragedy that came later had begun to fall. I sprang from my chair, dropping the pages of the letter unheeded in the shock of the revelation they brought to me. My father had planned for me, had provided for me, had tried to communicate with my mother. He must have been repentant. He was not at all the heartless brute I had thought him. As though a cloud had lifted from my life and a weary weight had rolled from my heart, I turned again to mother's letter. Remember, it is my last wish, Margaret, that if your father be living, sometime you may be reconciled to him. I have been weak and bitter enough during all these years to be meanly comforted by your staunch championship of me and your detestation of the wrong your father did me. But death brings clearer vision, my child, and I cannot wish that your father's last years, if indeed he be living, should be desolated by not knowing you. I want you to know that there were many things which, while they did not extenuate your father, yet might in some measure explain his action. I was much to blame, I can see it now, for not being able to hold his love. You are so much like me, my darling, that I tremble for your happiness if you should happen to marry the wrong kind of man. I have wondered often if the story of my tragedy, terrible as it is for me to think of it, might not help you, and yet it might do more harm than good. At any rate, I have written it all out and put it with the other things in the box. I feel a curious sort of fatalism concerning this letter. It is borne in upon me that if you ever need to read it, you will read it. It will help you to understand your father better. It may help you to understand your husband, although God-grant, knowledge like mine, may never come to you. Of one thing I am certain, you will never have anything to do with the woman who abused my friendship and took your father from me.  I can write no more, my darling.   I did not weep when I finished the letter. There was that in its closing words that dried my tears. I put the pages reverently in the envelope, laid it in the old box, closed and locked the lid, and replaced it in the trunk. For my mother's bitter mention of the woman who had stolen my father from her had brought back the old, wild hatred I had felt for so many years. Whatever Robert Gordon can tell me of you, mother darling, I will gladly hear, I whispered, as I locked her old trunk. But I never want to hear him talk of the woman who so cruelly ruined your life. CHAPTER 35 THE WORD OF JACK Oh, pray do not let me disturb you! Mother Graham drew back from the open door of the living room with a little affected start of surprise at seeing me sitting before the fire. Her words were courteous, but her manner brought the temperature of the room down perceptibly. She had managed to keep out of my way in clever fashion since the scene of the day before when she had attacked me concerning the interest taken in me by Robert Gordon. You are not disturbing me in the least, I said pleasantly. I was simply watching the fire. Jim certainly has outdone himself in the matter of logs this time. Yes, he has, she admitted, grudgingly, as she came forward slowly and took the chair I proffered her. I only hope he doesn't set the house afire with such a blaze. I must tell Richard to speak to him about it. Always the pinprick, the absolute ignoring of me as the mistress of the house, I could not tell whether she had deliberately done it or whether long usage to dominance in a household had made her speak as she did unconsciously. I made no reply, and for a long time we sat staring at the fire until Dickie's entrance came as a welcome interruption. I went sedately to the door to meet him, although I was so glad to see him that a dance step would more appropriately have expressed my feelings, and returned his warm kiss and greeting. He kept my hand in his as he came down to the fire, not even releasing it when he kissed his mother, who still maintained the rigid dignity with which she surrounded herself when displeased. Well, Dickie said, manfully ignoring any hint of unpleasantness.  There was a note of forced jollity in his voice that made me look up quickly into his eyes. As they looked into mine, I caught a glimpse of something half-hidden, half-revealed, something fiercely somber, which frightened me. What had happened? I asked myself, with the little clutch at my heart, to make Dickie look at me in this way. I had a longing to take him away where we could be alone. I was glad when my mother-in-law rose stiffly from her chair. If you are too much occupied, Margaret, she remarked, icily, I will go and tell Katie that Richard is here and that she may serve dinner immediately. She swept out of the room majestically, and as the door closed after her, Dickie caught me in his arms and clasped me so closely that I was frightened. Tell me you love me," he said tensely, better than anybody in the world or out of it. His eyes were glowing with some emotion I could not understand. I felt my vague uneasiness of his first entrance deepened into real foreboding of something unknown and terrible coming to me. Why, of course, you know that, sweetheart," I replied, there is no one for me but just you. But what is the matter? Something must be the matter. Where did you get that idea? he evaded. I just wanted to be sure, that's all. Wait here for me. I'll dash up and get some of the dust off in a jiffy before dinner. I spent an anxious interval before he came down, for, despite his denials, I felt that something out of the ordinary must have happened to cause his queer, passionate outburst. When he returned to the living-room, it was with no trace of any emotion, and throughout the dinner, while not so given to conversation as usual, he showed no indication that he was at all disturbed. But I was very glad when dinner was over and we returned to the living-room fire, and when, after a few minutes, my mother-in-law yawned sleepily and went to her room, I drew a deep breath of relief. Dickie drew my chair close to his, and we sat for a long time looking at the leaping flames, only occasionally speaking. It was at the end of a long silence that Dickie turned toward me, with eyes so troubled that all my fear slept up anew. I sprang to my feet. What is it, Dickie? I entreated wildly. Oh, I know something terrible is the matter. He rose from his chair and clasped my hands tightly. I suppose I'd better tell you quickly, dear, he replied. Your cousin, Jack Bickett, is reported killed. Killed, I repeated faintly. Jack Bickett killed? Oh, no, no, Dickie, no, no, no. I heard my own voice rise to a sort of shriek, felt Dickie release my hands and seize my shoulders, and then everything went black before me, and I knew nothing more.  Dickie was trying to force a spoon between my teeth when I opened my eyes. He promptly dropped it, and the brandy it contained trickled down my neck. I raised my hand to wipe it away, and Dickie uttered aloh. Thank God! Oh, she no dead, she alive again! Katie cried out, and threw herself on her knees by my side, sobbing. Get up, Katie, and stop that howling! Dickie spoke sternly. Do you want to get my mother down here? Go upstairs at once and prepare Mrs. Graham's bed for her. I will carry her up directly. Are you all right now, Maj? His tone was anxious, but there was a note of constraint in it which I understood even through the returning anguish at Dickie's terrible news, which was possessing me with returning consciousness. He believed that my feeling for my brother-cousin Jack Bickett was a deeper one than that which I had always professed, a sisterly love for the only near relative I had in the world. This was the reason for his sudden, passionate embrace of me when he entered the house, his demand that I tell him I loved him better than anybody in the world or out of it. He had been jealous of Jack living, he would still be jealous of him dead. But as the realization again swept over me that Jack, steadfast, manly Jack, the only near relative I had, was no longer in the same world with me, that never again would I see his kind eyes, hear his deep earnest voice, all thoughts of anything else but my loss fled from me, and I gave a little moan. I felt Dickie's arm which was around my shoulders shrink away instinctively, then tighten again.  Oh, Dickie, I am sure I can walk! I protested faintly. He stopped and looked at me fixedly. Don't you want my arms around you? He asked, and there was that in his voice which made me answer hastily. Of course I do, but I am afraid I am too heavy. Let me be the judge of that. He returned sternly, and Fort Whith carried me up the stairs, down the hall, and laid me on the bed in my own room. Now you must get that wet gown off! he said practically. Katie emptied nearly a gallon of water over you in her fright. He smiled constrainantly, and I made a brave effort to return the smile, but I could not accomplish it. Indeed, I was glad to be able to keep back the tears which I knew instinctively would hurt him. He undressed me as tenderly as a woman could have done, and wrapping a warm bathrobe over my nightdress, for I was shivering as if from a chill, tucked me in between the blankets of my bed. Then he drew a chair to the bedside, and sat down. Are you sure you're all right now? he asked. Your color is coming back. Perfectly sure, I returned, and I am so sorry to have made you so much trouble. Don't say that! he returned, a trifle sharply. It is so meaningless. Try to sleep a little, can't you? Not yet, Dicky, I returned. I am feeling much better, however. Of course, the shock was terrible at first, for, as you know, Jack was the only brother I ever knew. But I am all right now, and I want you to tell me how you learnt the news. Mrs. Stewart telephoned to me. He said, It seems your cousin gave her, as the next of kin, to be notified in case of his death, and she received the notice this morning. There was nothing but the usual official notification. I caught my breath, stifling the moan that rose to my lips. Somewhere in France lay buried the tenderest heart, the manliest man God ever put into the world, and I had sent him to his death. Despite the comforting assurance Jack had written me just before his departure for France, that his discovery of my marriage, with the consequent blasting of the hope he had cherished for years, had not been the cause of his sailing, I knew he would never have left me if I had not been married. I think Dicky must have read my thoughts in my face, for after a moment he said gently, yet with the tenseness which told me he was putting a rigid control over his voice, you must not blame yourself so harshly. Your cousin would probably have gone to the war, even if circumstances had been different. I was that in Dicky's voice and eyes which told me that he too was suffering. I gathered my strength together, made a supreme effort to put the sorrow and remorse I felt behind me until I could be alone. I knew that I must strive at once to eradicate the false impression my husband had gained as a result of my reception of the news of my brother-cousin's death. So I forced my lips to words which, while not utterly false, yet did not at all reveal the truth of what I was feeling. I know that, Dicky, I returned, and I tried to hold my voice to a conversational tone. He went with his dearest friend, a Frenchman, you know. I had nothing to do with his going. It isn't that which makes me feel as I do.  