"I know,—I shall do my best."
A week later Hamlen's life was out of danger, but at times his mental wanderings confirmed the doctor's worst apprehensions. Yet Huntington came to dread the depression of the saner moments more than the vagrant hallucinations. The dramatic details of the unleashing of the war-dogs of one nation after another should have been enough to arouse his interest, but his only comment was, "It is a fitting end to a hollow world, with its thin veneer of sham civilization; would to God it had come sooner!"
Finally it seemed safe to leave the patient in the care of the trained nurse, and Huntington made his deferred return to Sagamore Hall. Marian had kept in touch with Hamlen's progress as well as she could over the telephone, but there was much which her heart craved to learn more intimately. The illness afforded a simple explanation to the other guests of the peculiar disappearance of both men, so Huntington's confidences needed to be told to Mrs. Thatcher alone. Still, there was a single exception. One of the first questions Huntington asked of Marian was whether Merry knew the whole truth, and when he learned from both how much each had gained from their mutual confidences he insisted that the girl hear from him the details of what had happened since.
He told his story simply, trying to spare Marian and making as light as possible of the part which he himself had played, yet the whole-souled devotion he had given his friend could be concealed no more than the serious results of Mrs. Thatcher's persistency. Huntington had claimed from him the life which would have been forfeited, promising to make good use of it; now that it was at his disposal, what was he to do with it? He admitted freely to Mrs. Thatcher and Merry that as yet he had found no solution.
"This necessity of doing your splendid work over again is but one of the results of my culpable stupidity," Marian said penitently. "When I think of it, it seems as if I should go mad!"
Huntington rejoiced in the change which he found in Mrs. Thatcher. The sudden view she had gained of herself was all she needed to understand that one lack which no one could have made her see or comprehend. Huntington felt the closer relationship between her and Merry, and he believed the girl had found the answer to her question.
"We must forget our mistakes," he said, anxious to relieve Marian, "except when remembering them will prevent a repetition. We all have tried to do our full duty by this abnormal personality, and our shortcomings should not cause us to question the sincerity of our acts."
"You are too generous," Mrs. Thatcher replied; "I shall never cease to hold myself accountable, never!"
"Don't, Momsie!" Merry begged. "Perhaps even now we can suggest something which will undo the harm."
"We must," Huntington said soberly. "Now, if I may finish out my visit with you it will be a real relief after these depressing days, and we will await the inspiration."