Stricken, and beginning to realize for the first time what an empty place would be left in the Sausalito group when the kindly old doctor was gone, Julia hastily dressed herself for the hurried trip.  She must see Jim now; there was a sort of dramatic satisfaction in the thought that he must know the accident of their meeting at last to be none of her contriving.  And she would see Richie, too; her heart fluttered at the thought.  She sat on the boat, dreamily watching the gray water rush by, dreamily ready for whatever might come.  The day was dull and soft; boat whistles droned all about them on the bay; from Alcatraz, shouldering through an enveloping fog, came the steady ringing of a brass gong.

Long drifts of fog had crept under the trees in the Toland garden, the rose bushes were beaded with fine mist, the eaves dripped steadily.  Julia began to be shaken with nervous anticipation of the moment when she must meet Jim.  Would he meet her at the door, or would they deliberately arrange—­these loyal brothers and sisters—­that the dreaded moment should not come until they were all about her?  She gave a quick nervous glance about the big hallway when a tearful maid admitted her.  But it was only Barbara who came forward, and Barbara’s first word was that Jim and Richie were not there; Dad had sent both on errands.  “His mind is absolutely clear,” said Barbara shakenly.  She herself was waiting for an important telephone call, and occasionally pressing a folded handkerchief to her eyes.  The two women kissed, with sudden tears on both sides, before Julia went noiselessly upstairs.  Constance and Theodora were in their mother’s room, Mrs. Toland with them.  The mother had been crying, and was now only trying to muster sufficient self-control to reenter the sickroom without giving the beloved patient alarm.  Julia’s entrance was the signal for fresh tears; but they all presently brightened a little, too, and Julia persuaded Mrs. Toland to drink a cup of hot soup, “the very first thing she’s touched all day!” said all the girls fondly.

Only Janey was with the invalid when Julia went into the sickroom, a silent, white-faced Janey, who stared at Julia with sombre eyes.  The doctor lay high in pillows, looking oddly boyish in his white nightgown in spite of his gray hair.  A fire flickered in the old-fashioned polished iron grate; outside the window twilight and the fog were mingling.  The room had some unfamiliar quality of ordered emptiness already, as if life’s highway must be cleared for the coming of the great Destroyer.

Julia knelt down by the bed and laid her hand over the old man’s hand.  To her surprise he opened his eyes.  They moved from her face to the clock on the mantel, as if he had lost count of time, and had not expected her so soon.

“How are you, Dad?” she said, with infinite tenderness.

“He’s better,” Janey answered.  “Aren’t you, darling?  You look better!”