aid thoughtfully.

"But I'll be with you often.... And, David, I've brought up a small
manuscript which I want you to read. After that we'll advise together
about its publishing----"

"That _is_ important--if the stuff is anything like your letters to
me.... Have you thought of attaching your name to this beginning?"

"Not more than _A.B._"

* * * * *

"Is everything bright down yonder?" Cairns asked after a moment.

"Bright past any idea you can have. Framtree is doing
greatly--indispensable--and loves the life. Miss Mallory still unfolds.
She's a Caribbean of buried treasure----"

"And _they_?" Cairns asked.

"Are friends."

...Vina met them in her studio. The three stood for a moment in silence
among the panels. It was not yet four in the afternoon, but the dusk
was thickening.... Vina put on her hat.

"I've just received word from Mary McCullom," she said. "She's in Union
Hospital--I don't know--but I must hurry. The word said that Mary
McCullom wanted me--nothing more. That was her maiden-name. I knew her
so. Her husband died recently, but I didn't hear in time to find her.
She must have left New York for a time. They were _so_ happy.... I'm
afraid----"

David went to her.

"No, you mustn't go with me, David. There are too many things to
do--for to-night----"

"Let me go, Vina," Bedient said.

In the cab, she told him the story of Mary McCullom's failure as an
artist and conquest as a woman--the same story she had told Beth
Truba--and what meant the love of the nurseryman--to Mary McCullom.

Vina's voice had a strange sound in the shut cab. She felt Bedient's
presence, as some strength almost too great for her vitality to
sustain. He did not speak.

"Sometimes it seems almost sacrilege," she said in a trembling tone,
"to be so happy as we have been.... I should have persevered until I
found her--after her ... oh, what that must have meant to her!... And
she used to rely upon me so----"

* * * * *

"... Oh, Vina!" the woman whispered, holding out her arms. "I have
wanted you!... I have waited for you to come.... I knew you would. I
always loved you, because you made me take him!... We were so happy....
Draw the coverlet back----"

A new-born child was sleeping at her breast.

Vina had knelt. Her head bent forward in silent passion.

"Won't you, Vina--won't _you_ take him?"

Vina covered her face, but made no sound.