her. I must go to her. I cannot help it, I must go to her."
"Sometimes he thinks he has gone," whispered Harley. "Then he is quieter."
"What are these?" said Mr. Bowdoin, kicking over a pile of newspapers on the floor. "Why does he have New Orleans newspapers?"
The two men looked, and found one paper folded more carefully, on the table; in this they read the item telling of St. Clair's death. They looked at one another.
"That is it, then," said Harley. "I wonder if he left her poor?"
"So she is not in Havana, after all," said Mr. Bowdoin.
And old Jamie, who had been speaking meaningless sentences, suddenly broke into his old refrain: "A thousand dollars more!"
"I must get to the bank," said the old gentleman, "and stop that meeting."
"And I must go to her!" cried Harleston Bowdoin.
The other grasped his hand. But Jamie's spirit was far away, and thought that all these things were done.
