He thought and thought, pacing the floor, racking his brains for a satisfactory solution and finding none. The sole ray of light in the darkness centered upon his going away, going far away where he could not be questioned. The problem as to whether or not he should go abroad was settled then and there. He would go at once, on the very next ship, if possible. They would talk about him, of course, but no matter for that. They could only guess and, after a time, they might get tired of guessing. Or Covell might recover and tell whatever he pleased. The chances were that he, too, would leave Esther’s name unmentioned. Bob drove back to Denboro with his mind made up. He and his grandfather had a protracted and stormy session that evening. In spite of charges of ingratitude and selfishness in being in such a hurry to leave “the only relation you’ve got on earth”; in spite of a guilty conscience which partially confirmed those accusations, Bob’s determination was not shaken. At last Elisha Cook ordered him to go and be hanged. “Though why you are in such a tearin’ rush all at once I’ll be blessed if I can see,” he added. “What _is_ the matter? Come now! why not tell me?” Bob shook his head. “I can’t now, grandfather,” he said. “I will tell you, or write you, some day. You will just have to take my word that I have a reason and--well, don’t feel too hard against me, that is all.” The story, or rumor of a story, to which Foster Townsend had referred, sprang from no one seemed to know just where. Tobias Eldridge appeared to be the first to have heard it, but Tobias refused any information. “It just dropped my way by accident,” he said, “and ’twan’t any more than a hint, as you might say. I don’t know any particulars and, to be real honest, I don’t want to know any. I shan’t say another word. Wished I hadn’t said nothin’. It’s ’most likely all lies anyhow; and I ain’t hankerin’ to be sued for libel. No sir-ee! I don’t know nothin’ and the next feller that asks me will find I’ve forgot even that.” But the whispering continued and the next forenoon when Esther returned from an errand downtown she called her uncle into the library. Young Covell was to be taken to the Boston hospital on the afternoon train. His condition was no worse, in fact it was a trifle more encouraging. During the previous night he had momentarily regained consciousness, had muttered a word or two. Doctor Bailey was less pessimistic than at first, but insisted that the sooner his patient reached the hospital when, if necessary, an operation could be performed, the better. The doctor was to accompany him, so also was the nurse and Captain Townsend. The latter was busy and disinclined to talk, but his niece persisted. “I won’t keep you but a minute, Uncle Foster,” she pleaded; “but I do want to ask a question. When you went to see Bob yesterday there at his studio, what did he say to you?”