n.

"And so I let you go out into the night after him, I let you know that
which should, perhaps, have been hidden from you. But I loved him,
Derry--I loved you--I did the best I could for both of you.

"And now because of the past, I plead for the future. I want you to
stay with him, Derry. No matter what happens I beg that you will
stay--for the sake of the boy who was once like you, for the sake of
the man who held your mother always close to his heart, for the sake of
the mother who in Heaven holds you to your promise."

The great old house was very still. Somewhere in a shadowed room an
old man slept heavily with his servant sitting stiff and straight
beside him, at the head of the stairway a painted bride smiled in the
darkness, the dog Muffin stirred and whined.

Derry's head was buried deep in the cushion. His hands clutched the
letter which had cut the knot of his desperate decision.

No--one could not break a promise to a mother in Heaven. . . .

He waked heavily in the morning. Bronson was beside his bed. "I am
sorry to disturb you, sir, but Dr. McKenzie would like to speak to you."

"McKenzie?"

"Yes, sir. I had to call him last night. Your father was worse."

"Bring him right in here, Bronson, and have some coffee for us."

When Dr. McKenzie was ushered into Derry's sitting room, he found a
rather pale and languid young man in the long chair.

"I hated to wake you, Drake. But it was rather necessary that I should
talk your father's case over with you."

"Is he very ill?"

"It isn't that--there are complications that I don't care to discuss
with servants."

"You mean he has been drinking?"

"Yes. Heavily. You realize that's a rather serious thing for a man of
his age."

"I know it. But there's nothing to be done."

"What makes you say that?"

"We've tried specialists--cures. I've been half around the world with
him."

The Doctor nodded. "It's hard to pull up at that age."

"My mother's life was spent in trying to help him. He's a dear old
chap, really."

"There is, of course, the possibility that he may get a grip on
himself."

Derry's languor left him. "Do you think there's the least hope of it?
Frankly? No platitudes?"

"We are making some rather interesting
experiments--psycho-analysis--things like that--"

He stood up. He was big and breezy. "What's the matter with you this
morning? You ought to be up and out."

Derry flushed. "Nothing--much."