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Updated: June 24, 2025
Joshua Wream, his step-brother, many years his senior, professor of all the dead languages ever left unburied, had put a considerable fortune into his hands, and into his brain the dream of a life-work even the building of a great university in the West.
"What is wrong, then?" she asked. "Is Elinor unwilling?" "Elinor and I are bound by promises to each other, although no word has ever been spoken between us. It is impossible to make any change now. We are very happy, of course." "Of course," Dennie echoed. "I had a letter from Dr. Wream last night. A pitiful letter, for he's getting near the brink.
In return I promised to marry Elinor Wream and to provide for her comfort and luxury with these trust funds my father and Wream had somehow been manipulating." Oh, yes! Dennie was level-headed. And because she did not look up nor cry out Vincent Burgess did not see nor guess anything. His life had been a sheltered one.
And Burleigh, lacking many other things more than insight, kept him busy at barrier building. "Miss Wream, you can't think of climbing that rough place," Burgess protested, with a sharp glance of resentment at the big young fellow who dared to call her Elinor. The tiger-light blazed in the eyes that flashed back at him, as Vic cried daringly. "Oh, come on, Elinor; be a good Indian!"
These funds Vincent held by his father's will to which will Joshua Wream was witness on condition that no heir to these funds was living. If there were such person or persons living but Burgess knew there were none. Joshua Wream had made sure of that for him before he left Cambridge.
And quickly as the thing had come to Victor Burleigh on the west bluff above the old Kickapoo Corral two Octobers ago, so to Elinor Wream came the vision of what the love of such a man would be to the woman who could win it. "Do you really mean it, Victor? Was n't I a lump of lead? A dead weight to your strength that night? You have never once spoken of it."
Somehow the answer was a trifle too quick and smooth to ring right. Dr. Fenneben forgot it in an instant, however, for Elinor Wream herself came suddenly into the room, a tall, slender girl, with a face so full of sunshiny charm that no great defect of character had yet made its mark there. "I beg your pardon, Uncle Lloyd; I thought you were alone. How do you do, Professor Burgess."
Nobody but a rich man could ever win her hand. She who has been simply reared, with all the Wream creed that higher education is the final end of man, is set with a Wream-like firmness in her hatred of poverty, her eagerness for riches and luxury. And to add to all this responsibility he must send me his pet Greek scholar, Vincent Burgess, to try out as a professor in Sunrise.
Come on!" O, thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no, name to be known by, let us call thee, devil! WHEN Lloyd Fenneben could think again, the waters had receded, the rock ledge had turned to a pillow under his head, the river bank was a straight white hospital wall, sunlight and sweet air for the darkness and the rain, and Norrie Wream was beside him instead of the brutal stranger.
Gossip has swift feet and from surmise to fact is a short course. Twenty-four hours had quite completely "fixed things" for Elinor Wream and Vincent Burgess, so far as Sunrise and Lagonda Ledge were able to fix them. So Burleigh, whose strong face carried no hint of grief, held back a minute now, before entering the study. "I beg your pardon, Elinor. Dr. Fenneben sent for me."
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