Lifting his head timidly, yearningly, Macduff stood up once more. Rearing himself, he placed his forepaws again on Clive’s chest and peered up into the man’s face. The collie was sobbing in pure happiness, sobbing in a strangely human fashion. His god had been brought back to him. Clive laid two thin and trembling hands on the silken head. “Mac!” he murmured huskily. “_Mac_, old friend!” At sound of the dear voice the collie proceeded once more to go insane. Capering, dancing, thunderously barking, he circled deliriously about his master. But Clive was no longer heeding him. His hollow gaze rested now on the three humans who were clustered about his dead brother--the three who still eyed him in vacant disbelief. From them his glance strayed to Osmun Creede. And again Clive’s white lips parted. “He’s dead,” he croaked. “He’s--he’s--frozen--frozen to death. I--” He got no further. Attempting to take a forward step, he reeled drunkenly. As he pitched earthward Thaxton Vail sprang toward him, catching the inert body in his arms as it fell. CHAPTER XVII UNTANGLING THE SNARL Two days later, at Vailholme, Dr. Lawton stumped downstairs to the study where Thaxton and Doris and Miss Gregg awaited him. Miss Gregg, by the way, chanced to be in an incredibly bad humor from indigestion. Every one knew it. Thrice a day had the doctor come to Vailholme since he and Thaxton had borne the unconscious Clive thither from Rackrent Farm. A nurse had been summoned, and for forty-eight hours she and Lawton had wrought over the senseless man. This morning Clive had awakened. But, by the nurse’s stern orders, he had not been allowed to talk or even to see his housemates until the doctor should arrive. For an hour Lawton had been closeted with the invalid. The others greeted his descent from the sickroom in eager excitement. “Well? Well? How is he?” demanded Miss Gregg with the imperious note Lawton detested, firing her queries before the doctor was fairly in the study. “Is he sane? Did he know you? Speak up, man!” “Sane?” echoed the doctor a bit testily. “Of course he’s sane. Why shouldn’t he be? He always was, even in the old days. And why shouldn’t he remember me? Didn’t I bring him into the world? And haven’t I just brought him back into it?” “Ezra Lawton!” snapped the old lady, indignant at his tone. “You must have been born boorish and exasperating. Nobody could have acquired so much boorishness and crankiness in seventy short years. You’re--” “Auntie!” begged Doris. “_Please!_ Doctor, we’ve been waiting so anxiously! Won’t you tell us all about him? We--” Dr. Lawton thawed at her pleading voice and look.