He's a sort of dictator; and runs the party all
over that part of the State to suit his own sweet will, just by sheer
personality. And there isn't a man in that district who wouldn't
cheerfully lie down in the mud to let him pass over dry. It's that young
Harkless, you know; owns the 'Herald,' the paper that downed McCune and
smashed those imitation 'White-Caps' in Carlow County." Meredith had been
momentarily struck by the coincidence of the name, but his notion of
Harkless was so inseparably connected with what was (to his mind) a
handsome and more spacious--certainly more illuminated--field of action,
that the idea that this might be his friend never entered his head. Helen
had said something once--he could not remember what--that made him think
she had half suspected it, and he had laughed. He thought of the whimsical
fate that had taken her to Plattville, of the reason for her going, and
the old thought came to him that the world is, after all, so very small.
He looked up at the twinkling stars; they were reassuring and kind. Under
their benignancy no loss could befall, no fate miscarry--for in his last
thought he felt his vision opened, for the moment, to perceive a fine
tracery of fate.
"Ah, that would be too beautiful!" he said.
And then he shivered; for his name was spoken from within.
It was soon plain to him that he need not have feared a few words, for he
did not in the least understand those with which the eminent surgeons
favored him; and they at once took their departure.
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