He was always so good to her, and she loved him so much. Dicky bent his face so quickly to mine that I could not catch his expression. He kissed me tenderly, and kneeling down by the side of the bed, gathered my head up against his shoulder.  It will do you good. So cry it out, I did, against the blessed shelter of my husband's shoulder. And the tears seemed to wash away all the shock of the news I had heard, all the bitter, morbid remorse I had felt, all the secret wonder as to whether I might have loved and married my brother-cousin if Dicky had not come into my life. There was left only a sane sisterly sorrow for a loved brother's death, and a tremendous surge of love for my husband and gratitude for his tenderness. Try to sleep, if you can, he said. I tried to obey his injunction, but I could not. I could see the hands of my little bedroom clock, and after the longest quarter of an hour I had ever known, I turned restlessly on my pillow. It's no use, Dicky, I said. I cannot go to sleep. I would rather talk. Tell me, did Mrs. Stewart's voice sound as if she were much upset? She is an old woman, you know, and she was very fond of Jack. Dicky hesitated, and a curious, intent expression came into his eyes. Yes, I think she was pretty well broken up, he answered, but the thing about which she seemed most anxious was that you should not lose any time in attending to the property your cousin left. I believe he wrote you concerning his disposition of it before he sailed. I looked up startled. Dicky's words brought something to my mind that I had completely forgotten. I was the heiress to all that Jack possessed.  Do you object to my taking this money, Dicky? I asked, and my voice was tense with emotion. Object! the words came from Dicky's mouth explosively. Then he jumped to his feet and paced up and down the room rapidly for a moment or two. His jaw set, his eyes stern. When he stopped by the bed he had evidently recovered his hold on himself. But his words came quickly, jerkily, almost as if he were afraid to trust himself to speak. You are in no condition to discuss this tonight, he said, dropping his hand on my hair. We will speak of it again tomorrow when you have somewhat recovered. Now you must try to go to sleep. I shall have to call a physician if you don't. I lay awake for hours, debating the problem which had come to me. I saw clearly that Dicky did not wish me to take this bequest of Jax. Indeed I knew that he expected me to refuse it, and that he would be bitterly disappointed if I did not do so. My heart was hot with rebellion. It seemed like a profanation of Jax's last wish, like hurling a gift into the face of the dead, to do as Dicky wished. And yet Dicky was my husband. I had sworn to love and honor him. I knew that he felt sincerely, however wrongly, that my acceptance of Jax's gift would be a direct slap at him. I felt as if my heart were being torn in two with my desire to do justice both to the living and the dead. It was not until nearly daylight that the solution of my problem came to me. Then I fell asleep, exhausted, and did not awaken until Dicky came into the room dressed for the journey which he took daily to the city. I wouldn't disturb you, sweetheart, he said. Only it's time for me to go into the studio, and I did not want to leave you without knowing how you are. Oh, have I slept so late? I returned, contritely, springing up in bed. Dicky put me back with the firm hand. Lie still, he commanded, gently. Katie will bring you up some breakfast shortly, and there is no need of your getting up for hours. He bent down to kiss me good-bye. There was a restraint in both his voice and his caress that told me he was still thinking of the conversation of the night before. I put my arms about his neck and drew his face down to mine. Sweetheart, I whispered, I want to tell you what I've decided about Jax's property. Not now, Dicky interrupted hurriedly. Yes, now, I returned decidedly. I am going to accept it. I gripped his hands firmly as I felt them drawing away from mine. But I am not going to use any of it for myself. I will see that it all goes to the orphaned kitties of the soldiers with whom Jack fought. Dicky started, looked at me a bit wildly, then stooped and gathering me to him convulsively pressed a long tender kiss upon my lips. My own girl, he murmured. I shall not forget that you have done this for me. 36 And yet— What's the big idea? Dicky looked up from the breakfast table with a mildly astonished air, as I came hurriedly into the room dressed for the street, wearing my hat and carrying my coat over my arm. I'm going into town with you, I returned quietly. Shopping, I suppose, the words sounded idle enough, but I, who knew Dicky so well, recognized the note of watchfulness in the query. I shall probably go into some of the shops before I return, I said carelessly, but the real reason of my going into the city is Mrs. Stewart. I should have gone to see her yesterday. Dicky frowned involuntarily, but his face cleared again in an instant. It was the second day after he had brought me the terrible news that Jack Bickett, my brother-cousin, was reported killed somewhere in France. I knew that Dicky in his heart did not wish me to go to see Mrs. Stewart, but I also knew that he was ashamed to give voice to his reluctance. When Dicky spoke at last, it was with just the right shade of cordial acquiescence in his voice. Of course you must go to see her, he said, but are you sure you're feeling fit enough? It will try your nerves, I imagine. Far better than Dicky could guess, I knew what the days or deal would be. Mrs. Stewart had been very fond of my brother-cousin. With my mother, she had hoped that he and I would some day care for each other.  That she believed me to be responsible for his going to the war I knew. I dreaded inexpressibly the idea of facing her. But when, after a rather silent trip to the city with Dicky, I stood again in Mrs. Stewart's little upstairs sitting-room, I found only a very sorrowful old woman, not a reproachful one. I thought you'd come to-day, she said, and her voice was tired, dispirited. I felt a sudden compunction seize me that my visits to her had been so few since Jack's going. I couldn't have kept away, I said, and then my old friend dropped my hand, which she had been holding, and sinking into a chair put her wrinkled old hands up to her face. I saw the slow tears trickling through her fingers, and I knelt by her side and drew her head against my shoulder, comforting her as she once had comforted me. Mrs. Stewart was never one to give way to emotion, and it was but a few moments before she drew herself erect, wiped her eyes, and said quietly, I'll show you the cable-gram. She went to her desk and drew out the message, clipped, abbreviated in the puzzling fashion of cable-grams. Regret inform you, bigot killed, action French front, details later. Signed, Killard. Killard? Killard? Where had I heard that name? Then I suddenly remembered, Paul Killard was the friend with whom Jack had gone across the ocean to the Great War. I examined the paper carefully. I thought Dickie said you received the usual official notification, I remarked. That's what I told him, she replied. That's it. But this isn't an official message, I persisted. Why isn't it? I explained the difference haltingly and spoke of the wonderful system of identification in the French army with every man tagged with a metal identification check. You will probably receive the official notification in a few days, I commented.  She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and then, looking at me sharply, closed it again. Reaching out her hand for the cable-gram, she folded it mechanically as if thinking of something far away, then going to her desk, put it away, and stood as if thinking deeply for two or three minutes, which seemed an hour to me. At last I saw her body straighten. She gave a little shake of her shoulders, as if rousing herself, and, turning from the desk, came toward me. I saw that she held in her hand a bundle of letters. I understand that you and Jack made some full agreement that he was not to write to you, and that you were not even to read his letters to me. I'm not expressing my opinion about it, but now that he's gone, I'm going to turn these letters over to you. I'm not blind, you know. Most of them were all really written to you, even if I did receive them. Poor lad! It seems such a pity he should be struck down just as a little happiness seemed coming his way. She put the letters in my hands, and, turning swiftly, went out of the room. I knew her well enough to realize that she would not return until I had read the messages from Jack. But what in the world did she mean by her last words? I drew a big easy chair to the fireside, and began to read the messives. Some were short, some were long, but all were filled with a quiet courage and cheerfulness that I knew had illuminated not only Jack's letters to his old friend, but his life and the lives of others wherever he had been. Every one of them had some reference to me, an inquiry after my health, an injunction to Mrs. Stewart to be sure to keep track of my happiness, a little Kodak print or other souvenir marked, for Margaret, if I do not come back. I felt guilty, remorseful, that I had seen so little of Mrs. Stewart since his departure.  One letter in particular made my eyes brim with sudden tears. The first of it had been cheery, with entertaining little accounts of the few poor bits of humor which the soldiers in the trenches extracted from their terrible everyday round. Along toward the end, a sudden impulse seemed to have swept the writer's pen into a more somber channel. I have been thinking much, dear old friend," he wrote, of the futility of human desires. Life in the trenches is rather conducive to that form of mediation, as you may imagine. You know, none better, how I loved Margaret, how I wanted to make her my wife. I often wonder whether, if I had not delayed so long, fearing my fate too much, I might not have won her. But thoughts like that are worse than useless. Instead, there has come to me a clearer understanding of Margaret, a better insight into the golden heart of her. If she had never met the other man or someone like him, I believe I could have made her happy, kept her contented. But I realize fully that having met him there could never be any other man for her but him. Her love for him is like a flame, transforming her. I could never have called forth such passion from her. I see clearly now how foolish it was in me to have hoped it. There was nothing in the humdrum commonplace brotherly affection which she thought I gave her to arouse the romance which I know slumbers under that calm, cold exterior of hers. Sometimes I query too whether my love for Margaret had that flame-like quality which characterizes her love for her husband. Margaret has always been so much a part of my life that my love for her began, I could not tell when, and grew and strengthened with the years. There never has been any other woman but Margaret in my life. Even if I should ever come out of this living hell, which I doubt, I do not believe there ever will be another. And yet, I have just been summoned for duty. Goodbye, dear friend, until the next time, lovingly yours, Jack Bickett. I late the letter aside with the queer little startled feeling at my heart. Those two little words, and yet, at the end of Jack's letter, gave me much food for thought. Was it possible that before his death Jack had realized that his love for me was not the consuming passion he had thought it, but part took more of the fraternal affection that I had had for him? I hoped for Jack's sake that this was so. And yet, I ran through the rest of the letters rapidly, one the third from the last arrested my attention sharply. Such a pleasant thing happened to me today, Jack wrote, one of the unexpected gleams of sunlight that are so much brighter because of the general gloom against which they are reflected. I was given a week's furlough last Saturday, and went up to Paris with my friend Paul Killard. He had a friend in a hospital on the way there, headed by Dr. Braithwaite, the celebrated surgeon of Detroit. I caught my breath, as well as if I had already read the words I knew what was coming. At an unexpected turn in the corridor I almost knocked over a little nurse who was hurrying toward the office.  