necessities not to be avoided, and a fate not to be
mastered by any defiant human will. So there she sat, persuading him that
he was not mortal; and he lay listening, mocking, embittered, yet still
lending an ear to the story, eager to believe her fable, rejoicing in the
power that he had over her mind. If he felt all this for Aunt Maria, what
would he not feel for the world, and for that wife of his? If old Aunt
Maria could so wake in him the love of life and the hatred of that living
death to which he had been condemned, what passionate will to live would
rise in answer to the world's wonder and his wife's?

"I wish you'd give me that little book on the table there," he said. Aunt
Maria obeyed. "My engagement-book," he explained. "Look. I had things
booked for five months ahead. See--speeches, meetings, committees, the
Alethea--so on--so on. They're all what they call cancelled now." He
turned the leaves and Aunt Maria stood by him, watching.

"They won't get anybody to do 'em like you, Sandro," she said.

He flung the book down on the floor in sudden peevishness, with an oath
of anger and exasperation.

"By God, why haven't I a fair chance?" he asked, and fell back on his
pillows.

Lady Mildmay would have come and whispered softly to him, patted his
hand, given him lemonade, and bade him try to sleep while she read softly
to him. His old Aunt Maria Quisante stood motionless, saying not a word,
looking away from him. Yet she was nearer to his mood and suited him
better than kind Lady Mildmay.

"You've done a good bit already, Sandro," she said. "And you're only
thirty-nine."

"And I'm to die at thirty-nine, or else live like an idiot, bored to
death, and boring to death everybody about me!"

"I shall go now," said Aunt Maria. "Good-bye, Sandro. Send for me again
when you want me."

"Aunt Maria!" She stopped at his call. "Go and see May. Go and talk to
her."

"Yes, Sandro."

"Tell her what you think. You know: I mean, tell her that perhaps it's
not as bad as the doctors say; that I may get about a bit soon and--and
so on--You know."

"I'm to tell her that?" asked Aunt Maria.

"She's not to conclude it's all over with me yet." Miss Quisante nodded
and moved towards the door.

"Oh, and before you go, just pick up that book and give it me again, will
you?"

She returned, picked up the engagement-book and gave it him; then she
stood for a moment by the bed, beginning to smile a little.

"You've got a