hat again recalled to Donaldson the
fact of his own peculiar position in life. Even at the risk of
appearing rude, he was forced to look at his watch. It was a few
minutes after eleven o'clock. Well, what of it? Had not these hours
been full--had he not had more of real living than during the entire
last decade? He had faced death twice, he had met a woman, and he now
stood at the threshold of a mystery that seemed to demand him. There
was no other interest in his life to occupy him--nothing to prevent him
from throwing himself heart and soul into the case, lending what aid
was possible to this woman. Furthermore, he was clear of all selfish
interests; he need bother himself with no queries of what this might be
worth to him. But it was worth something, it was worth something to
have a woman look at him as this girl had done--with unquestioning
trust in a crisis.

She glanced up as he replaced his watch.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "I must detain you no longer!"

"My time is absolutely yours," he reassured her. "I was merely curious
to know how old I have grown."

She did not understand.

"I 'm eleven hours old."

Again she did not understand, but in turning to care for her brother
she ceased to puzzle over the enigma. Shortly afterwards the patient
closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. Immediately the girl led
the way on tiptoe from the room. She locked the door behind her and
preceded Donaldson downstairs.

Once below there seemed nothing for him to do but to leave, but, quite
aside from the fact that he felt himself to be really needed here, he
was as reluctant to depart as a man is to awake from a pleasant dream.
She had picked up a white silk Japanese shawl and thrown it about her
shoulders.

He turned to her with the question,

"Is there nothing more I can do for you? Is there no one I may summon
to help you?"

"I can manage very well now, thank you."

"But you can't stay here alone with the boy in this condition."

"Why not?"

Her reply came like a rebuke of his impetuous presumption.

"It is hardly safe for you," he declared more quietly.

"It is perfectly safe," she answered evenly.

"I suppose there are servants in the house upon whom you can call," he
hazarded.

She looked a bit embarrassed.

"If I should need any one there is my old housekeeper, Marie," she
answered.

Marie was upstairs, sick in bed with rheumatism, too feeble to move
without help. But to confess this