train leaves at
9.12."

He was very businesslike, until he saw her lips tremble as she abruptly
turned and led the way.

"It'll be all right, little woman," he said soothingly. "Doctor
Bodineau's the man. He'll pull him through, you'll see."

They entered the living-room. His glance quested apprehensively about,
then turned to her.

"Where's Al?"

She did not answer, but with a sudden impulse came close to him and
stood motionless. She was a slender, dark-eyed woman, in whose face
was stamped the strain and stress of living. But the fine lines and the
haunted look in the eyes were not the handiwork of mere worry. He knew
whose handiwork it was as he looked upon it, and she knew when she
consulted her mirror.

"It's no use, Mary," he said. He put his hand on her shoulder. "We've
tried everything. It's a wretched business, I know, but what else can we
do? You've failed. Doctor Bodineau's all that's left."

"If I had another chance..." she began falteringly.

"We've threshed that all out," he answered harshly. "You've got to buck
up, now. You know what conclusion we arrived at. You know you haven't
the ghost of a hope in another chance."

She shook her head. "I know it. But it is terrible, the thought of his
going away to fight it out alone."

"He won't be alone. There's Doctor Bodineau. And besides, it's a
beautiful place."

She remained silent.

"It is the only thing," he said.

"It is the only thing," she repeated mechanically.

He looked at his watch. "Where's Al?"

"I'll send him."

When the door had closed behind her, he walked over to the window and
looked out, drumming absently with his knuckles on the pane.

"Hello."

He turned and responded to the greeting of the man who had just entered.
There was a perceptible drag to the man's feet as he walked across
toward the window and paused irresolutely halfway.

"I've changed my mind, George," he announced hurriedly and nervously.
"I'm not going."

He plucked at his sleeve, shuffled with his feet, dropped his eyes, and
with a strong effort raised them again to confront the other.

George regarded him silently, his nostrils distending and his lean
fingers unconsciously crooking like an eagle's talons about to clutch.

In line and feature, there was much of resemblance between the two men;
and yet, in the strongest resemblances there was a radical difference.
Theirs were the same black eyes, but those of the man at the window were
sharp and