The two went out. Doctor Brainard would have stayed for his hat and overcoat, but Brown would brook no delay. Left behind, the party by the fire looked at one another with faces sobered. Hugh Breckenridge consulted his watch. "It's time we were off," he declared. "The Doctor's going to stay anyway, and it's no use waiting for Don to come back." "That's right," agreed Webb Atchison. "I came up here once before, about six months ago, and I saw then enough of the way things went here to know that he lives at the beck and call of every man, woman, and child in this district--and they call him, too. He'd just finished sobering up a drunkard that night, or scant attention I'd have had. Well, I'll walk down to the hotel and send back Rogers and the car. Be ready in ten minutes?" They said they would be ready. But in Brown's little bedroom, donning furry wraps, Helena Forrest spoke in Sue Breckenridge's ear: "I can't bear to go till we know how it comes out." Sue stared at her. "You don't mean to say you care? Why--it's just a forlorn little foundling--better dead than alive. I saw it when I was here two weeks ago. It has nothing to live for, dear. Don't think of it again." "But he cared--your brother cared," said Helena Forrest. "Oh, Don cares about everything. I never saw such a soft heart. Of course I think it's lovely of him, though I don't understand how he can be so absorbed in such a class of people." Miss Forrest went to the one window of the room. She lifted the plain shade which covered it and looked out into the night. Ten yards away she saw a brightly lighted, uncurtained window, beyond which were figures, plainly discernible. The figures were moving, one bringing a pail, another stooping--the scene was not one of still waiting but of tense action. She caught a glimpse of Doctor Brainard's tall form bending above something at one side, then she saw Brown himself cross the room in haste. Mrs. Brainard and Sue went back to the outer room to stand before the fire with the purpose of accumulating all the bodily heat possible before the long, cold drive. Miss Forrest, unheeding them, remained by the window in the unlighted bedroom. Minutes passed. Hugh Breckenridge had fallen to examining the larger room's eighteenth century features--he was something of a connoisseur in antiques. Helena, turning from the window for a moment, scanned the shadowy room in which she stood. It was very scantily furnished with the bare essentials. Upon the plain chest of drawers which held Brown's bachelor belongings stood a few simply framed photographs; an old set of hanging bookshelves was crammed full of books, with more overflowing upon the floor.