I stared back, frankly, for her face was familiar to me, although for the moment I could not tell where I had seen her before. Then, half shyly, she spoke, and her voice matched her eyes. You are Mr. Bicket, are you not, Mrs. Graham's cousin? For a moment I did not realize that Mrs. Graham was Margaret, but that gave me no clue to the identity of the girl. Then all at once it came to me.  So they had met at last, Jack Bicket, my brother cousin, and Catherine Sonnotte, the little nurse who had taken care of my mother-in-law, and whom I had learned to love as a dear friend. Was I glad or sorry, I wondered, as I picked up Jack's letter again, that I had crushed any feeling I might have had in the matter, and had spoken the word to Dr. Brathwaite that resulted in Catherine's joining the eminent surgeon's staff of nurses. It seemed a pity to have these two meet only to be torn apart so soon, by death. I cannot begin to tell you how delighted I was when we recognized each other. You can imagine over here that to one American the meeting with another American, especially if both have the same friends, is an event. Luckily, Miss Sonnotte was just about to have an afternoon off when we met, and if she had an engagement, which she denied, she was kind enough to break it for me. I need not tell you that I spent the most delightful afternoon I have had since coming over here. You can be sure that I at once exerted all the influence I had through my friend Killard and his friend in the hospital to secure as much free time for Miss Sonnotte as possible for the time I was to be on furlough. It is like getting home after being away so long to talk to this brave, sensible, beautiful young girl, for she deserves all of the adjectives. In the two letters which were the last ones numbered by Mrs. Stewart, Jack spoke again and again of the little nurse. Almost the last line of his letter, written after he returned to the front, spoke of her. Little Miss Sonnotte and I correspond, he wrote, and you can have no idea how much good her letters do me. They are like fresh, sweet breezes glowing through the miasma of life in the trenches. I folded the letters, put them back into their envelopes, and arranged them as Mrs. Stewart had given them to me. When she came back into the room, she found me still holding them and staring into the fire. Did you read them all? She asked. Yes, I replied. Don't you think those last ones sounded as if he were really getting interested in that little nurse? She demanded.  She evidently thought that my vanity would be peaked at the thought of Jack becoming interested in any other woman after his lifelong devotion to me. But I flatter myself that my voice was absolutely noncommittal as I answered her. Yes, I do, I agreed, and what a tragedy it seems that he should be snatched away from the prospect of happiness. The words were sincere, I was sure, and yet. A change in Lillian Underwood. Well, children, have you made any plans for Dickie's birthday yet? I nearly fell off my chair in astonishment at the friendliness in my mother-in-law's tones. She had been sulky ever since we had come home from our autumn outing in the Catskills, a sulkiness caused by her resentment of what she chose to consider the indiscreet interest taken in me by Robert Gordon, the mysterious millionaire whom I had discovered to be an old friend of my parents. I shrewdly suspected, however, that her continued resentment was more because Dickie chose to take my part in the matter against her than because of any real feeling toward Mr. Gordon. Nearly a year's experience, however, had taught me how best to manage my mother-in-law. When she indulged herself in one of her frequent tantrums, I adopted a carefully courteous, scrupulously formal attitude toward her and dismissed her from my mind. Thus I saved myself much worry and irritation and deprived her of the pleasure of a quarrel, something which I knew she would be glad to bring on sometimes for the sheer pleasure of combat. Her question was so sudden, her cordiality so surprising, that I could frame no answer. Instead I looked helplessly at Dickie to tell the truth I rather distrusted the sudden amiability. From past experiences I knew that when Mother Graham made a sudden change from sulkiness to cheerfulness she had some scheme under way. Dickie's answer was prompt. That's entirely up to Maj, mother, he said, and smiled at me. Although his mother tried hard, she could not keep the acerbity out of her tones as she turned to me. She always resented any deference of Dickie to my opinion. Well, as Richard has no opinion of his own, what are your plans, Margaret? Why, I have made none so far. I stammered, wishing with all my heart that I had made some definite plan for Dickie's birthday. I could see from my mother-in-law's manner that she had some cherished scheme in mind, and my prophetic soul told me that it would be something which I would not particularly like. Good! she returned. Then I shall not be interfering with any plan of yours. I have already written to Elizabeth asking them to come out here for a week's visit. This is an awful shack, of course, but it is the country, and the children will enjoy the woods and brooks and fields even if it is cold.  Mother, do you mean to say that you have already written to Elizabeth without first consulting Madge as to whether it would be convenient? I trod heavily on his toes under the table in the vain hope that I would be able to stop him from saying the words which I knew would inflame his mother's temper. Failing in that, I hastened to throw a sentence or two of my own into the breach in the desire to prevent further hostilities. Dickie, stop talking nonsense, I said sharply. I am sure Mother Graham, turning to my mother-in-law who sat regarding her son with the most traditional of stony stairs. We shall be delighted to have your daughter and her family. You must tell me how many there are so we can arrange for beds and plenty of bedding. This is a rather draughty house, you know. I am better aware of that than you are," she returned, ungraciously making no response to my proffer of hospitality. Then she turned her attention to Dickie. Richard, she said sternly, I have never been compelled to consult anybody yet before inviting guests to my home, whether it be a permanent or a temporary one. I am too old to begin. I do not notice that you or Margaret take the trouble to consult me before inviting your friends here. Dickie opened his mouth to reply, but I effectually stopped him by a swift kick, which I think found a mark, for he jumped perceptibly and flashed me a wrathful look. I knew that he was thinking of the strenuous objection his mother had made to our entertaining the underwoods and to the proposed visit of Robert Gordon to our home. But I knew also that it was no time to rake up old scores. I foresaw trouble enough in this proposed visit of my relatives-in-law, whom I had never seen, without having things complicated by a row between Dickie and his mother. There was trouble too in all the house-cleaning, the rearrangement of our rooms, and in the laying-in of a stock of provisions, to meet the requirements of the menu for each meal that Mother Graham insisted upon deciding in advance to please her daughter and the children. And then, the day they were to arrive, she received a special delivery letter calmly announcing that they were not coming. But my annoyance was forgotten in Mother Graham's very apparent and other disappointment. When I broke the news to Dickie, he suggested that we have a party anyway, and Mother Graham sweetly acquiesced in our plans to invite the underwoods. Lilian's voice over the telephone, however, made me forget all my contentment, and filled me with misgiving. It was tense, totally unlike her usual bluff, hearty tones, and with an undercurrent in it that spelled tragedy. What is the trouble, Lilian? I asked, as soon as I had heard her greeting. I know something is the matter by your voice. Yes, there is, she replied, but nothing of which I can speak over the phone. Tell me, are you going to have any strangers there to-morrow? How like, Lilian, the bluff, honest speech was. Almost any other woman would have hypocritically assured me that nothing was the matter, but not Lilian Underwood. Nobody but the Durkeys, I assured her, they have already promised to be here. But, Lilian, you surely must get here as soon as you can. I shall be so worried until I see you. If you don't get here early to-morrow morning, I shall come in after you.  