Across the Many Waters

And the day of the election arrived next morning and brought cold clouds
shot through with occasional gleams of pale sunshine, only to be followed
by light but threatening flurries of snow.

All through the Sunday night David had sat over in the editorial rooms of
the _Journal_ beside Andrew Sevier, talking, writing and sometimes silent
with unexpressed sympathy, for as the last sheets of his editorial work
slipped through his fingers Andrew grew white and austere. Once for a
half-hour they talked about his business affairs and he turned over a
bundle of papers to David and discussed the investment of the money that
had come from his heavy royalties for the play now running, and the
thousands paid in advance for the new drama.

As David ran carefully through them to see that they were in order for
him to handle, Andrew turned to his desk and wrote rapidly for some
minutes, then sealed a letter and laid it aside. After he had read the
last batch of proof from the composing-room he turned to David and
with a quiet look handed him the letter which was directed to Caroline
Darrah.

"If she ever finds out give her this letter, please. It will make her
understand why I go, I hope. I can't talk to you about it but I want
to ask you, man to man, to look after her. Dave, I leave her to your
care--and Phoebe's." And his rich voice was composed into an utter
sadness.