hrewd guess as to
whose it was.

The second and third day passed satisfactorily, but still Tresler
displayed no sign of life. He lay on the bed just as he had been
originally placed there. Each day the brusque little doctor drove out
from Forks, and each day he went back leaving little encouragement
behind him. Before he went away, after his third visit, he shook his
head gravely in response to the nurse's eager inquiries.

"He's got to get busy soon," he said, as he returned his liniments and
medical stores to his bag. "Don't like it. Bad--very bad. Nature
exhausting. He must rouse soon--or death. Three days----Tut, tut!
Still no sign. Cheer up, nurse. Give him three more. Then drastic
treatment. Won't come till he wakes--no use. Send for me. Good girl.
Stick to it. Sorry. Good-bye."

And patting Diane on the back the man bustled out in his jerky
fashion, leaving her weeping over the verdict he had left behind.

It was the strain of watching that had unnerved her. She was bodily
and mentally weary. Her eyes and head ached with the seemingly endless
vigil. Three days and nights and barely six hours' sleep over all,
and those only snatched at broken intervals.

And now another night confronted her. So overwrought was she that she
even thought of seeking the aid old Joe had proffered. She thought
quite seriously of it for some moments. Could she not smuggle him
up-stairs after her father had had his supper and retired to his
bedroom? She had no idea that Joe had, secretly, spent almost as much
time on the watch as she had done. However, she came to no actual
decision, and went wearily down and prepared the evening meal. She
waited on the blind man in her usual patient, silent manner, and
afterward went back to the kitchen and prepared to face the long
dreary night.

Joe was finishing the washing-up. He was longer over it than usual,
though he had acquired a wonderful proficiency in his culinary duties
since he was first employed on the ranch. Diane paid little heed to
him, and as soon as her share of the work was finished, prepared to
retire up-stairs.

"There's just the sweeping up, Joe," she said. "When you've finished
that we are through. I must go up to him."

Joe glanced round from his washing-trough, but went on with his work.

"He ain't showed no sign, Miss Dianny?" he asked eagerly.

"No, Joe."

The girl spoke almost in a whisper, leaning against the table with a
deep sigh of weariness.

"Say, Mis