I don't mind the Durkeys, but I need you, my dear, very much. Now, I must tell you something. Don't be shocked or surprised when you see me, for I shall be somewhat changed in appearance. Run along to Dickie now. I'll be with you some time to-morrow for noon. Goodbye. I almost forgot to hang up the telephone receiver in my bewilderment. What trouble could have come to Lilian that she needed me? She was the last person in the world to need anyone, I thought. She, whose sterling good sense and unfailing good nature, had helped me so many times. And what change in her appearance did she mean when she cautioned me against being shocked and surprised at seeing her? My anxiety concerning Lilian stayed with me all through the evening. I awoke in the night from troubled dreams of her to equally troubled thoughts concerning her, and my concern was complicated by a message which Dickie received the next four noon. We had barely finished breakfast when the telephone rang, and Dickie answered. Hello? I heard him say. Yes, this is Graham. Oh, Mr. Gordon, how do you do? My heart skipped a beat. Why, that's awfully kind of you, Dickie was saying. But we couldn't possibly accept because we have guests coming ourselves. We expect to have a regular old-fashioned country dinner here at home. But why do you not come out to us? Oh, no, you wouldn't disturb any plans at all. They've been thoroughly upset already. We had planned to have my sister and her family, six in all, spend this holiday with us. But yesterday we found they could not come. So we're inviting what friends we can find who are not otherwise engaged to help us eat up the turkey. You will be more than welcome if you will join us. All right, then. Do you know about trains? Yes, any taxi driver can tell you where we are. Goodbye. I did not dare to look at my mother-in-law as Dickie came toward us after answering Robert Gordon's telephone message. I think Dickie was a trifle afraid also of his mother's verdict, for his attitude was elaborately apologetic as he explained his invitation to me. Your friend Gordon has just gotten in from one of those mysterious voyages of his departs unknown, he said. He was delayed in reaching the city, only got in last night, too late to telephone us. Seems he had some cherished scheme of having us his guests at a blow-out. Wouldn't mind going if we hadn't asked these people here, for they say his little dinners are something to dream about. They're so unique. Of course, there was nothing else for me to do but to invite him out. I thought you wouldn't mind. In Dickie's tone there was a doubtful inflection which I read correctly. He knew of my interest in the elderly man of mystery who had known my parents so well, and I was sure that he thought I would be overjoyed because he had extended the invitation. I was glad that I could honestly disabuse his mind of this idea, for I had a curious little feeling that Dickie disliked more than he appeared to do the attentions paid to me by Mr. Gordon. It was less than an hour before the taxi bearing the first of our guests swung into the driveway, and Lillian and Harry Underwood stepped out. Lillian's head and face were so swathed in veils that I did not realize what the change in her appearance of which he had warned me was, until I was alone with her in my room, which I intended giving up to her and her husband while they stayed. Then, as she took off her hat and veils, I almost cried out in astonishment. For at my first unaccustomed glance, instead of the rouged and powdered face and dyed hair, which to me had been the only unpleasant things about Lillian Underwood, the face of an old woman looked at me, and the hair above it was gray. There were the remnants of great youthful beauty in Lillian's face. Nay more, there were wonderful possibilities when the present crisis in her life, whatever it might be, should have passed. But the effect of the change in her was staggering. Awful, isn't it? she said, coming up to me. No, don't lie to me. As she saw a confused, merciful denial rise to my lips. There are mirrors everywhere, you know. There's one comfort. I can't possibly ever look any worse than I do now. And when my hair gets over the effect of its long years of dying, and my present emotional crisis becomes less tense, I probably shall not be such a fright. But, oh, my dear, how glad I am to be with you. I need you so much just now. She put her head on my shoulder as a homesick child might have done, and I felt her draw two or three long, shattering breaths, the dry sobs which take the place of tears in the rare moments when Lillian Underwood gives way to emotion. I stroked her hair with tender, pitiful fingers, noticing as I did so what ravages her foolish treatment of her hair had made in dresses that must once have been beautiful. Originally of the blonde tint she had tried to preserve, her locks were now an ugly mixture of dull, drab, and gray. As I stood looking down at the head pillowed against my shoulder, I realized what this transformation in Lillian must mean to Harry Underwood. He it was who had always insisted that she follow the example of the gay Bohemian crowd of which he was a leader, and disguise her fleeting youth with dye and rouge.  No one could deny that it disguised her real age, but her best friends, including Dickie and myself, had always felt that the real, mature beauty of the woman was being hidden. Of course, this is terribly rough on Harry, Lillian said at last, raising her head from my shoulder, and speaking in as ordinary and unruffled a tone as if she had not just gone through what in any other woman would have been a hysterical burst of tears. It really isn't fair to him, and under any other conditions in the world I would not do it. He's pretty well caught up about it, so much so that he cannot always control his annoyance when he is speaking about it. But I know you will overlook any little outbreaks of his, won't you? He wanted to come down here with me. You know he's always anxious to see you, or I would have run away by myself. Her tone was anxious, wistful, and my heart ached for her. I could guess that when Harry Underwood could not control his annoyance he could be very horrid indeed. But I winced at her casual remark that her husband was always anxious to see me. Harry Underwood held in restraint by his very real admiration for his brilliant wife had been annoying enough to me. I did not care to think what he might be when enraged at her as I knew he must be now. Nothing of my feeling, however, must I betray to the friend who had come to me for help and comfort. I do closer the arms that had not yet released her. Dear girl, I said softly, don't worry any more about your husband or anything else. Just consider that you've come home to your sister. I'm going to keep you a while, now I've got you, and will straighten everything out. Don't even bother to tell me anything about it until you are fully rested. I can see you've been under some great strain. No one can ever realize how great she returned. You see, what revelation she meant to make to me I did not then learn, for just at that moment a knock sounded on the door, and in answer to my come in, Katie appeared and announced the arrival of the Durkes and Richard Gordon. Revelations of a Wife by Adele Garrison Chapter 38 No Nurse, Just Lilian Tell me, Maj. Dickie's tone was tense, and I recognized the note of jealous anger which generally preceded his scenes. Are you going to have that old goat take you out to dinner? Because if you are— he broke off abruptly, as if he thought an unspoken threat would be more terrifying than one put into words. I knew to what he referred. As hostess, I, of course, should be escorted into dinner by the stranger in our almost family party, Robert Gordon, who was also the oldest man present. Ordinarily Dickie would have realized that his demand to have me change this conventional arrangement was a most ill-bred and inconsiderate thing. But Dickie Sane and Dickie Jealous, however, were two different men. Always before this day Dickie had regarded with tolerant amusement the strange interests shown in me by the elderly man of mystery who had known my mother. But the magnificent chrysanthemums which Mr. Gordon had brought me, dozens of them, costing much more money than the ordinary conventional floral gift to one's hostess ought to cost, had roused his always smoldering jealousy to an unreasoning pitch. Fear of hurting Robert Gordon's feelings was the one consideration that held me back from defying Dickie's mandate. Experience had taught me the best course to pursue with Dickie. If, as I suppose, you are referring to Mr. Gordon, it may interest you to know that I have not the faintest intention of going into dinner with him, I retorted coolly. Lillian wants to talk with him about South America, and I shall have your friend Mr. Underwood as my escort. Gee, how happy you'll be, sneered Dickie, but I could see that he was relieved at my information.  To tell you the truth, I have to fight all the time against becoming too fond of him, I returned mockingly. He can be dangerously fascinating, you know. Dickie laughed in a way that showed me his brainstorm over Robert Gordon had been checked, but there was a startled look in his eyes which changed to a more speculative scrutiny before he moved away. Oh, old Harry's all right, he said. He's my pal, and he never means anything anyway. But I noticed that he said it as if he were trying to convince himself of the truth of his assertion. When I told Harry Underwood that he was to take me into dinner, and we were leading the way into the dining-room, his brilliant black eyes looked down into mine mockingly, and he said, You see, it is fate. No matter how you struggle against it, you cannot escape me. Do I look as if I were struggling? I laughed back, and saw a sudden expression of bewilderment in his eyes followed instantly by a flash of triumph.  I could read plainly enough in his eyes that he thought the assiduous flatteries he had always paid me were commencing to have their result, that I was beginning to recognize the dangerous fascination he was reputed to have for women of every station.  So instead of turning an impassive face to Mr. Underwood's remark, I listened with just the hint of an elusive mischievous smile twisting my lips. No, you don't look very uncomfortable, you look.  I had to exercise all my self-control to keep from laughing in his face. He was such a poser. His simulation of emotion was so melodramatic that I wondered if he really imagined I would be impressed by it. A spirit of mischievous daring stirred in me. Don't tell me just now, I said softly, wait till after dinner. Afraid, he challenged. Perhaps, I countered. He gave my hand, lying upon his arm, a swift, furtive pressure, and released it so quickly that there was no possibility of his being observed. I had no time to rebuke him, had I been so disposed, for we had almost reached our places at the table. I do not remember much of the dinner over which Mother Graham, Katie, and I worked so assiduously, that everything went off smoothly as we had planned, that from the cassaba-melons which were served first to the walnuts of the last course Everything was delicious in flavor, and perfect in service, I was gratefully but dimly aware. For I felt as if I were on the brink of a volcano, not because of Harry Underwood's elaborate show of attention to me, to which I was pretending to respond, much to the disgust of my mother-in-law, but on account of the queer behavior of Robert Gordon. Lillian, who was making a pitifully attempt to bring to the occasion all the airy brightness with which she was want to make any gathering favored by her presence a success, secured only the briefest responses from him, although he had taken her out to dinner. Sometimes he made no answer at all to her remarks, evidently not hearing them. He watched me almost constantly, and so noticeable was his action, that I saw everyone at the table was aware of it. It was a gaze to set anyone's brain throbbing with wild conjectures, so mournful, so elusive it was. The fantastic thought crossed my mind that this mysterious, elderly friend of my dead mothers looked like a long famished man, coming suddenly inside of food. By the time the dinner was over, I was intensely nervous. Katie served us our coffee in the living-room, and when I took mine, my hand trembled so that the tiny cup rattled against the saucer. I rose from my chair and walked to the fireplace, set the cup upon the mantel, and stood looking into the blazing logs Jim had heaped against the old chimney. My guests could not see my face, and I hoped to be able to pull myself together. Ready to have me tell you how you look to me now? said Harry Underwood's voice, softly and sitiously in my ear. I started and moved a little away from him, which brought me nearer to the fire. The next moment I was wildly beating at little tongs of flame running up the flimsy fabric of my dress. I heard horse shouts, shrill screams, felt rough hands seize me, and wrap me in heavy stifling cloth which seemed to press the flame searingly down into my flesh, and then for a little I knew no more. It seemed only a moment that I lost consciousness. When I came back to myself, I was lying on the couch with Lillian Underwood's deft, tender fingers working over me. From somewhere back of me Dickie's voice sounded in a hoarse, gasping way that terrified me. For God's sake, Lill, is she? Lillian's voice, firm, reassuring, answered. No, Dickie, no. She's pretty badly burnt, I fear. But I am sure she will be all right. Now, dear boy, get your mother to her room and make her lie down. Mrs. Durkey and I can take care of Madge better with you all out of the way. Did you get a doctor, Alfred? Coming as soon as he can get here, Alfred Durkey replied. Good! Lillian returned.  