"What's the trouble?" he echoed.
"Yes. You surely aren't waiting for me to go?"
"No, no," he said, hastily, feeling his fears for the moment dislodged and feebly flying like a flock of bats and owls before the daylight in the brave old eyes. "No, no; you are not the barrier."
"What then?"
"I suppose, primarily, it's Uncle John. He left us a legacy."
"John!"
A sudden mist of weakness rose before her like a veil.
"Yes."
Ethan turned away, and paced the dim room from the bedside to the fireplace, back and forth. It came over the sick woman that it was just so John had walked and talked about this life he lacked the energy to live. How like him Ethan was growing in air and manner! It was as if John had got up out of his grave to walk the old track in the old restless fashion. What was it he was saying about "the wreck of creeds"?