t, I shall die."

If a shadow passed over his face, no one saw it.

"I'll not ask you to go back to your room. If you will wait somewhere
near, I'll see that you have immediate word."

"I am going to the operating-room."

"Not to the operating-room. Somewhere near."

His steady voice controlled her hysteria. But she resented it. She was
not herself, of course, what with strain and weariness.

"I shall ask Dr. Edwardes."

He was puzzled for a moment. Then he understood. After all, it was as
well. Whether she knew him as Le Moyne or as Edwardes mattered very
little, after all. The thing that really mattered was that he must try
to save Wilson for her. If he failed--It ran through his mind that if he
failed she might hate him the rest of her life--not for himself, but for
his failure; that, whichever way things went, he must lose.

"Dr. Edwardes says you are to stay away from the operation, but to
remain near. He--he promises to call you if--things go wrong."

She had to be content with that.

Nothing about that night was real to Sidney. She sat in the
anaesthetizing-room, and after a time she knew that she was not alone.
There was somebody else. She realized dully that Carlotta was there,
too, pacing up and down the little room. She was never sure, for
instance, whether she imagined it, or whether Carlotta really stopped
before her and surveyed her with burning eyes.

"So you thought he was going to marry you!" said Carlotta--or the dream.
"Well, you see he isn't."

Sidney tried to answer, and failed--or that was the way the dream went.

"If you had enough character, I'd think you did it. How do I know you
didn't follow us, and shoot him as he left the room?"

It must have been reality, after all; for Sidney's numbed mind grasped
the essential fact here, and held on to it. He had been out with
Carlotta. He had promised--sworn that this should not happen. It had
happened. It surprised her. It seemed as if nothing more could hurt her.

In the movement to and from the operating room, the door stood open for
a moment. A tall figure--how much it looked like K.!--straightened and
held out something in its hand.

"The bullet!" said Carlotta in a whisper.

Then more waiting, a stir of movement in the room beyond the closed
door. Carlotta was standing, her face buried in her hands, against the
door. Sidney suddenly felt sorry for her. She cared a great deal. It
must be tragic to care like that! She herself was