For several days Bruce suffered more keenly than he had expected to, just as Dr. Fairbairn prophesied. Bartlemy went back to Yale on Monday, as usual, but Basil stayed behind to help nurse and serve his brother, who was helpless for nearly a week.
Miss Charlotte slept for three days, only waking to take nourishment, and then she drifted back to oblivion of her loss. She had loved her home, the home of her birth and entire life, so dearly that Mrs. Grey was grateful for every hour that spared her consciousness of that loss.
That courageous woman found even her competent hands overfull for those seven days of nursing and a crowded house. But Wythie and Rob pervaded every corner with their helpfulness, and between school hours Prue uncomplainingly shouldered the hardest tasks that she could find undone. The thought that the little grey house had so nearly lost big, noble Bruce, and that he had risked his life only on the chance of saving Cousin Peace, who was dearer than any one outside its immediate circle, awoke in Prue such a depth of gratitude that nothing was too hard for her to do to prove that gratitude.
When Miss Charlotte came back from her voyaging in unknown waters the Grey family rejoiced anew, for she came back her old, calm, sweet self; sorrowful in the loss of her house, but not harmed by the shock of the fire, and far too deeply good to brood over the holocaust of all the memorials and associations of her life. Nothing was said by Miss Charlotte of Bruce's daring plunge, at that last moment of special danger, into the burning house in search of her. But once Rob, coming into the dining-room, saw Cousin Peace bending over the boy's couch with both her delicate hands lightly enfolding his bandaged ones, and she knew that Bruce was receiving his thanks.
Bruce's back was towards the door, which was fortunate, for he would have been greatly embarrassed to meet Rob's eyes, and Cousin Peace, of course, could not see her. Rob slipped away quietly, and when she came singing along the hall a little later Bruce was relating college tales to Miss Charlotte, smiling over by the window, in Mrs. Grey's low sewing chair.
"Fayre is ringing with your heroism, Bruce," cried a voice from the other direction, and Rob turned to see Frances coming in the front door. "And what is more, Rob," Frances added as she and Rob met in the doorway of the dining-room, "I see Hester Baldwin coming up the street as fast as she can come."
"Hester!" cried Rob, setting down her bowl of blancmange. Bruce ungratefully called all the food prepared for him during these days of feverish tendencies by one generic name—"softness."
"It is Hester, actually," she cried. "And Dr. Fairbairn is driving down the street; I wonder he didn't overtake you."
"Not while he continues to drive Reliable," laughed Frances. "Reliable makes his daily visits in time, but he doesn't overtake many people."
"Well, Hester, it's very nice to see you coming up the hill unexpectedly, as if you were a Fayre maiden, and not a daughter of Gotham!" said Rob welcoming her friend.