outside for a while."
Roger jumped up.

"Look here, my child, you're faint!" he cried.

"No, no, it's nothing! Just the heat!" She swayed and reeled, pitched
suddenly forward. "Father! Quick!" And Roger caught her in his arms. He
called to the maid, and with her help he carried Deborah up to her bed.
There she shuddered violently and beads of sweat broke out on her brow.
Her breath came hard through chattering teeth.

"It's so silly!" she said fiercely.

But as moments passed the chill grew worse. Her whole body seemed to be
shaking, and as Roger was rubbing one of her arms she said something to him
sharply, in a voice so thick he could not understand.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I can't feel anything."

"What do you mean?"

"In my arm where you're rubbing--I can't feel your hand."

"You'd better have a doctor!"

"Telephone Allan--Allan Baird. He knows about this," she muttered. And
Roger ran down to the telephone. He was thoroughly frightened.

"All right, Mr. Gale," came Baird's gruff bass, steady and slow, "I think I
know what the trouble is--and I wouldn't worry if I were you. I'll be there
in about ten minutes." And it was hardly more than that when he came into
Deborah's room. A moment he looked down at her.

"Again?" he said. She glanced up at him and nodded, and smiled quickly
through set teeth. Baird carefully examined her and then turned to Roger:
"Now I guess you'd better go out. You stay," he added to Sarah, the maid.
"I may need you here awhile."

About an hour later he came down to Roger's study.

"She's safe enough now, I guess," he said. "I've telephoned for a nurse for
her, and she'll have to stay in bed a few days."

"What's the trouble?"

"Acute indigestion."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Roger brightly, with a rush of deep relief.
Baird gave him a dry quizzical smile.

"People have died of that," he remarked, "in less than an hour. We caught
your daughter just in time. May I stay a few moments?"

"Glad to have you! Smoke a cigar!"

"Thanks--I will." As Baird reached out for the proffered cigar, Roger
suddenly noticed his hand. Long and muscular, finely shaped, it seemed to
speak of strength and skill and an immense vitality. Baird settled himself
in his chair. "I want to talk about her," he said. "This little attack is
only a symptom--it comes from nerves. She's just about ready for a smash.
She's had slighter attacks of this kind before."

"I never knew it," Roger said.

"