"I will go over to the Macauleys and send Mrs. Macauley to you. Then Mr. Macauley and I will take everything in charge--with your permission?" He waited for her assent. She gave it with closed eyes, her head tilted back against the wing of the chair, her lips pressed tight together that they might not tremble. "You will want to take her to Washington, or on to South Carolina?" "South Carolina--where she was born." "We shall not be able to start till the storm is over. There is no train or trolley service out from the city to-night, and there will not be until the wind and drifting stops. My train was ten hours late. I should have been here this morning. Meanwhile, I will stay just where you want me. You and Mrs. Macauley can settle that. I wish for your sake Mrs. Burns were here--and Red." "They are not here? Then--how did you come to--" "Come home before them? I couldn't stay away contentedly as long as they. I had had an all-summer's vacation, and wanted to be at work. But I came from the ship straight up here, to satisfy myself that all was well with you. I found you--needing me. Can I help being thankful that I came?" "Dr. Leaver--?" "Yes?" Charlotte sat up suddenly, opening her eyes, pressing her free hand again over her heart with that unconscious gesture as old as suffering. "If I had not insisted on keeping Granny here she would not have--would not have--" She sank back, covering her face. "What had her being here to do with it? You took every care of her. She was old--ripe--ready to go. The wonder is that she has lived so long, with such a frail hold on life." "But--she had an exposure. This dreadful weather--night before last--her window blew in--she was chilled--" Her voice broke. With difficulty she told him the story of the experience. He lifted her hand to his lips and held it there. After a minute he spoke very gently: "I doubt if that had anything to do with it. It was probably the crash of the window blowing in that woke you, although you did not know it; she may not have lain there but a moment. You overcame the slight chill, if there was one, with your prompt measures. You brought her downstairs, and carried her back. There was no strain whatever upon her, it was all upon you. Dr. Burns has told me that her heart-action was the weakest and most irregular he had encountered; that, at any hour, without seeming provocation, it might stop. Why should you mourn? It was a happy way to go--merely to stop breathing, as her attitude and expression show she did. Her hour had come--you had nothing to do with it. Take that to your heart, and don't blame yourself for one moment more." She lay back in the chair again, relaxing a little under the firm words.