There was the sign for Repton. The farm was beyond the next turning.

"I haven't died," he told himself, his voice overly loud in his ears. "I've come this far." But he couldn't have said how he got here from London.

Harry. It isn't you, it's Harry. Something has happened to Harry- The motorcar turned into the drive seemingly of its own accord, and as he came into sight of the house, he blew the horn over and over again. "Jenny," he shouted, "Jenny, for God's sake, come and help me."

It was all he could do to pull on the brake and stop in the circle before the house. His hands refused to open the door, his feet refused to lift from the pedals. Fear held him in a vise, and he could do nothing for Harry, he couldn't even save his son.

His wife came running from the house.

"Walter? What's the matter? What's happened?" Jenny cried, taking in his pale, sweating face and shaking hands.

"Something's happened to Harry."

"He's in Monmouthshire, visiting the Montleighs-"

"I know-I know. Call them. Pray God it isn't too late. Tell them we'll be there as soon as possible."

But how was he to drive to Monmouthshire? He'd find a way.

She ran back into the house, and he sat there, fists clenched, eyes shut, his mind straining to hear the conversation that was going on inside the house. He felt he would stop breathing before Jenny could bring him the answer.

There she was-running toward him. He scanned her face.

"Harry's all right, Walter, he's just fine." Mollie, the housekeeper was on her heels, wiping her hands in her apron. "I've called Dr. Fielding, he's on his way. Can you come inside? Walter-what's wrong?"

Exhausted, he sat there, not moving. He could die now. It was all right. If that was demanded of him, he'd understand.