Katie, bring a blanket, some sheets, and one of Mrs. Graham's old night-dresses from her room. I shall have to cut the gown. Even through the terrible scorching heat which seemed to envelope my body, I realized that Lillian, as always, was dominating the situation. I could hear the snip of her scissors as she cut away the pieces of burnt cloth and the low-toned directions of Mrs. Durkey which told me that Lillian already had secured our first aid kit and was giving me the treatment necessary to alleviate my pain until the physician should arrive. I am sorry to confess it, but I am a coward where physical pain is concerned. I am not one of those women who can bear the torturing pangs of any illness or accident without an outcry, and struggle as I might, I could not repress the moon which rose to my lips. I know, child! Lillian's tender hands held my writhing ones. Her pitying eyes looked into mine. But she turned from me the next moment in amazement, for Robert Gordon, the mysterious man who had loved my mother, appeared as if from nowhere at her side, twisting his hands together and muttering words which I could not believe to be real, so strange and disjointed were they. I felt that they must be only fantasies of my confused brain. Mr. Gordon, this will never do, Lillian said sternly. I thought I had sent everyone out of the room except Mrs. Durkey. I know, I am going right away again. But I had to come this time. Is she going to die? Not if I can get a chance to attend to her without everybody bothering me. I am very sure she is not seriously injured. Now you must go away! Mr. Gordon fled at once, and Lillian and Mrs. Durkey worked so swiftly and skillfully that when the physician, a kindly elderly practitioner from Quest Haven, arrived, my pain had been assuaged. By his direction I was carried to my own room. I must have fainted before they moved me, for the next thing I remember was the sound of the doctor's voice. There is nothing to be alarmed over. The physician was saying to a shadowy someone at the head of my bed, a someone who was breathing heavily and the trembling of whose body I could feel against the bed. Of course the shock has been severe, and the pain of moving her was too much for her, but she is coming round nicely. You may speak to her now. The shadowy someone moved forward a little, resolved itself to my clearing sight as my husband. He knelt beside the bed and put his lips to my uninjured hand. Sweetheart, sweetheart! He murmured, my own girl! Is the pain very bad? Not now, I answered faintly, trying to smile, but only succeeding in twisting my mouth into a grimace of pain. The flames had mercifully spared my hair and most of my face, but there was one burn upon one side of my throat, extending up into my cheek, which made it uncomfortable for me to move the muscles of my face. Don't try to talk, Dicky replied. Just lie still and let us take care of you. Lil will stay, I know, until we can get a nurse here, won't you, Lil? As a frightened child might do, I turned my eyes to Lilian, beseechingly. No, nurse, just Lilian, I faltered. Lilian stooped over me reassuringly. No one shall touch you but me, she said decisively, and then turning to the physician, said demurely. Do you think I can be trusted with the case, doctor? Most assuredly the physician returned heartily. Indeed, if you can stay, it is most fortunate for Mrs. Graham. Good trained nurses are at a premium just now, and great care will be necessary in this case to prevent disfigurement. A quick stifled exclamation of dismay came from Dicky. Is there any danger of her face being scarred? he asked worriedly. Not while I'm on the job, Lilian returned decisively, and there was no idle boasting in her statement, simply quiet certainty. But there was another note in her voice, or so it seemed to my feverish imagination, a note of scorn for Dicky that he should be thinking of my possible disfigurement when my very life had been in question but a moment before.  Did my husband love me only for what poor claims to palpitude I possessed?  Would I never again witness the admiring glasses Dicky was want to flash at me when I wore something especially becoming? I had often wondered, since my marriage, whether Dicky's love for me was the real lasting devotion which could stand adversity. I knew that no matter how old or gray or maimed or disfigured Dicky might become, he would be still my royal lover. I should never see the changes in him. But if I should suddenly turn an ugly, scarred face to Dicky, would he shrink from me? An epigram from one of the sanest and cleverest of our modern humorists flashed into my mind. Dicky and I read it together only a few weeks before. Heaven help you, madam, if your husband does not love you because of your foibles instead of in spite of them.  This was what she was undergoing, this experience of seeing her husband turn away his eyes from her as if the very sight of her was painful to him. Dicky would never do that, I knew. He had not the capacity for cruelty which Harry Underwood possessed. But I was sure it would torture me more to know that he was disguising his aversion than to see him openly express it. Chapter 39 Harry Calls to Say Goodbye Lilian Underwood kept her promise to Dicky that I should suffer no scar as the result of the burns I received when my dress caught fire on the night of my dinner. Never a patient had a more faithful nurse than Lilian. She had a cot placed in my room where she slept at night and she rarely left my side. I found my inmelidism very pleasant in spite of the pain and inconvenience of my burns. Everyone was devoted to my comfort. Even Mother Graham's acerbity was softened by the suffering I underwent in the first day or two following the accident, although I soon discovered that she was actually jealous because Lilian and not she was nursing me. It is the first time in my life that I have ever found my judgment in nursing set aside as of no value. She said careerlessly to me one day when she was sitting with me while Lilian attended to the preparation of some special dish for me in the kitchen. Oh, Mother Graham, I protested. Please don't look at it that way. You know how careful you have to be about your heart. We wouldn't let you undertake the task of nursing me. It would have been too much for you. Well, if your own mother were alive, I don't believe anyone could have kept her from taking care of you. She returned stubbornly. There was a wistful note in her voice that touched and enlightened me. Beneath all the crestiness of my mother-in-law's disposition, there must lie a very real regard. I tremulously wondered if I might not call it love, for me. My heart warmed toward the lonely, crabbed old woman, as it had never done before.  Mother dear, I said softly, please believe me, it would be no different if my own little mother were here. She, of course, would want to take care of me, but her frailness would have made it impossible. And I want you to know that I appreciate all your kindness. She bent to kiss me. I'm a contankerous old woman sometimes, she said quaveringly, but I am fond of you, Margaret. She released me so abruptly, and went out of the room so quickly that I had no opportunity to answer her. But I lay back on my pillows, warm with happiness, filled with gratitude that in spite of the many controversies in which my husband's mother and I had been involved, and the verbal indignities which she had sometimes heaped upon me, we had managed to salvage so much real affection as a basis for our future relations with each other. The reference to my own little mother, which I had made, brought back to me the homesickness, the longing for her which comes over me often, especially when I am not feeling well. When Lillian returned, she found me weeping quietly. Here, this will never do, she said kindly but firmly. I'm not going to ask you what you were crying about, for I haven't time to listen. I must fix you up to see two visitors, but— She first stole the question I was about to ask. Before you see one of them, I must tell you that Harry and I have about come to the parting of the ways. The parting of the ways, I gassed, Harry and you? Lillian Underwood nodded as calmly as if she had simply announced a decision to alter a gown or a hat, instead of referring to a separation from her husband. It will have to come to that, I'm afraid, she said, and looking more closely at her, I saw that her calmness was only assumed that humiliation and sadness had her in their grip. I have always feared that when the time came for me to be my honest self, instead of a made-up daisy, she smiled wearily as she quoted the childish rhyme. Harry would not be big enough to take it well. Of course I could and would stand all his unpleasantness concerning my altered appearance, but the root of his actions goes deeper than that, I'm afraid. He dislikes children, and I fear that he will object to my having my little girl with me, and if he does—her tone-spelled finality—but I had no time to bestow upon the probable fate of Harry Underwood.  