Hetty laughed crackingly. “Poor ol’ Wint. ’Member when you came home so? Hetty put Wint t’ bed. Now Wint’ll have to put Hetty to bed. Mus’n’t let Chase know, Wint. He’s a moral man.” Wint said gently: “Of course not, Hetty.” He took her arm. “Come in.” She was unsteady on her feet; and it seemed hard for her to keep her eyes open. He was afraid she would drop in a sodden slumber before he could get her upstairs. This fear haunted him during the moments that followed; it marked them in his memory. He was never going to be able to forget this business of helping Hetty slowly up the back stairs, and up to her third-floor room. It was only a matter of minutes; but they were fearfully long. And he was afraid she would go to sleep; and he was afraid she would laugh. Once he heard the laughter coming, in her throat, in time to press his hand over her mouth; and he could never forget the feeling of her loose, working lips beneath his hand. He was sweating and sick. He got her to her room without turning on the lights. He got her to the bed and she lay down and seemed instantly asleep. He started for the door; and she called him back. “Shame, Wint,” she said mournfully. “Ain’t going to take off my shoes? I took off your shoes, Wint. I took off your shoes.” She wore low shoes, little more than pumps. He thanked his fates for that, while his fingers fumbled for the laces. A tug loosed the knots, the slippers came off easily. Hetty was snoring before he was done, and he left her so. He could hear her snoring, after he got out into the hall. It seemed to him his father, asleep in the front of the house on the second floor, must hear. He went down from the third floor to the second on tiptoe with excruciating care. And on down the back stairs to put out the lights, and put away his book, and come back up to his own bed. He could not sleep for a long time. He was obsessed by a strange and persistent feeling of responsibility for Hetty. It was as though he felt himself to blame for this thing that had come to her. Jack Routt would have laughed at such a state of mind; but it was very real to Wint. CHAPTER VII ORDERS FOR RADABAUGH Wint had a talk with his father next morning; that is to say, the morning of the day Amos was to come home. He told the elder Chase that Amos was coming. Chase nodded. “I heard so,” he agreed. “I want you to understand my relations with him,” said Wint. There was a time when the older man would have said that a son of his could have no relations with Amos Caretall. But Winthrop Chase, Senior, had been learning wisdom, and a certain tolerance. Also, he had no wish to lose Wint again. He told himself this was because Wint’s mother was growing old, would miss him. “Well,” he said, “what are they?” Wint had been dreading what his father would say; he had been afraid of anger, of abuse. He was immensely relieved at the older man’s tone.