e it, but she will not suffer as she would suffer if Clara
were her own mother. These ties of the blood are queer things, nothing
can quite take their place. If Clemency had died first Clara would have
been indignant at the suggestion, but she herself would not have mourned
as she would mourn for her own daughter. I must touch up the horses a
bit. I want to get home. I may not be able to go out again to-night.
Last night I was up until dawn with Clara." Gordon touched the horses
with a slight flicker of the whip. He held the lines taut as they sprang
forward. His face was set ahead. James glancing at him had a realization
of the awful loneliness of the other man by his side. He seemed to
comprehend the vastness of the isolation of a grief which concerns one,
and one only, more than any other. Gordon had the expression of a
wanderer upon a desert or a frozen waste. Illimitable distances of
solitude seemed reflected in his gloomy eyes.

James did not attempt to talk to him. It seemed like mockery, this
effort to approach with sympathy this set-apart man, who was
unapproachable.

That night Gordon's wife was much worse. Gordon came down to James's
room about two o'clock. James had been awake for some time listening to
the sounds of suffering overhead, and he had lit his lamp and dressed,
thinking that he might be needed. Gordon stood in the doorway almost
reeling. He made an effort before he spoke.

"Come into my office, will you?" he said.

James at once followed him. Going through the hall the sounds of agony
became more distinct. When they entered the office Gordon fairly slammed
the door, then he turned to Elliot with a savage expression. "Hear
that," he said, as if he were accusing the other man. "Hear that, I say!
The last hypodermic has not taken effect yet, and her heart is weak. If
I give her more--"

He stopped, staring at James, his face worked like a child's. Then
suddenly an almost idiotic expression came over it, the utter numbness
of grief. Then it passed away. Again he looked intelligently into the
young man's eyes. "If I don't give her more," he gasped out, "if I
don't, this may last hours. If I do--"

The two men stood staring at each other. James thought of Clemency. "Has
Clemency been in to see her?" he asked.

"Yes, she heard, and came in. I sent her out. She is in her own room
now; Emma is with her." Suddenly Gordon gave a look of despairing appeal
at James. "I--wish you would go up and see Cl