Gard paused, his hand upon the bell. Now at last he could enter this house, and wish it peace. His errand, even the all-comprehending eyes of the dead and gone warrior could look upon without their half-cynic sadness.
As he entered the great silent hall, where the footfalls of the servant were hushed, as if overawed by tragedy, he seemed to leave behind him, as distinctly as he discarded the garment he gave into the lackey’s hands, the bitterness of the past. He was ushered into a small and elaborate waiting room to the right. And a moment later Teddy Mahr entered to him, with extended hands.
The boy had aged. His face was white and drawn, but the eyes that looked into Gard’s face were courageous and clear.
“Thank you for coming,” he said frankly. “Shall we sit here, or—in Father’s room?” His mouth twitched slightly. “It really must be part of the house, you know. It was his workshop—and I want it to be mine in the future. I haven’t been in there since, and, somehow, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d like you to come with me—to be with me, when I first go back.”
Gard nodded and smiled rather grimly. “Yes, boy—I’d like to myself. I would have asked it of you, but I feared to awaken memories that were too painful for you. Let us go in. What I have to talk over with you concerns him, too.”
They crossed the hall, and Teddy unlocked the heavy door and paused to find the switch. The anteroom sprung into light. In silence they crossed the intervening space to the inner door, which was in turn unlocked.