"He was in the house, up-stairs, his mother said. I asked about him sort of casually, and she said he had just come in and gone up to his room. His father made some uncomplimentary remarks about him. Samuel oughtn't to be so hard on him," William said thoughtfully; "he said he had told Sam that he supposed he might look forward to supporting him for the rest of his life—'as if he were a criminal or an idiot.' Imagine a father saying a thing like that!" William lifted his lantern and turned the wick up. "Now, I'm only hard on him when he is a goose; but his father—What was that?"
William King stood bolt upright, motionless, his lips parted. Mrs. Richie caught at his arm, and the lantern swinging sharply, scattered a flying shower of light; they were both rigid, straining their ears, not breathing. There was no sound except the vague movement of the leaves overhead, and faintly, from across the meadow—"Bob-white! bob-white!"
"I thought—I heard—" the doctor said in a whisper. Helena, clutching at his arm, reeled heavily against him.
"Yes. It was. That was what it was."
"No! Impossible!" he stammered. And they stood listening breathlessly; then, just as the strain began to relax, down through the darkness from the house behind the trees came a cry:
"Dr. King—"
An instant later the sound of flying steps on the gravel, and a girl's shrill voice: "Dr. King!"
"Here, Lydia!" William said, running towards the little figure; "what's the matter!"
Helena, in the shadow of the gate-post, only caught a word:
"Sam—"