t seem to recognize him, yet he was calmer in his presence. Mr.
Hastings had ceased to demur or grumble--indeed, sharp and persistent
anxiety and fear had taken the place of all other feelings. Pliny had
disappointed him, had angered him, had disgraced him at times, yet he
reigned an idol in his father's heart.

During all these anxious days and nights Dr. Arnold's face had been
grave and impassive, and his voice had failed to utter a single
encouraging word. But one night he said, peremptorily:

"There are too many people, and there is too much moving around in this
room every night. I want every single one of you to go to bed and to
sleep, except this young man. You can stay, can you not?" This with a
glance toward Theodore, who bowed in answer. "Well, then, you are the
only watcher he needs, and the sooner the rest of you retire the better
it will be for the patient."

Mr. Hastings rebelled utterly.

"There was no occasion for depending upon strangers," he said,
haughtily. "Any or all of the family were ready to sit up; and besides,
there were scores of intimate friends who had offered their aid."

And the doctor, quite as accustomed to having his own way as Mr.
Hastings could possibly be, answered, testily:

"But the family and the 'scores of intimate friends' are just the beings
that I don't want to-night, and this 'stranger' has proved himself a
very faithful and efficient nurse during the last few weeks, and _he_ is
the one _I'm_ going to leave in charge."

He carried his point, of course. Dr. Arnold always did. When the door
was closed on the last departure he came with very quiet tread to
Theodore's side, and spoke in subdued tones.

"This night is a matter of life and death with us; he needs the most
close and careful watching; above all, he needs absolute quiet and the
absence of all nervousness. There will be a change before morning--a
very startling one perhaps. It is for this reason I have banished the
family. I trust _you_, you see."

"I don't trust myself," answered Theodore, huskily, yet making a great
effort to control his voice.

"It is more to the point that _I do_ just at present; the next eight
hours will be likely to determine whether it has all been in vain. I
will give you very careful directions, and I will be in twice during the
night, although I am absolutely powerless now; can do no more than you
will be able to do yourself. Meantime that friend of yours, McPherson I
think his na