"
For ten seconds Peter God stood tense and motionless. Then he swayed
forward.
"A letter--for Peter God--from Josephine McCloud?" he gasped, and held
out his hands.
An hour later they sat facing each other--Peter God and Curtis. The
beginning of the scourge betrayed itself in the red flush of Peter God's
face, and the fever in his eyes. But he was calm. For many minutes he had
spoken in a quiet, even voice, and Philip Curtis sat with scarcely a
breath and a heart that at times had risen in his throat to choke him. In
his hand Peter God held the pages of the letter he had read.
Now he went on:
"So I'm going to tell it all to you, Curtis--because I know that you are
a man. Josephine has left nothing out. She has told me of your love, and
of the reward she has promised you--if Peter God sends back a certain
word. She says frankly that she does not love you, but that she honors
you above all men--except her father, and one other. That other, Curtis,
is myself. Years ago the woman you love--was my wife."
Peter God put a hand to his head, as if to cool the fire that was
beginning to burn him up.
"Her name wasn't Mrs. Peter God," he went on, and a smile fought grimly
on his lips. "That's the one thing I won't tell you, Curtis--my name. The
story itself will be enough.
"Perhaps there were two other people in the world happier than we. I
doubt it. I got into politics.
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