Mary and Edgar had come home at once. Mary had stayed two days and Edgar five hours. They were shocked and dismayed at their father's condition. So overwhelmed with grief were they, indeed, that they fled from the room almost immediately upon seeing him, and Edgar took the first train out of town. Mary, shiveringly, crept from room to room, trying to find a place where the cackling laugh and the fretful voice would not reach her. But the old man, like a child with a new toy, was pleased at his daughter's arrival, and followed her about the house with unfailing persistence. "But, Mary, he won't hurt you. Why do you run?" remonstrated Jane. Mary shuddered and covered her face with her hands. "Jane, Jane, how can you take it so calmly!" she moaned. "How can you bear it?" There was a moment's pause. A curious expression had come to Jane's face. "Some one--has to," she said at last, quietly. Jane went down to the village the next afternoon, leaving her sister in charge at home. When she returned, an hour later, Mary met her at the gate, crying and wringing her hands. "Jane, Jane, I thought you would never come! I can't do a thing with him. He insists that he isn't at home, and that he wants to go there. I told him, over and over again, that he _was_ at home already, but it didn't do a bit of good. I've had a perfectly awful time." "Yes, I know. Where is he?" "In the kitchen. I--I tied him. He just would go, and I couldn't hold him." "Oh, _Mary_!" And Jane fairly flew up the walk to the kitchen door. A minute later she appeared, leading an old man, who was whimpering pitifully. "Home, Jane. I want ter go home." "Yes, dear, I know. We'll go." And Mary watched with wondering eyes while the two walked down the path, through the gate and across the street to the next corner, then slowly crossed again and came back through the familiar doorway. "Home!" chuckled the old man gleefully. "We've come home!" Mary went back to Boston the next day. She said it was fortunate, indeed, that Jane's nerves were so strong. For her part, she could not have stood it another day. The days slipped into weeks, and the weeks into months. Jane took the entire care of her father, except that she hired a woman to come in for an hour or two once or twice a week, when she herself was obliged to leave the house. The owner of the blue-gray eyes did not belie the determination of his chin, but made a valiant effort to establish himself on the basis of the old intimacy; but Miss Pendergast held herself sternly aloof, and refused to listen to him. In a year he had left town--but it was not his fault that he was obliged to go away alone, as Jane Pendergast well knew.