was pinning a sheet above the bed. His face was white and drawn, but
his hand was firm and his mouth was a straight line.

Arthur was tossing his arms convulsively.

The doctor listened with his ear a minute upon the sick man's heart,
then the gauze mask was laid upon his face and the chloroform soon did
its merciful work.

The doctor handed Pearl the bottle. "A drop or two if he moves," he
said.

Then Horace Clay, the man with a man's mistakes, his fears, his
heart-burnings, was gone, and in his place stood Horace Clay, the
doctor, keen, alert, masterful, indomitable, with the look of battle on
his face. He worked rapidly, never faltering; his eyes burning with the
joy of the true physician who fights to save, to save a human life from
the grim old enemy, Death.

"You have saved his life, Pearl," the doctor said two hours later.
Arthur lay sleeping easily, the flush gone from his face, and his
breath coming regularly.

The doctor put his hand gently on her tumbled little brown head.

"You saved him from death, Pearl, and me--from something worse."

And then Pearl took the doctor's hand in both of hers, and kissed it
reverently.

"That's for Thursa," she said, gravely.

Tom was awakened by some one shaking him gently.

"Tom, Tom Motherwell, what are you doing here?"

A woman knelt beside him; her eyes were sweet and kind and sad beyond
expression.

"Tom, how did you come here?" she asked, gently, as Tom struggled to
rise.

He sat up, staring stupidly around him. "Wha' 's a matter? Where's
this?" he asked thickly.

"You're in the sitting-room at the hotel," she said. He would have lain
down again, but she took him firmly by the arm.

"Come Tom," she said. "Come and have a drink of water."

She led him out of the hotel to the pump at the corner of the street.
Tom drank thirstily. She pumped water on his hands, and bathed his
burning face in it. The cold water and the fresh air began to clear his
brain.

"What time is it?" he asked her.

"Nearly morning," she said. "About half-past three, I think," and Tom
knew even in the darkness that she had lost more teeth. It was Mrs.
Skinner.

"Tom," she said, "did you see Skinner in there? I came down to get
him--I want him--the child is dead an hour ago." She spoke hurriedly.

Tom remembered now. Yes, he had seen Skinner, but not lately; it was a
long, long time ago.

"Now Tom, go home," she said kindly. "This is bad work for you, my dear
boy. Stop i