Oh, Lillian! I exclaimed. Are you really going to have your baby girl after all? She nodded, and I held her close with the little prayer of thanksgiving that fate had finally relented and had given to this woman the desire of her heart so long kept from her. I saw now and wondered why I had not realized before the reason for Lillian's sudden abandonment of the rouge and powder and dyed hair which she had used so long. Once she had said to me, when my baby comes home she shall have a mother with a clean face and pepper and salt hair, but until that time I shall play the game with Harry. And so, for Harry's sake, for the man who was not worthy to tie her shoes, she had continued to crucify her real instincts in an effort to hide the worst feminine crime in her husband's calendar—advancing age. When will she come to you? I asked, and then with the sudden remembrance of the only conditions under which Lillian's little daughter could be restored to her, I added, then her father is not dead, but dying, Lillian returned gravely. But oh, my dear, he sent for me two weeks ago and acknowledged the terrible wrong he did me. I am vindicated at last, Maj. At last! Her voice broke, and as she laid her cheek against my hand I felt the happy tears which she must have kept back all through the excitement of my accident. How like her to put by her own greatest experiences as of no consequence when weighed against another's trouble. I kissed her happily. Do you feel that you can tell me about it? I asked. You and Dickie are the two people I want most to know, she returned. Will confessed everything to me, and better still to his mother. I would have been glad to have spared the poor old woman, for she idolizes her son. But you remember I told you that although she loved me, he had made her believe the vile things he said of me. It was necessary that she should know the truth, if after Will's death I was to have any peace in my child's companionship. Marian loves her grandmother dearly, and the old woman fairly idolizes the child, although her feebleness has compelled her to leave most of the care of the child to hired nurses. There is where I am going to have my chance with my little girl. I never shall separate her from her grandmother while the old woman lives, but from the moment she comes to me no hireling's hand shall care for her. She shall be mine, all mine. Her voice was a peon of triumphant love. My heart thrilled in sympathy with hers, but underneath it all I was conscious of a strong desire to have Harry Underwood reconcile to this new plan of Lilian's. The calmness with which she had spoken of their parting had not deceived me. I knew that Lilian's pride, already dragged in the dust by her first unhappy marital experience, would suffer greatly if she had to acknowledge that her second adventure had also failed. I tried to think of some manner in which I could remedy matters. Unconsciously Lilian played directly into my hands. But here I am bothering you with all my troubles, she said, when all the time Gawant Cavaliers wait without, anxious to pay their doirs. Her voice was as gay, as unconcerned, as if she had not just been sounding the depths of terrible memories. I paid a silent tribute to her powers of self-discipline, before answering curiously. Gawant Cavaliers, I repeated, who are they? Well, Harry is at the door, and Mr. Gordon at the gate, she returned merrily. In other words, Harry is downstairs waiting patiently for me to give him permission to see you, while Mr. Gordon took up quarters at a country in near here the day after your accident, and has called or telephoned almost hourly since. He begged me this morning to let him know when you would be able to see him. If Harry's call does not tire you, I think I would better phone him to come over. Lilian, I spoke imperatively, as a sudden recollection flashed through my mind. Was I delirious, or did I hear Mr. Gordon exclaim something very foolish the night of my accident? She looked at me searchingly. He said, my darling, have I found you only to lose you again? She answered. What did he mean? I gasped. That he must tell you himself, Madge, she said gravely. For me to guess his meaning would be futile. Shall I telephone him to come over? And will you see Harry for a moment or two now? Yes, to both questions, I answered. Well, Lady Fair, they haven't made you take the count yet, have they? By Jove, you're prettier than ever! Ushered by Lilian, Harry Underwood came into my room with all his usual breeziness, and stood looking down at me as I lay propped against the pillows Lilian had piled around me. It was the first time I had seen him, since the night of our dinner, when, with the wild idea of punishing Dickie for his foolishness regarding elderly Mr. Gordon, I had carried on a rather intense flirtation with Harry Underwood. I had been heartily sorry for and ashamed of the experiment before the dinner was half over, and many times since the accident which interrupted the evening I had wondered half whimsically whether my dress-catching fire was not a judgment on me. I had deeply dreaded seeing Mr. Underwood again. But as I looked into his eyes I saw nothing but friendly cheeriness and pity. Lilian drew a chair for him to my bedside, and for a few moments he chatted of everything and nothing in the entertaining manner he knows so well how to use. You may have just three minutes more, Harry, Lilian said at last. Stay here while I go down to the telephone. Then you will have to vamoose. Mr. Gordon is coming over, and I can't have her too tired. Her husband gave a low whistle, and I saw a quick look of understanding pass between him and Lilian. I did not have time to wonder about it, however, for Lilian went out of the room, and the moment she closed the door he said tensely, Tell me you forgive me. If I had not teased you that night you would not have moved toward the fire, and your dress would not have caught. Why, you might have been killed or horribly disfigured. I've been suffering the tortures of Hades ever since. But you will forgive me, won't you? I'll do any penance you name. Through all the extravagance of his speech there ran a deeper note than I had believed Harry Underwood to be capable of sounding. As his eyes met mine I saw that there was something as near suffering in them as the man's self-centered, careless nature was capable of feeling. I saw my opportunity. Yes, I'll forgive you, everything, if you'll promise me one thing which will make me very happy. He bit his lip savagely. I think he guessed my meaning. But he did not hesitate. Name it, he said shortly. Don't hurt Lillian any more about the change in her appearance, or object to her having her child with her, I pleaded. He thought a long minute. Then, with a quick gesture, he caught my uningered hand in his, carried it to his lips, and kissed it, then laid it gently back upon the bed again. Done, he said gruffly. It won't bother me much for a while anyway. Your friend Gordon wants me to go with him on a long trip to South America. I'm the original white-haired boy with him, just now, for some reason or other, and it's just the chance I have wanted to look up the theatrical situation down there. Perhaps I can persuade the old boy to loosen up on some of his bankroll and play Angel.  But remember, wherever I am, the art is true to Paul. He bowed mockingly with his old manner, and walked toward the door, meeting Lillian as she came in. So long, Lill, he said carelessly. I'm going for a long walk. See you later. She looked at him searchingly. All right, she answered laconically, and then came over to me. Mr. Gordon will be here in a half-hour, she said. Please try to rest a little before he comes. She lowered the shades and my pillows, kissed me gently, and left the room. But I could neither rest nor sleep. The wildest conjectures went through my brain. Who was Robert Gordon, and why was he so strangely interested in me? END OF CHAPTER XXXIV. It seemed a very long time to me, as I tossed on my pillows, beset by the problem that even the name Robert Gordon always presents to me, before Lillian came back to my room. But when she entered, she said that Mr. Gordon would soon arrive, and that I must be prepared to see him. So she bathed my hands and face, and gave me an eggnog, before propping me up against my pillows to receive my visitor. Of course you will stay with me, Lillian, while he is here, I said. She smiled enigmatically. Part of the time, she said. But when Mr. Gordon came, bringing with him an immense sheaf of roses, she left the room almost at once, giving as an excuse her wish to arrange the flowers. My visitor's eyes were burning with the light that almost frightened me, as he sat down by my bedside and took my hand in his. My dear child, he said, and though the words were such as any elderly man might address to a young woman, yet there was an intensity in them that made me uncomfortable. Are you sure everything is all right with you? Very sure, I replied, smiling. If Mrs. Underwood would permit me to do so, I am certain I could get up now. You must not think of trying it. He returned sharply, and with a note in his voice almost like authority, which puzzled me. Thank God for Mrs. Underwood, he went on. She is a woman in a thousand. I am indebted to her for life. I shrank back among my pillows, and wished that Lillian would return to the room. I began to wonder if Mr. Gordon's brain was not slightly turned. Surely the fact that he had once known and loved my mother was no excuse for the extravagant attitude he was taking. He saw the movement, and into his eyes flashed a look so mournful, so filled with longing, that I was thrilled to the heart. The next moment he threw himself upon his knees by the side of my bed and cried out tensely. Oh, my darling child, don't shrink from me.  Don't you see? Can't you guess? I am your father. My father? Robert Gordon, my father? I looked at the elderly man kneeling beside my bed, and my brain whirled with the unreality of it all. The man of mystery, the quester of Broadway, the elderly soldier of fortune, about whose reputed wealth and constant searching of faces wherever he was, the idle gossip of the city's Bohemia had whirled, to think that this man was the father I had never known, the father alas whom I had hoped never to know. Everything was clear to me now, the reason for his staring at me when he first caught sight of me in the Sydenham Hotel, his trailing of my movements until he had found out my name and home, the introduction he obtained to Dickie and through him to me, his emotion adhering my mother's name, his embarrassing attentions to me ever since. The explanation for all of which had puzzled me had come in the choking words of the man whose head was bowed against my bed and whose whole frame was shaking with suppressed sobs. I felt myself trembling in the grip of a mighty surge of longing to gather that bowed gray head into my arms and lavish the love he longed for upon my father. My heart sang a little hymn of joy, I who had been kindless, with no one of my own blood, had found a father. And then, with my hand outstretched, almost touching my father's head, the revulsion came. True, this man was my father, but he was also the man who had made my mother's life one long tragedy. All my life I had schooled myself to hate the man who had deserted my mother and me when I was four years old, who had added to the desertion the insult of taking with him the woman who had been my mother's most intimate friend. My love for my mother had been the absorbing emotion of my life until she had left me, and because of that love I had loathed the very thought of the man who had caused her to suffer so terribly. My father lifted his head and looked at me, and there was that in his eyes which made me shudder. It was the look of a prisoner in the dock, waiting to receive a sentence. Of course, I know you must hate the very sight of me, Margaret, he said, brokenly. I had not meant to tell you so soon, but I have to go away almost at once to South America, and it is very uncertain when I shall return. I could not bear to go without your knowing how I have loved and longed for you. Never so great a sinner as I, my child, the weary old voice went on. But oh, if you could know my bitter repentance, my years of loneliness. His voice tore at my heartstrings, but I steeled myself against him. One thing I must know—where is the person with whom I could not finish the words? I do not know. The words rang true. I was sure he was not lying to me. I have not seen or heard of her in over twenty years. Then the association had not lasted. I had a sudden clairvoyant glimpse into my father's soul.  