ysterious hour that hangs
between the going night and coming day, the most non-resisting time for
body and mind, when the human will gives up the struggle if it gives it up
at all. And Sheila O'Leary, being well aware of this, rubbed the tense
nerves into a comfortable state of relaxation and talked.

First she talked of the city, and found he was not city-born. Then she
talked of the country--of South, East, and West--and located his
birthplace in a small New England village. She talked of the outdoor
freedom of a country boy, of the wholesome work and fun on a farm with a
large family and good old-fashioned parents, and she found that he had
been an only child, motherless, with a family consisting of a
misanthropic, grief-stricken father and a hired girl. His voice sounded
toneless and more tired than ever as he spoke of his childhood.

"Lonely?" queried Sheila.

"Perhaps."

"Neglected and--frightened?"

"What do you mean?"

The girl leaned over the bed and looked straight into the eyes that seemed
to be daring her to find the way into his darkness and at the same time
barring fast the door against her coming. She smiled gently. "Tell me--can
you remember when you first began to fear sleep?"

There was no denial, no protest. Peter sighed as a little worn-out boy
might have sighed with the irksome concealment of some forbidden act. "I
don't know," he said at last. "I can't think back to a time when I wasn't
afraid--afraid of the dropping out, into the dark. God!" He turned his
head away, and for the first time in two weary, wakeful nights Sheila saw
him close his eyes.

Off duty, instead of going to breakfast and bed, Sheila O'Leary went to
the office of the superintendent of nurses. In her usual fashion she came
straight to her point. "Put Saunders back on Number Three and give me a
couple of days off. Please, Miss Max."

Her abruptness shook the almost unshakable calm of Miss Maxwell. She gazed
at the girl in frank amazement. "May I ask why?" There was a kindly irony
in the question.

"Sounds queer, I know, but I've simply got to go. Lots depends on it, and
no time now to explain. Want to catch that eight-thirty-five; Flanders is
holding the bus. Tell you when I get back--please, Miss Max?" And taking
consent for granted, Sheila started for the door.

There was an odd look on the face of the superintendent as she watched
her go--a look of amused, loving pride. She might hide it from their
little world,