He turned up Tower, deliberately avoiding Dalton Street in its lower part, reached Mr. Bentley’s door.  The wrinkled, hospitable old darky actually seemed to radiate something of the personality with which he had so long been associated, and Hodder was conscious of a surge of relief, a return of confidence at sight of him.  Yes, Mr. Bentley was at home, in the dining room.  The rector said he would wait, and not disturb him.

“He done tole me to bring you out, sah, if you come,” said Sam.

“He expects me?” exclaimed Hodder, with a shock of surprise.

“That’s what he done tole me, sah, to ax you kindly for to step out when you come.”

The sun was beginning to penetrate into the little back yard, where the flowers were still glistening with the drops of their morning bath; and Mr. Bentley sat by the window reading his newspaper, his spectacles on his nose, and a great grey cat rubbing herself against his legs.  He rose with alacrity.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, and his welcome implied that early morning visits were the most common and natural of occurrences.  “Sam, a plate for Mr. Hodder.  I was just hoping you would come and tell me what Dr. Jarvis had said about the case.”

But Hodder was not deceived.  He believed that Mr. Bentley understood perfectly why he had come, and the knowledge of the old gentleman’s comprehension curiously added to his sense of refuge.  He found himself seated once more at the mahogany table, permitting Sam to fill his cup with coffee.

“Jarvis has given a favourable report, and he is coming this morning himself, in an automobile, to take the boy out to the hospital.”

“That is like Jarvis,” was Mr. Bentley’s comment.  “We will go there, together, after breakfast, if convenient for you,” he added.

“I hoped you would,” replied the rector.  “And I was going to ask you a favour.  I have a check, given me by a young lady to use at my discretion, and it occurred to me that Garvin might be willing to accept some proposal from you.”  He thought of Nan Ferguson, and of the hope he lead expressed of finding some one in Dalton Street.

“I have been considering the matter,” Mr. Bentley said.  “I have a friend who lives on the trolley line a little beyond the hospital, a widow.  It is like the country there, you know, and I think Mrs. Bledsoe could be induced to take the Garvins.  And then something can be arranged for him.  I will find an opportunity to speak to him this morning.”

Hodder sipped his coffee, and looked out at the morning-glories opening to the sun.

“Mrs. Garvin was alone last night.  He had gone out shortly after we left, and had not waited for the doctor.  She was greatly worried.”

Hodder found himself discussing these matters on which, an hour before, he had feared to permit his mind to dwell.  And presently, not without feeling, but in a manner eliminating all account of his personal emotions, he was relating that climactic episode of the woman at the piano.  The old gentleman listened intently, and in silence.