And the doctor, though dimly, was aware of all this. He was aware, for Palmer had told him, that Grif, who used always to be singing about the house and out of doors, now never sang; he knew there was something against which his tonics were of no avail; and from Grif himself he could get no guidance as to what it was, for the little boy’s very gentleness made it but more difficult to do anything with him. What the doctor did not know was that the sound of the Spring Song sang now in Grif’s ears from morning till night. What he did not know was that it sang through his dreams, and that Grif, awakening, would sit up in his bed to listen to it. And he would wander off alone to listen to it; he had been listening to it to-day when the doctor had driven up in his car. And sometimes he felt that the player on the flute was very near, sometimes he seemed to see him. Mingled with this fascination was a fear. He had hours now when he saw, with a curious and terrible insight, whither he was being drawn. He had written down pledges on paper, and signed them――only to break them: and his will was getting weaker. He knew that in yielding to this half-dreaded, and of late more than half-dreaded spell, he was injuring himself and all those who loved him. He could hear, far away, the low roar of the whirlpool into which he was being sucked; he could feel the overpowering drag of those dark frozen waters. He knew that the things he had once cared for were becoming less and less able to hold him, even for a moment. He knew that he was becoming more and more absorbed in one feeling, one languid listless passion, which seemed strong now only because all other things were weak, which was able to fascinate him without bringing him happiness, or even a passing pleasure. At times he longed, with a hopeless despairing crying of his soul, to tell somebody, to ask for help; but he felt there was no one he could speak to, no one he could tell. He could not tell Aunt Caroline. He knew that if he did she would not be able to do anything for him; he knew just what she would say, how she would get him to make a promise. A promise! He had promised so often already, and had so often broken his word.... The doctor set him down at the Glebe gate, and Grif thanked him. Then he turned and walked up the avenue to the house. He walked slowly, listlessly. And the doctor knew that three months ago he would have been running and shouting, shouting to the others, beginning to tell them about his drive while he was still fifty yards off. To-day he doubted very much if he would even mention the matter. CHAPTER XXIV GRIF FALLS ASLEEP ‘What peace doth now Rock him asleep.’ ――_Vaughan._