She went in her room and sat quietly in her little chair; and what had been a pent up agony in her heart flowed out in open sorrowing: for her mother, who was not there to sit in her room with her; for her father, who was dying. But it was releasing sorrowing, the sorrowing that makes one one with the world, drawing one into the whole life of human feeling, the opened heart that brings one closer to all opened hearts. It was the sadness that softens; such sadness as finds its own healing in enriched feeling. It made her feel very near her father and mother; she loved them; she felt that they loved her. She had hurt them--terribly hurt them; but it all seemed beyond that now; they understood; and she was Ruth and they loved her. It was as if the way had been cleared between her and them. She did not feel shut in alone. Ted hesitated when he came to her door a little later, drew back before the tender light of her illumined face. It did not seem a time to break in on her. But she held out her hand with a little welcoming gesture and, though strangely subdued, smiled lovingly at him as she said, "Come on in, Ted." Something that the boy felt in her mood made him scowl anew at the thing he had to tell her. He went over to the window, his back to her, and was snapping his finger against the pane. "Well," he said at last, gruffly, "Cy gets in today. Just had a wire." Ruth drew back, as one who has left exposed a place that can be hurt draws back when hurt threatens. Ted felt it--that retreating within herself, and said roughly: "Much anybody cares! Between you and me, I don't think father would care so very much, either." "Ted!" she remonstrated in elder sister fashion. "Cy's got a hard heart, Ruth," he said with a sudden gravity that came strangely through his youthfulness. Ruth did not reply; she did not want to say what she felt about Cy's heart. But after a moment the domestic side of it turned itself to her. "Will Louise come with him, Ted?" "No," he answered shortly. His tone made her look at him in inquiry, but he had turned his back to her again. "I was just wondering about getting their room ready," she said. For a moment Ted did not speak, did not turn toward her. Then, "We don't have to bother getting any room ready for Cy," he said, with a scoffing little laugh. Ruth's hand went up to her throat--a curious movement, as if in defense. "What do you mean, Ted?" she asked in low quick voice. Ted's finger was again snapping the window pane. Once more he laughed disdainfully. "Our esteemed brother is going to the hotel," he jeered. As Ruth did not speak he looked around. He could not bear her face. "Don't you care, Ruth," he burst out. "Why, what's the difference?" he went on scoffingly. "The hotel's a good place. He'll get along all right down there--and it makes it just so much the better for us."