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The next day Parris found it difficult to revive any real sense of the preceding night. He could not perfectly believe in its reality, or recapture the trouble of mind that had beset him after he had gone to bed. He wandered about the gardens and the nursery plantations in a rather pleasant vagueness.

The weather was still fine. The yellow maples and hickories were thinning a little at the top. Against the deep reds and yellows the evergreens took on an unexpected freshness. The distant lines of the familiar landscape were dim and strange in the deepening blue haze.

Parris went through the spruce and cedars, past the little pond, to a small rise where an outcropping of rocky ledge was topped by a growth of birches. The leaves were scant now, but those which still held were like flakes of pure gold. There was another kind of tree, too, still green with a sharp, springlike green.

Parris sat cross-legged in the tufted, wiry grass. He could see the pond now. It looked unearthly still. It made him think of graveyards and pictures of places you could never go to because they no longer existed. There it lay, just down the slope, but he felt as if he could not possibly go to it. He knew that all he had to do was walk down the slope and he could stand on the bank and throw clods into the water. He could—and still he couldn’t.

He wrinkled his brow and squinted. He couldn’t go there—he couldn’t go there—because—because of a lot of days and nights and weeks and months. That’s what it was. All of that time—two long years of time shutting in and shutting down on another time that he was trying to remember into life again. But—once more a certainty of irrecoverable loss struck at him as it had that day when his grandmother said Renée had gone away. He could not reach the place—his lake, his and Renée’s “secret lake,” was back there—away back there, and down there at the end of all those days and nights.

He lay down and stared up through the trees. The light hurt his eyes, and he turned over on his side. It was warm and very still. Last night’s loss of sleep made him drowsy. He could hear a faraway crow sounding his half-warning, half-jeering call. There was another sound, too—a subdued, swishing whisper. Parris was uncertain if it was inside or outside of his head, but it might be, he thought, all of the sounds of the whole countryside sort of mixed and passing on out of the world.

Jamie Wakefield said—oh, Jamie again!—darn it!—couldn’t he get rid of Jamie, and stop thinking about him? He pulled handfuls of grass and threw it up in the air, watching it scatter and fall again. Poor old Jamie—he had acted so—so scared. Little fool!

His resentment against Jamie was less violent today. After all, he was just as much to blame if anybody had to be blamed. He wasn’t sure it was a question of blame. Jamie—well, Jamie was just different, that was all. He did seem kind of like a girl, sure enough—as Drake McHugh said. Now if Jamie were really a girl ... that thought crossed another which he must not let himself think. Jamie was—yes, he was really beautiful, and he made you like him just for that. And that was strange—Parris couldn’t exactly make sense of it. Beautiful in the way a girl is beautiful, and that always made you feel you had to do something about it.... He flounced about and lay face down, shutting his eyes in the crook of his arm. He pressed his face hard against his rough sleeve, and his breath came back hot and damp against his face. He shut his eyes tight. Pictures shaped in the reddish pulsing dark—rather meaningless pictures—Drake and Jamie, and over and over, Renée—and again, Jamie and Cassie Tower. He came wide-awake and stirred. Cassie Tower ... what was she doing here with Drake and Jamie—and with Renée?

The sun was warm on his neck and back, but the ground was cool. He turned over again and covered his face with his cap. The pictures faded for a moment and sounds floated back. The crow was still calling from the same place—still impudent and assured. The dull clunk of a cowbell came from the lower woods. That would be Reddy down by the creek. A thinner sound of turkey bells—a sort of glinting tink-tink came from near by. Parris could imagine the cautious, inquiring heads of the gobblers thrust up from the tall grass back of the cedars.

He stirred a little—the humps in the ground seemed to grow harder. After a while he sat up and groaned. He wished he had someone to talk to. Not Tom Carr, or Benny who couldn’t understand much, or even Drake who laughed too readily when you were trying to be serious, or maybe—no, not Jamie either.... If Renée were here! He took a quick short breath—the bright silvery image of Renée confused for an instant with that of Cassandra....

