memory of her face at those times when he had seen what she was
feeling.

He was about to pass the Hollands'--her old home. He slackened the car
to its slowest. It had seemed a gloomy place in recent years. The big
square house in the middle of the big yard of oak trees used to be one
of the most friendly-looking places of the town. But after Ruth went
away and the family drew within themselves, as they did, the hospitable
spaciousness seemed to become bleakness, as if the place itself changed
with the change of spirit. People began to speak of it as gloomy; now
they said it looked forsaken. Certainly it was in need of painting--new
sidewalks, general repairs. Mr. Holland had seemed to cease caring how
the place looked. There weren't flowers any more.

In the upper hall he saw the dim light that burns through the night in a
house of sickness. He had been there early in the evening; if he thought
the nurse was up he would like to stop again. But he considered that it
must be almost one--too late for disturbing them. He hoped Mr. Holland
was having a good night; he would not have many more nights to get
through.

He wished there was some one of them to whom he could talk about sending
for Ruth. They had not sent for her when her mother died, but that was
sudden, everyone was panic-stricken. And that was only two years after
Ruth's going away; time had not worked much then on their feeling
against her. He would have to answer her letter and tell her that her
father could not live. He wanted to have the authority to tell her to
come home. Anything else seemed fairly indecent in its lack of feeling.
Eleven years--and Ruth had never been home; and she loved her
father--though of course no one in the town would believe _that_.

His car had slowed almost to a stop; there was a low whistle from the
porch and someone was coming down the steps. It was Ted Holland--Ruth's
younger brother.

"Hello, Deane," he said, coming out to him; "thinking of coming in?"

"No, I guess not; it's pretty late. I was just passing, and wondering
about your father."

"He went to sleep; seems quiet, and about the same."

"That's good; hope it will keep up through the night."

The young fellow did not reply. The doctor was thinking that it must be
lonely for him--all alone on the porch after midnight, his father dying
upstairs, no member of the immediate family in the house.

"Sent for Cy, Ted?" he asked. Cyrus was the older brother, older th