He pulled himself together and walked nervously over to the window. Where on earth was the cab? It was a comfort to vent irritability on something.
Then he roved over to the trunk he had packed with such forethought.
He laughed a little bitterly.
“Poor old Velantour! He will be disappointed, too,” he whispered. “But of the two old men who love me, one has to go to the wall. And it shan’t be dad.”
He tramped up and down restlessly until he heard the sound of wheels.
Then he called to Elenore.
“I am going now.”
“Not in this cab, you are not,” her voice answered him. “This is mine. Yours will be here in ten minutes, and you will have lots of time then.”
“What?” he called, halfway to the door, and not believing his ears.
The door swung open, and in it he saw—himself.