“I’ve got to think about something now.” He said the words aloud, but he scarcely heard the sound of his own voice.

He said them again, more softly: “I’ve got to think about something now.”

But he was not thinking. All of his senses were in a warm confusion. What he heard, and saw, and felt were all one—something his mind was doing of itself—half eager, half reluctant—a forward thrust of imagination into a disquieting new world. A secret urgency lay behind this almost furtive exploration.

Parris bit hard on his lip to quiet the conflict of misgiving and excitement that shook his nerves.

“I don’t feel good,” he muttered.

Madame von Eln sat on the terrace that same afternoon talking with Dr. Gordon and Colonel Skeffington.

Upstairs, Anna and another maid stood looking down at the three. Anna shook her head. “When a body sends for a doctor and a lawyer at the same time—” She left off.

“Do you think Madame is worse—or something?”

Anna began to cry silently. “She looks worse every day. Nobody else notices because they see her every day, and because she’s so quick and bright about everything, but I notice. I notice everything. I’ve been with her too long not to notice.”

The younger maid turned and peered through the curtain. “My goodness, oh, my goodness!” she said.

“You see, Colonel,” Madame was saying. “I must be sure that I arrange everything. The boy has no one—no one in the world but me.”

Colonel Skeffington folded and unfolded his gold-rimmed glasses. “I always thought you had a lot of kin in the East?”

“Oh, I have—in Philadelphia. I don’t like them, Colonel.” She smiled rather gaily, and the Colonel nodded. “They really are quite distant and I hardly think would interest themselves much in Parris. I want to do the best I can for him with what I have. He—he’s all I have, too.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. You know, Madame, if anything should happen to you—unexpectedly—”

“It wouldn’t be unexpected, now, Isaac.”

“Well, well, now. I never believe the worst until it has happened. What I was going to say is this: if—if your grandson finds himself alone, he can come to me any time, for as long as he wants to. Got a big house, plenty of room. Fine boy he is. Rather make a lawyer of him, though, than a doctor.” He slapped Dr. Gordon on the knee, but he did not smile.

“Thank you, Isaac. I know your generous heart. I—I think Parris leans to medicine as much as to anything—except, maybe music.”

“Music!” The Colonel dismissed that. This time Dr. Gordon laughed a little with his habitual quick intake of breath.

Madame nodded. “I don’t take that inclination seriously, Isaac. I have him study because I think it will keep him from being lonely sometime, maybe.”

“Yes, I see, I see.” Skeffington slipped his glasses on again and looked at his notes. He twisted his beard into long Assyrian curls. “It’s a good property, and with the money in the bank he can get a good education, but—”

“But what?” She leaned forward in her chair.

“Not more than that. But he’ll be fixed to earn his living.”

She sighed. “It will have to do. But I do think it is urgent that we make definite plans quickly.”

Colonel Skeffington looked hard at her. “I have to be blunt, Marie. How much time do you think you have?”

Madame looked at Dr. Gordon. The doctor did not answer at once. His overbright eyes searched Madame’s face.

“Well, Henry?” Skeffington snapped the words out at Dr. Gordon.

“Madame has a year, maybe two—two at best.”

The Colonel’s face showed hard red patches as it always did when he was moved or excited. He looked steadily at Madame for a moment.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I don’t believe a word of it, but we’ll act as if Gordon knows what he’s talking about, which I very much doubt. You don’t look it, Madame, you don’t look it at all.”

But Colonel Skeffington was not telling the truth. He was sure Dr. Gordon was right. Madame’s face had a chalky look, and she was frightfully thin.

“Parris, you say, has made good progress with his tutors?” Dr. Gordon asked the question in a sudden matter-of-fact tone.

“Excellent, Doctor. His tutors say he is far ahead of the high-school classes.”

“Then we must put him in Aberdeen, at once. But it will save time if he reads medicine with someone for a couple of years. Then he can take examinations and save much time.”

