an injustice by keeping her at home. Let her
stay here for six months or so, and you will see what a relief it will
be."

Mr. Opp sat with his elbow on the desk and his head propped in his
hand, and stared miserably at the floor. He had not had his clothes off
for two nights, and he had scarcely taken time from his search to eat
anything. His face looked old and wizened and haunted from the strain.
Yet here and now he was called upon to make his great decision. On the
one hand lay the old, helpless life with Kippy, and on the other a
future of dazzling possibility with Guinevere. All of his submerged self
suddenly rose and demanded happiness. He was ready to snatch it, at any
cost, regardless of everything and everybody--of Kippy; of Guinevere,
who, he knew, did not love him, but would keep her promise; of Hinton,
whose secret he had long ago guessed. And, as a running accompaniment to
his thoughts, was the quiet, professional voice of the doctor urging him
to the course that his heart prompted. For a moment the personal forces
involved trembled in equilibrium.

After a long time he unknotted his fingers, and drew his handkerchief
across his brow.

"I guess I'll go up and see her now," he said, with the gasping breath
of a man who has been under water.

In vain the doctor protested. Mr. Opp was determined.

As the door to the long ward was being unlocked, he leaned for a moment
dizzily against the wall.

"You'd better let me give you a swallow of whisky," suggested the
doctor, who had noted his exhaustion.

Mr. Opp raised his hand deprecatingly, with a touch of his old
professional pride. "I don't know as I've had occasion to mention," he
said, "that I am the editor and sole proprietor of 'The Opp Eagle'; and
that bird," he added, with a forced smile, "is, as everybody knows, a
complete teetotaler."

At the end of the crowded ward, with her face to the wall, was a slight,
familiar figure. Mr. Opp started forward; then he turned fiercely upon
the attendant.

"Her hands are tied! Who dared to tie her up like that?"

"It's just a soft handkerchief," replied the matronly woman,
reassuringly. "We were afraid she would pull her hair out. She wants its
fixed a certain way; but she's afraid for any of us to touch her. She
has been crying about it ever since she came."

In an instant Mr. Opp was on his knees beside her. "Kippy, Kippy
darling, here's brother D.; he'll fix it for you! You want it parted on
the side