ssion she shrank back a little, and her lip
quivered, but with a mighty effort she controlled herself and caught
up the refrain again--carolled a word or two, faltered, swayed
helplessly, uncertainly forward, and fell headlong on the stage.

They were round her in a second, lifting her gently and tenderly. Her
head had fallen back and a thin stream of blood was welling over the
laces at her bosom.

"She is dead!" cried Saidie. "Oh, will someone fetch a doctor,
quick!"

But almost before the words were spoken he was there, and when Bella
opened her eyes they fell on the grave, anxious, kindly face of the
man whose wife she had been.

"Jack! Jack! is this--the end?"

"Hush--no--no! Keep still--perfectly still--you must not move."

"I am not--in pain--a little dizzy--nothing more, and my head feels
light."

"Drink this and don't talk. As soon as you are a little recovered we
will go home."

"Home! Jack!"

Oh, the wistful look in the deep blue eyes--the prophetic droop about
the perfect mouth! It was almost more than he could bear.

"I will go with you myself if you will do what I tell you, keep
absolutely quiet--your life depends upon it."

She looked up tremulously.

"I don't care--a--cent _now_," she whispered.

She bore the journey to Cecil Street better than they could hope, and
the bleeding from the lungs had ceased.

Downstairs Saidie expressed a wish to remain all night with her
sister.

"She ought not to be left," she said.

"Most decidedly she must not be left," replied Sir John--"I intend
remaining with your sister."

"You! Well, this beats all, upon my word!"

So great was Miss Blackall's surprise that when she found herself
ousted from the position of head nurse and the door metaphorically
closed upon her, she had not a word to say, but called a hansom and
had herself driven to Bayswater, where she had been living since her
mother's death, now nearly a year ago.

"And I used to think he didn't amount to a row of pins," she murmured
with an odd sort of penitence. "Well, I guess I was wrong, that's
all."

Through the long hours of that never-ending night John Chetwynd
watched by Bella's bedside. For the most part, she lay mute and
inert, but towards morning she grew restless.

"I must talk," she cried excitedly--"to see you sit there and to
think--to remember--oh! if only I had run straight, Jack--I don't
think I was meant for this, do you?"

He had no words with which to answer he