Skeffington nodded. “Good idea. Now, if it had been law, he could have read with me. I’d have taught him a lot of things not in the books.”

Madame laughed dryly. “I’ve heard you know a lot of such things.”

“You bet your life I do. But who can the boy read with, Gordon—you?”

“I haven’t time.”

“But there’s nobody else.” Madame’s tone was anxious.

Skeffington and Madame waited quietly. The three of them sitting there in this quiet terrace garden, with the dimming October sunshine over them, made a curious picture. These were to them familiar procedures. Without hush, or awe, without sentimentality, or obliquity, they were arranging the sequences of death and life. They were not unaware of the gravity of these matters, but they were unaware of their dignity in dealing with them.

Quietly, simply, almost casually, they were setting another act in the drama of their lives. Perhaps Skeffington alone, with his lively sense of the dramatic, was appreciative of the scene. He cut his eye in Dr. Gordon’s direction.

“Well, Henry?”

“I’m going to make a suggestion—” Dr. Gordon hesitated. “I’m going to make a suggestion you may not approve. But there is one man who could do more for him in such a way than anyone I know.” He hesitated again.

“In Kings Row?” Skeffington was impatient.

“Yes. Dr. Tower.”

Both Madame von Eln and Colonel Skeffington started. Madame repeated the name incredulously. Dr. Gordon compressed his lips and nodded firmly. “Yes, ma’am. He’s a brilliant man—most able. He’s a hard student. Far ahead of any of us. Knows all the new things. He would certainly be the man.”

“I didn’t know you knew Dr. Tower very well—I mean to say, any better than the rest of us, and that’s just not at all.” Skeffington was curious.

“I’ve talked with him very often. He’s able—most able.”

“But, would he take Parris?” Madame was immediately practical.

Dr. Gordon thought a moment. “I believe he would. It would give him a new interest. I’d be very happy to speak to him myself about it.”

“Would you really be so kind, Doctor?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Happy to do it. I can tell you that Dr. Tower is a whole medical college by himself.”

Skeffington reached for his hat. “Are there any other details, ma’am, you think of?”

“Well, if you think now it’s best to arrange for the bank rather than some one person to be guardian—”

Skeffington interrupted. “Anyone you’d want would be older than you—likelier to die than you are. The Burton County Bank will take care of him all right. They’re good men in there.”

“All right. There is one more thing—and I’d like this to be clearly put in my will. As soon as practicable, I want Parris to go to Vienna for his medical training.”

Skeffington put his hat down again. “Vienna? Why?”

“Doctor Gordon will tell you, Isaac, that Vienna is the best place in the world to study medicine.”

“But a foreign country, Madame—”

“Parris is halfway a foreigner—at least, most people think so. He understands and speaks German. He won’t be handicapped by the language.”

“Well—”

“As you see,” she went on quickly. “There’s money enough for just about that long a time, and that kind of education, and a little over, maybe, if everything turns out all right, to set him up in practice.”

“Well—”

“Will you see that this is in the papers and that it will be carried out?”

“Yes, Madame, I will, if you—and Gordon here—think that’s best.”

Doctor Gordon stood up. “I have to hurry away, Madame. I’ll see you next week.” He turned to the Colonel. “Madame has a good plan there. Wish I could have gone to Vienna when I was a student. It’ll give her grandson an immense advantage when he starts his practice.”

Madame rose and walked to the terrace steps with the two men.

“Good day, ma’am.”

“Good day, and thank you, both of you. I’ll see Dr. MacLaughlin tomorrow about Aberdeen. The rest—” she suddenly sounded tired “—the rest I leave to you.”

Skeffington swept his shiny hat in a wide arc. “You can depend on us, ma’am.”

Madame inclined her head formally.

“Good day, and thank you again.”

She watched the Doctor’s buggy until it passed the gate and rolled out of sight among the trees along the creek drive. She drew her shawl about her shoulders. The west had clouded over, and the air was chill.

It would soon be winter.