"You think this is due to her?"

"In a great measure," said Max.

Sir Kersley's face was grave. "I am afraid the strain is telling upon
her," he said.

"You think she looks ill?" Max shot the question with none of his
customary composure.

"No, not actually ill," Sir Kersley said, without looking at him. "But
she is too thin in my opinion, and she looks to me very highly strung."

"She always was," said Max.

"Yes; well, she mustn't have a nervous break-down if we can prevent it,"
said Sir Kersley gently.

"No," Max agreed curtly. "She has got to keep up for Noel's sake."

That seemed to be his main idea just then--his brother's welfare. Very
resolutely he kept his mind fixed, with all the strength of which it was
capable, upon that one object, and he was impatient of every distraction
outside his profession.

Late that night he went round for a last look at Noel, and was told by a
smiling nurse that he had "gone to sleep as chirpy as a cricket." He
went in to see him, and found him slumbering like an infant. The pulse
under Max's fingers was absolutely normal, and an odd smile that had in
it an element of respect touched Max's grim lips. Certainly the boy had
grit.

The first sound he heard when he arrived at the home on the following
day was Noel's heartiest laugh. He was enjoying a joke with one of the
nurses who was Irish herself and extremely gay of heart. But the moment
Max entered, he sobered and asked for Olga.

Olga was in the building with Nick, but they had thought it advisable to
keep visitors away from him on the morning of the operation. Noel,
however, was absolutely immovable on the point, refusing flatly to
proceed until he had seen her. So for five short minutes Olga was
admitted and left alone with him.

More than once during those minutes his cheery laugh made itself heard
again. He had a hundred and one things to say, not one of which could
Olga ever remember afterwards save the last, when, holding her close to
him, he whispered, "And if I don't come out of it, sweetheart, you're
to marry another fellow; see? No damn' sentimental rot on my account,
mind! I never was good enough for you, God knows! There! Run along!
Good-bye!"

His kiss was the briefest he had ever given her, but there was something
in the manner of its bestowal that pierced her to the heart. Her own
farewell was inarticulate. She was only just able to restrain her tears.

But she mastered her weakness almost immedi