His infatuation for the other woman had been but a temporary madness. What long-drawn out, agonized repentance must have been his for twenty years, with wife, child, and home lost to him. I leaned back and closed my eyes for a minute, overwhelmed with the problem which confronted me, and then call it hallucination or what you will. I heard my mother's voice, as clearly as I ever heard it in life, repeating the words I had read weeks before in the letter she had left for me at her death. Remember, it is my last wish, Margaret, that if your father be living, some time you may be reconciled with him.  It was as if my mother had stretched out her hand from heaven to sanction the one thing I most longed to do. Father, I gassed, oh, my father, I have wanted you so. He uttered a little cry of joy, and then my father's arms were round me. My face was close to his, and for the first time since I was a baby of four years I knew my father's kisses. A smothered sound, almost like a groan, startled me, and then the door slammed shut. What was that? I asked. Is there anyone there? My father raised his head. No, there is no one there, he said. See, the wind is rising. It must have been that which slammed the door. I think I would better shut the window. He moved over to the window, which Lillian had kept partly a jar for air, and closed it. Then he returned to my bedside. There is one thing I must ask you to do, my child, he said hesitatingly, and that is, to keep secret the fact that, instead of being Robert Gordon, I am, in reality, Charles Robert Gordon Spencer and your father. Of course your husband must know, and Mrs. Underwood, as her husband is going with me to South America, but I should advise very strongly against the knowledge coming into the possession of anyone else. I cannot explain to you now why I dropped part of my name, or why I exact this promise, he went on, but it is imperative that I do ask it, and that you heed the request. You will respect my wishes in this matter, will you not, my daughter? It was all very stilted, almost melodramatic, but my father was so much in earnest that I readily gave the promise, he asked. With a look of relief he took a package from his pocket and handed it to me. Keep this carefully, he said. It contains all the data which you will need in case of my death. Rumor says that I am a very rich man. As usual, rumor is wrong, but I have enough so that you will always be comfortable, and for fear that something might happen to you, in my absence, I have placed to your account in the knickerbocker, money enough for any emergency, also for any extra spending money you may wish. The bank-book is among these papers. I trust that you will use it. I shall like to feel that you are using it. And now, good-bye, I shall not see you again. He kissed me, lingeringly, tenderly, and went out of the room. I lay looking at the package he had given me, wondering if it were all a dream.


This is my trusty Toshiba T1000. It's a XT class laptop and it stopped working. So I'm going to take it apart and see if I can figure out what's wrong. Do a quick inspection. I don't see any fluffiness. Now that's interesting. That explains why it's not working. Hey, look what I found in a junk drawer. Does this connector look familiar? This is probably the stupidest video I've ever done. And... DOS. One working computer, one elderly and slightly suspect battery pack. Well, I appear to have spoken a little bit too soon. This is wrong. So this is my Toshiba T1000 laptop with the lid off. If you saw my previous video, you know that I tried to replace the battery, which was kind of defunct with a bench power supply. And while that worked fine, the machine turned out to have failed. And I don't think it was my fault. So the most plausible explanation for this is that the capacitors have died. Which happens with old computers. These electrolytic capacitors have water-based electrolyte in them, which evaporates over time. And given that the machine generally smelled a bit funny when running anyway, it seems very plausible that they've just finally given up the ghost. And I should replace them. So that is what I'm going to be trying to do today. It doesn't have very many capacitors. It's just this little cluster around the power supply and a couple of decoupling capacitors under the floppy disk drive. So even with my mediocre soldering skills, that ought to be possible. So let's try it out. First step is to remove the motherboard. Okay, here we are. And this is actually a little bit different from the other board I've got. Well, the other two boards I've got. In that this cap here is present. However, on the others, it's unpopulated. And I notice that there's a bit of grimness around here that's not so hot. It doesn't look like the cap is leaking. But here we have the little decoupling capacitors. Honestly, these are probably fine. It's these big chunky electrolytics that are problematic. Oh, and there's a tantalum capacitor here. These have a bit of a tendency to explode, but I think that one's fine. I don't see any obvious leakage, but caps don't always noticeably bulge when they go bad. On the back, we have nicely divided sections of PCB, with the biggest one here being the power supply, which I've talked about before. It's notoriously fragile. And there's nothing here. There's these surface mount caps, but they are fine. Again, I don't see any obvious nastiness. So I suppose at this point, it's time to fire up my dubious importer desoldering tool and start removing these things. I have previously checked that they are all correctly labeled. That is, the stripe on the capacitor matches the stripe on the PCB, except this one, which I couldn't see. But there is a plus here, and the stripe signifies the negative side, which is this pin. So that's fine. Yeah, I suppose the only thing to do is to get started. I do, however, need to record the values of each capacitor so that I can replace them with the same ones. So where did I put my notepad? Okay, got post-it notes and a pen, and the desoldering tool is hot, so let's try this one first. You know, I was hoping that this would go relatively smoothly. Apparently, it has moved a little. There we go. So, looking at this capacitor, there is some stickiness on the bottom, and I can see some green corrosion on that leg. I reckon that caps bad, and that's what the problem was. It's probably worth doing the rest, but let me get out my component tester, which is flat. Okay, I'm actually going to have to wait for the tester to charge up, so let's just proceed. So this is a 10 volt 470 microfarad, and that was C136, and that is also 25 volt 220 microfarad. Okay, so the next stage is to rummage through my capacitor drawers and find replacements for all of these. Okay, so I've managed to identify some capacitors that will work with a couple of problems, one of which is C122 over here, which is 150 microfarad, and this is the only one I could find that would work. This is the original one, which as you can see is a rather different form factor. Now I'm going to see if I can get this one to fit. It'll have to stand proud of the board, but I think there's enough space. A place where there won't be enough space is down here at C136, which is one of the 470 microfarad jobs, and the only ones I've got are these ones with stubby legs. Now I can fit it this way, but then it will be standing too high for the floppy drive to go in. So this is the original one. You see they are the same size, but this one was mounted lying down in that rectangle. So I'm going to have to do something similar, but the legs aren't long enough to actually just do that. So I'm going to have to do some creative soldering there. This thing is turned off because I'm not going to need it, so let's get started, I suppose. We should probably do them in the reverse order for reasons of access. So C120 is a 220 microfarad capacitor, which is this one, and luckily the leg layout is relatively standard, so it will just drop in. So I'm just pushing it through the holes. There we go. Flush, and it's the right way around. And I will just apply some new solder to the legs down here just to make a nice clean joint, and that should be done. Good. All right, C123 is this one in here, and that's another 220. That's this one. I do notice that the pin on the left here is marked with a plus sign, which is not right. That should be negative. I actually think that plus sign is referring to C123 next to it, but let's just find the original as 150 to 220. Yeah, the negative is the standard. So this will fit in here. These holes are actually clear, so it may just drop into place. Not quite. We're going to need some help from the soldering iron. Let's get the legs straight and solder the joints. That looks reasonable. All right, C500 over here is the 100 microfarad, which is this one. And this is a tall, skinny one, and we'll actually shorten these legs a bit. Before soldering it on, I'm going to use those wires later. Right, however, this is a thinner one than this, and you'll notice that this one has legs bent oddly, so we are actually going to have to do the same to make it fit. Let's try. That looks okay. The leg in the wrong place. Do that again. If the gods had intended humans to do this kind of soldering, then the gods would have given us smaller fingers and more arms. Okay, good. That's gone in. A bit of fresh solder, fresh solder, which is supposed to go on to the pin. Okay, there's one. That's not so great, that one. I think that has worked. Okay, C122, right? This is this one. Now, this is a different type of capacitor. It is labeled, so the wrinkly side is positive, and the side with the line on it is negative. So let's trim this down to length. So that should go on more like that. So I do wonder whether these legs are in fact too thick to go through the PCB holes. That would be a shame. Yeah, I don't think it's going to work. And the wires are too thick. Right, okay. I've got two little bits of wire there, and I've got some bits of wire here that I know will fit. So we're going to have to work around C122 here. So let's stick that one on. This, sorry, C121 here. That is a 470 microfarad. That's just one of these. That should be a fairly simple thing. Fits in there, clean solder. So now we only have these two to go, of which this one is going to be the most problematic. There is some space here, which will allow the cap to go on this