"Then--well, what then!" he gasped. "Then--you--forgot--"
She realized she had gone too far, saw the storm in his mind.
"No--no--no, I didn't forget you, John. Never--but--"
She got no farther. Suddenly his hands stretched out as if to seize her
shoulders, his face became tortured--he swayed. She caught him. She
lowered him to the floor, and put a hassock under his head. Then she rang
the bell--rang it--and rang again.
When help came, all was too late. John Grier had gone for ever.
CHAPTER XVII
THE READING OF THE WILL
As Tarboe stood in the church alone at the funeral, in a pew behind John
Grier's family, sadness held him. He had known, as no one else knew, that
the business would pass into his own hands. He suddenly felt his task too
big for him, and he looked at Carnac now with sympathy. Carnac had
brains, capacity, could almost take his father's place; he was tactful,
intuitive, alert. Yet Carnac, at present, was out of the question. He
knew the stress of spirit which had turned Carnac from the opportunity
lying at his feet.
In spite of himself there ran through his mind another thought. Near by,
at the left, dressed in mourning also, was Junia. He had made up his mind
that Junia should be his, and suddenly the usefulness of the business
about to fall into his hands became a weapon in the field of Love.
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