“I know it,� said Colonel Royall, “and Jacob is of my blood—I feel the disgrace. Hollis, I feel the disgrace!� and he sat down and covered his face with his hands.
XXVI
TWO mornings later Dr. Cheyney finished his breakfast in abstracted silence; not even Miss Lucinda’s best rice griddle-cakes calling forth a word of approval. He had been talking over the telephone with Diana Royall. He finished his perfunctory examination of the daily paper, which was full of the flight of Jacob Eaton, the collapse of the Eaton Investment Company, the ruin of many prominent citizens, and the illness of Mrs. Eaton, who had been sent at once to a private sanitarium in the city.
The absorbing topic of Eaton had almost swallowed up the hitherto absorbing topic of Caleb Trench, though Caleb once more loomed up, directing the forces of the opposition.
The doctor folded the paper viciously and put it in his pocket, then he went out and climbed into his old buggy; he remembered quite distinctly that other morning when he had climbed into it at six o’clock to drive past the Eatons at a convenient hour. It might be said that the old man was so hardened in kindly iniquity that his conscience never suffered a single twinge. He and old Henk traveled more slowly up the hill, however, than on that previous occasion. As he approached Broad Acres he was struck with the dreary aspect of the autumn, and noticed that even the house itself looked less cheerful. He had seen Colonel Royall’s name on every quotation of losses in the Eaton Company, and he drew his own conclusions.
At the door Diana met him. She was very pale.
“Dear Dr. Cheyney,� she said, holding out both hands, “it’s a relief to see you! I couldn’t tell you over the ’phone—but—� She stopped, her lips trembled.
“What is it, Diana?� the old man asked gently.
“You know the Shut Room?� She looked up imploringly.
The silence of the house behind her seemed impenetrable; the long hall was vacant.