way. I think what I need is some thin red and black wire, which I've got some. Is this stranded? That's stranded. I want solid. Okay, let's get a small piece. The equivalent is black and strip. That was not what I wanted. This stuff is actually quite thick. Will it go through the hole? Yes, it will. Yes, it will. So I'm going to want to solder this in place here. And this one in place next to it. Blasted things stripped. This will need clean joints, but it'll do. Okay, so this will end up over here. So let's tin this and this. Okay, now the rough side is positive. So let's just solder that on here. And then let us solder this on here. Is that a good joint? That's quite a good joint. Let's get that bit of solder out. And we clean up these connections on the bottom. That looks great. The wire slipped out. I'm out completely now. Okay. All right, so there we go. Let's do that again. Little weight of the capacitor pulled the wire out of the hole when I added the solder. Okay, so here we have our Bodger Dean capacitor. Which will sit fairly happily here. There's some, no, it won't. There's some bare contact there that's a bit problematic. But if we loop this wire around there, it will hold in there. Okay, right. One more to go. Which is the other, this one, the other 470, which has to go down there. So we're actually going to, if I can pick these things up, I'm actually going to solder in two pins sticking vertically out. And then the capacitor will solder to that. So I just want to tack this into place for now before I burn myself. Ow, too late. Turns out these copper wires, they're copper tinned with something to stop them corroding. Conduct heat really well. What a thought. The wire's not pushing through. Yeah, what's happened is the wire is wicking away the heat. So that as fast as the soldering iron melts it, it goes sticky around where the wire is. So that just needs more heat. It should eventually come free and push through. Or I lose my grip on it with the pliers. This was the one I had so much trouble with getting it out. So, okay, that is now through. That's fine, I'm at it. Let's clean this up. Gripping it with the pliers is not going to lead to a good joint. Because again, the pliers will wick away heat. But we now have enough wire in place that we can solder these. Not my best joint, but I think that will work. Okay, and now that the capacitor is holding these in place, and I can free up some hands, I can redo these properly. Except that wire actually pushed back through a bit. So, okay, that should do it. So let's trim these. The others, I think the others are fine mostly. Okay, so I believe that is now complete. So, the next thing is to hook it back up and see whether it works or not. Okay, I have it ready to work. I've been optimistic and plugged the monitor in in the hope that it will come to life. The bench power supply is set to five volts. So, I just need to plug this in, which is the right way around. We've got power, what have we got here? Oh, memory test, that looks... Well, okay, it was doing this sporadically before. So, this does not necessarily mean that it's actually fixed. But let's give it some time, five, 12, okay. There's no beeps or floppy drive noises, because I haven't plugged the speaker or the floppy drive in. So, that should be now looking at DOS. So, if I press one of these, oh, so, if I run the test 10 command, diagnostic test, no, don't test the FTD, don't test the printer, it's now doing the system board test. And it actually looks like it's working. But again, I was, it stopped doing anything. Oh, there we go. It was doing this before, okay. Video, more video, CGA, more CGA. It was sporadically working before. It wasn't just making that horrible low beeping sound. It was sometimes getting up as far as booting. More frequently it would fail somewhere along the line. One of the failure modes was it would put the cursor in the wrong place and really odd things would happen. And I haven't seen that yet. Okay, so nine exits to MS-DOS. The cursor is in the right place. What have we got here that we can run? Check disk, tree, kind of check the ROM disk, which is fine. We've got, we've got the setup program, which is not very exciting. You can't save settings on this other than in RAM. And of course, if you've disconnected the battery, the RAM dies. So you have to keep coming back to this program if you want to change things. It does seem to have worked, right to the DOS. You know, I think this may have actually succeeded. Wow. You see, you probably know whether it's succeeded because it'll say so in the title of this video. But me from the future will have written the title. Me from the now doesn't know whether it worked or not. It'd be much easier if I could look at the title of the video and figure out whether it actually worked. Unless, of course, me from the future decided to be clever and not post in the title of the video whether it actually worked or not. Okay. Well, that looks good. I'm going to put it back into the box and see what happens. Okay. Let's try it again, assembled and have a look at some floppy disks and see whether that works. Memory test, which takes a while. That sounded nicely positive. Okay.  Maybe it's a disk. Okay. So why doesn't it like the floppy drive? It's plugged in. There is only one cable and the format command. Track zero bad disk unusable. Yeah. Floppy drive is just not working. Do I actually need to tell it to do something in the setup? No. Now, I did hear it chug when I booted it. Let's just control out Dell. Yep. And of course, it will now switch back to the internal screen so I have to do the key press to get back here. It does actually sound like the promoter is not turning at all. I have a horrible feeling. I know what might be going on, which is that this is pushing against the flywheel. So let's just reel some cable and sort of prop it up somehow. That should do it. Power back on. And of course, we now have to wait for the memory test. Can I do this now? Nope. Just have to wait. Sorry. Okay.  Oh no. Nothing. So it's not that at all. That looks like it's plugged all the way in. This is a non-standard connector which takes its power from the motherboard. It is plugged in the right way round. You know, it's possible that the power supply is not generating the appropriate voltages for the board and that something is wrong over here. Let me just check the connector in this end first. First has if I knew what to do next.  And honestly, given that this has no onboard storage and only one drive, it would be nice to have more space. Okay. So this should just unclip somehow. Okay. So this end of things looks solid. Okay. When the floppy drive, this thing is properly clipped in, that capacitor is actually not under here. So it can't be interfering with the flywheel. If I can get this actually into place, there we go. Well, now it goes round. There is a disk in the drive. It says non-system disk. There without problems. It's all plastic. So now boot it into DOS. So disk, DIRA. Oh, read failure. Oh, interesting. Very, ah, I know what's happened. Right. While working on it, I managed to bump the switch on the left. That's what's happened. This switch selects between the internal disk being drive A and the external, the port back here being printer, or this being B and the external port being external floppy drive. So now, I probably have to reboot for that to work. This should now actually, it's not going to boot off this. A, there we go. And there in fact is my compiler ready to go. Let's actually try it. So cow fee, commandel.cow to commandel.cob. That's working. Interesting thing you can see here is every time the drive does something, the light flashes red. That's because it's drawing enough current to lower the power supply voltage to the level where the battery circuitry thinks the battery is going flat. Because of course, this is plugged directly into the battery connector. Therefore, it thinks it's running off battery, but everything seemed to work. So that is good. Mandel.cob, mandel.cow, and it does the rest of the compile quite slowly. It's a very slow machine. Anyway, that all works. I'll just wait for this to finish and then put it back together again. Actually, the other thing I want to try is whether that little power supply actually works. Because currently it's connected to my bench power supply, which is running off a ATX power supply, which is kind of overkill for this. But I'm not sure whether it will produce enough current, but there's only one way to find out. Wow, this is slow. There we go. And it's finished. All right, let's put it all back together again. So here I have the other power supply attached. You throw the switch. Do a memory test. Still successfully. I don't think there's anything on that disk. It's a different one. Oh, ah, right. It just rebooted. Interesting. Yeah, I don't think that power supply is producing enough current. And I'm just going to have to use my bench power supply instead. Notice that it failed as soon as I tried to touch the disk. So let's just wait for that to boot again. Okay, watch the green light down here. When I hit the return key, that supply is not going to work. Good to know. Focus, focus. Right, I'm going to have to stick with the bench power supply then. And actually, given that I've been tempting fate, and the last time I said it was all fixed, it turned out not to be. Let's boot it up again with the bench power supply and try formatting that disk just to make sure it works. So memory test. So the disk, what happens if I try to look at it? Yeah, so my cables aren't quite long enough. But this shows the power supply voltage, which is currently reading 4.9-ish. I'm just going to get these wires out of the way. 4.93. And if I look at the disk, you can see it actually drops a reasonable amount. So let's just try formatting that. It's working. You can see the light here flickering. As it's worrying about the battery voltage. But it does all actually seem to be working. Right, I think I can call this done. And this is now functioning. I will need to keep you on the lookout for some more barrel connectors and a better 5V power supply, because I want to be able to just plug the barrel connector in the back. I'm going to drill a hole in the back plate, this, which covers the expansion slot to mount the barrel connector to. But that is a success. I am extremely relieved. So I have not been having good luck with these. One thing I want to do is to try and get one of my other Toshiba's and trace the power supply circuitry to try and figure out if it's possible to feed power directly onto the motherboard and bypassing all the horrible power supply stuff. Because that might resurrect my other two motherboards. I should also probably put the BIOS and DOS ROMs back in the test board. Which I took out in the last video and forgot to put back in again. Anyway, that is good. Just wait for this to finish. I believe this disc will fail because it's got a bad media up at the top. So let's just see what happens. Nearly finished. Seems to be happy. All right then. Thank you very much for watching. I hope you enjoyed this video. Please let me know what you think in the comments.