Doors and windows were wide open, lights gleamed everywhere, but
the house was very quiet. The car had stolen up as silently as a car of
fine workmanship may in these days of motor perfection, but it had been
heard, and Mrs. Robert Gray came out to meet Richard before he could
ring.
"My dear Mr. Richard," she said, pressing his hand, her face very grave
and sweet, "you have come quickly. I am glad, for we are anxious. Your
grandfather has dropped into a strange, drowsy state, from which it
seems impossible to rouse him. But I hope you may be able to do so. He
has wanted you from the first moment."
"Tell me which way to go," cried Richard, under his breath. "Is he
upstairs?"
She kept her hold upon his hand, and he gripped it tight as she led him
up the stairs. It was as if he felt a mother's clasp for the first time
since his babyhood and could not let it go.
"In here," she indicated softly, and the young man went in, his head
bent, his lips set.
* * * * *
Two hours afterward he came out. She was waiting for him, though it was
midnight. Louis and Stephen were waiting, too, and they in turn grasped
his hand, their faces pitiful for the keen grief they saw in his.
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