until I get a pencil.... All right, go ahead."

"It is dated from Fayville, Virginia, January 1, 1914. 8:30 P.M. Are you
getting it?"

"Yes, yes. Go on," cried the man, with increasing heart pulsations.

"'Dr. Donald MacDonald, Commonwealth Ave., Boston, Mass. Lou Amos dying
of brain tumor almost blind and 'k-o-m-o-t-o-s-e'"--she spelt it
out--"'Come at once if possible I will pay.' It is signed, 'Your
foster-sister Rose.' Did you get it? Yes? Wait a moment, please, there
is another one dated and addressed the same. The message reads, 'Girl
came alone down mountain in howling blizzard. Case urgent. Signed,
Thomas Timmins, Station Agent.' That is all."

"Thank you. Good-night," said Donald mechanically, as he replaced the
receiver.

Through the partly open folding door he could dimly see that enticing
bed, with his pajamas and bath robe laid across it. It seemed to him as
though it were calling to his weary body with a siren's voice, or had
suddenly acquired the properties of the cup of Tantalus. He hesitated,
and moved a step toward it. Then the vision of Rose as he had last seen
her, with the ethereal smile trembling on lips that struggled bravely
to laugh, and in deep misty eyes, came between it and him.

Still clad in hat and overcoat, he seated himself at the desk and called
up first the information bureau of the South Terminal Station, then his
young associate, Dr. Philip Bentley, in whose charge he was accustomed
to leave his regular patients when called away from the city for any
length of time; and finally a house used as a semi-club by trained
nurses.

When his last call was answered he asked, "Is Miss Merriman registered
with you now? This is Dr. MacDonald speaking."

After a wait of several minutes, during which he felt himself nod
repeatedly, a sleepy voice spoke over the wire, "This is Miss Merriman,
Dr. MacDonald. I'm just off a case."

"Good. I'm lucky ... that is if you're game to take another one
immediately."

"Yes, doctor. Do you want me to-night?"

"No, to-morrow ... this morning, that is, will do. I shall want you to
meet me at the South Station, New York train, at seven o'clock."

"Yes, doctor. What sort of a case is it?"

"Same as the last you assisted me in--brain tumor. But we're going
further this trip ... the jumping-off place in Virginia. It's up in the
mountains, so take plenty of warm clothes."

"Very well, doctor." Then there came a little laugh, for these two were
excell