she, lay aside her pride and cynicism, her dainty ways and little extravagances? An odd fancy came to him: perhaps the answer to the riddle lay sealed within the envelope he fingered.
He opened it. Within lay four lines of writing‚ÅÝ‚Äîno more‚ÅÝ‚Äîno address, no signature; simply the words:
“It matters now how strait the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”
He stared at the lines. Eleven o‚Äôclock‚ÅÝ‚Äîtwelve‚ÅÝ‚Äîone‚ÅÝ‚Äîchimed the deep-voiced clock without, before Alwyn went to bed.
Miss Wynn had kept a vigil almost as long. She knew that Bles had influential friends who had urged his preferment; it might be wise to enlist them. Before she fell asleep she had determined to have a talk with Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool. She had learned from Senator Smith that the lady took special interest in Alwyn.
Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool heard Miss Wynn‚Äôs story next day with some inward dismay. Really the breadth and depth of intrigue in this city almost frightened her as she walked deeper into the mire. She had promised Zora that Bles should receive his reward on terms which would not wound his manhood. It seemed an easy, almost an obvious thing, to promise at the time. Yet here was this rather unusual young woman asking Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool to use her influence in making Alwyn bow to the yoke. She fenced for time.
‚ÄúBut I do not know Mr. ¬ÝAlwyn.‚Äù
“I thought you did; you recommended him highly.”
“I knew of him slightly in the South and I have watched his career here.”