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to him. "It will only make more talk. She ought to leave this place; but she won't. She's struck on
that fellow yet, and we can't tell Norah and mother. We will never hear the last of this, you and
I--believe me."
"Damn it, she ought to be made to go," exclaimed Callum.
"Well, she won't," replied Owen. "Father has tried making her, and she won't go. Just let things
stand. He's in the penitentiary now, and that's probably the end of him. The public seem to think
that father put him there, and that's something. Maybe we can persuade her to go after a while.
I wish to God we had never had sight of that fellow. If ever he comes out, I've a good notion to
kill him."
"Oh, I wouldn't do anything like that," replied Callum. "It's useless. It would only stir things up
afresh. He's done for, anyhow."
They planned to urge Norah to marry as soon as possible. And as for their feelings toward
Aileen, it was a very chilly atmosphere which Mrs. Butler contemplated from now on, much to
her confusion, grief, and astonishment.
In this divided world it was that Butler eventually found himself, all at sea as to what to think or
what to do. He had brooded so long now, for months, and as yet had found no solution. And
finally, in a form of religious despair, sitting at his desk, in his business chair, he had
collapsed--a weary and disconsolate man of seventy. A lesion of the left ventricle was the
immediate physical cause, although brooding over Aileen was in part the mental one. His death
could not have been laid to his grief over Aileen exactly, for he was a very large man--apoplectic
and with
sclerotic veins and arteries. For a great many years now he had taken very little exercise, and
his digestion had been considerably impaired thereby. He was past seventy, and his time had
been reached. They found him there the next morning, his hands folded in his lap, his head on
his bosom, quite cold.
He was buried with honors out of St. Timothy's Church, the funeral attended by a large body of
politicians and city officials, who discussed secretly among themselves whether his grief over
his daughter had anything to do with his end. All his good deeds were remembered, of course,
and Mollenhauer and Simpson sent great floral emblems in remembrance. They were very sorry
that he was gone, for they had been a cordial three. But gone he was, and that ended their
interest in the matter. He left all of his property to his wife in one of the shortest wills ever
recorded locally.
"I give and bequeath to my beloved wife, Norah, all my property of whatsoever kind to be
disposed of as she may see fit."
There was no misconstruing this. A private paper drawn secretly for her sometime before by
Butler, explained how the property should be disposed of by her at her death. It was Butler's
real will masquerading as hers, and she would not have changed it for worlds; but he wanted
her left in undisturbed possession of everything until she should die. Aileen's originally assigned
portion had never been changed. According to her father's will, which no power under the sun
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