Gordon made no reply.

When they reached the house, Clemency’s head disappeared from the window, where she had evidently been watching.  She met them at the office door, with an odd, shocked, inquiring expression on her little face.  James kissed her furtively, while Gordon’s back was turned, as he divested himself of his gray coat.

“Dinner is nearly ready,” Clemency said in an agitated voice.

“How is she?” asked Gordon, then before she had time to reply, he added almost roughly, “What on earth are you fretting about?”

“I am not fretting,” Clemency answered in a weak little voice.

“There is nothing in all this for you to concern yourself with.  Put it out of your head!”

“Yes, Uncle Tom.”

“How is she?”

“She has been asleep all the afternoon.”

“She has not had another attack?”

“No, Uncle Tom.”

Then the dinner-bell rang.

To James’s surprise, but everything surprised him now, Gordon seemed to recover his spirits.  He ate heartily.  He laughed and joked.  After dinner he went upstairs to see Mrs. Ewing, and when he came down insisted that James should accompany him to the hotel for a game of euchre.  James would have preferred remaining with Clemency, whose eyes were wistful, but Gordon hurried him away.  They remained until nearly midnight in the parlor, where the funeral had taken place a short time before, playing euchre, telling stories, and drinking apple-jack.  James noticed that the hotel man often cast an anxious and puzzled glance at Gordon.  He began to fancy that what seemed mirth and jollity was the mere bravado of misery and a ghastly mask of real enjoyment.  He was glad when Gordon made the move to leave.  Georgie K. stood in the door watching the two men untie the horse and get into the buggy.  “Take care of yourself, Doc,” he hallooed, and there was real affection and concern in his voice.

Gordon drove now, and the mare, being on her homeward road, made good time.  James helped Gordon unharness, as Aaron had gone to bed.  His deep snores sounded through the stable from his room above.  “It’s a pity to wake up anything,” Gordon said.  “Guess well put the mare up ourselves.”  Now his voice was bitter again.  Gordon had the key of the office door, and after locking the stable the two men entered.  Gordon threw some wood on the fire.  The lamp with its dangling prisms was burning.  “Sit down a minute,” Gordon said, “’I have something to tell you.  I may as well get it off my mind now.  It has got to come sometime.”

James sat down and lit a cigar.  He felt himself in a nervous tension.  Gordon filled his pipe and lit it, then he began to speak in an odd, monotonous voice, as though he were reciting.