ed in his agony like they had been paper.
It was a brass bed. No, ma'am. I'd never be party to a thing like that
again."

Sophy felt as if she were ill herself.

"Don't!" she said. She put up her hand over her face, as she leaned sick
and weak in her chair. "Don't tell me things like that--please."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Chesney," said the nurse in her kind, blunt way. "But
you see I had to prove my point to you. It's a most important one. That
box _must_ be searched, ma'am. And you see I don't like to go into Mr.
Chesney's private papers. Now you, as his wife, can do it without its
being any harm. Wait a minute, though--are you sure of this man,
Gaynor?"

"Absolutely."

"It's very hard to be sure of people in a morphia case, Mrs. Chesney.
Sometimes just pity makes 'em give the drug to the patient."

"I am quite sure of Gaynor. I'll tell you why," Sophy added, feeling
that it was due the nurse to do so. And she told her of the part that
Gaynor had played in the tragic story.

"Well, I should say _he's_ safe then," admitted Anne, when Sophy had
finished. "And now that I feel sure of that, won't you let me bring you
that box, Mrs. Chesney? You want to save Mr. Chesney, and that's the
only way to do it--to help me and the doctor," she added shrewdly.

Sophy could scarcely have grown paler than she was.

"Go ... bring it...." she said in a faint voice.

Anne brought the red morocco box, with C. G. C. stamped on it in worn
gold letters, and handed it with the key to Sophy.

As the nurse set the box upon her knees, Sophy looked so ghastly that
Anne exclaimed:

"Oh, pray, _pray_, Mrs. Chesney, don't take it so hard! It's for his
good we're doing it--to save him."

"Yes," said Sophy.

With a firm gesture she thrust the key suddenly into the small
spring-lock and turned it. As she felt the lid rise beneath her
hand, it seemed to her as though she had by this act shared his
degradation--drawn part of it into her own blood. With her slender,
nobly shaped hands she began to search among the letters and
documents.--Nothing. The colour began to rise again into her white face.
Eagerly she turned the contents out upon her lap. Nothing. Nothing.

"You see!" she cried, her tone was almost joyous. "There's nothing of
the kind--you were mistaken! There's nothing--nothing!"

Anne frowned. Then she said soberly:

"Well, I've _got_ to find it--somehow. It's wonderful their cleverness
at hiding the stuff."

"But, Nurse Hardi