He opened it. Within lay four lines of writing--no more--no 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'clock--twelve--one--chimed 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. Vanderpool. She had learned from Senator Smith that the lady
took special interest in Alwyn.
Mrs. Vanderpool heard Miss Wynn's 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.
Vanderpool to use her influence in making Alwyn bow to the yoke. She
fenced for time.
"But I do not know Mr. Alwyn."
"I thought you did; you recommended him highly."
"I knew of him slightly in the South and I have watched his career
here.
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