Granny was rarely conscious and all three of her grandchildren coveted the sad privilege of being near her when these brief moments of lucidity came though Tony and Ted could not stand long periods of watching beside the still form as Larry could and did.  It was Larry that she most often recognized.  Sometimes though he was his father to her and she called him “Ned” in such tones of yearning tenderness that it nearly broke down his self control.  Sometimes too he was Philip to her and this also was bitterly hard for Larry missed his uncle’s support woefully in this dark hour.  Ruth, Granny seemed to know, oftener indeed, than she did Tony to the latter’s keen grief though she acknowledged the justice of the stab.  For she had gone her selfish way leaving the stranger to play the loving granddaughter’s part.

One night when the nurse was resting and Larry too had flung himself upon the couch in the living room to snatch a little much needed relaxation, leaving Ruth in charge of the sickroom, Ted drifted in and demanded to take his turn at the watch, giving Ruth a chance to sleep.  She demurred at first, knowing how hard these vigils were for the restless, unhappy lad.  But seeing he was really in earnest she yielded.  As she passed out of the room her hand rested for a moment on the boy’s bowed head.  She had come to care a great deal for sunny, kind-hearted Teddy, loved him for himself and because she knew he loved Larry with deep devotion.

He looked up with a faint smile and gave her hand a squeeze.

“You are a darling, Ruthie,” he murmured.  “Don’t know what we would ever do without you.”

And then he was alone with death and his own somber thoughts.  He could not get away from the memory of Madeline, could not help feeling with a terrible weight of responsibility that he was more than a little to blame for her plight.  Whether he liked to think it or not he couldn’t help knowing that the whole thing had started with that foolish joy ride with himself.  Madeline had never risked her grandfather’s displeasure till she risked it for him.  She had never gone anywhere with Hubbard till she went because she was bitterly angry with himself because he had not kept his promise—­a promise which never should have been made in the first place.  And if he had not gone to Holyoke, hadn’t behaved like an idiot that last night, hadn’t deserted her like a selfish cad to save his own precious self—­if none of these things had happened would Madeline still have gone to Hubbard?  Perhaps.  But in his heart Ted Holiday had a hateful conviction that she would not, that her wretchedness now was indirectly if not directly chargeable to his own folly.  It was terrible that such little things should have such tremendous consequences but there it was.

All his life Ted Holiday had evaded responsibility and had found self extenuation the easiest thing in the world.  But somehow all at once he seemed to have lost the power of letting himself off.  He had no plea to offer even to himself except “guilty.”  Was he going to do as Doctor Hendricks commanded and let Madeline pay the price of her own folly alone or was he going to pay with her?  The night was full of the question.