ave not had a fair chance."

He returned abruptly to the bedside. He laid his finger on the woman's
pulse.

"No morphine to-night and she dies. A worthless wretch is sent where she
belongs. Four people are saved."

His breast swelled. His gray eyes seemed literally to send forth smoke;
they suggested some noiseless deadly weapon of war. He exclaimed aloud:
"My God! what a power to lie in the hands of one man! I stand here the
arbiter of five destinies. It is for _me_ to say whether four people
shall be happy or wretched, saved or ruined. I might say, with Nero, 'I
am God!'" He laughed. "I am famed for my power to save where others have
failed. I am famed in the comic weeklies for having ruined the business
of more undertakers than any physician of my day. That has been my role,
my professional pride. I have never felt so proud as now."

The woman, who had been moving restlessly for some time, twitched
suddenly and uncontrollably. She opened her eyes.

"Give it to me--quick!" she demanded. Her voice, always querulous, was
raucous; her eyes were wild.

"No," he said, deliberately, "you will have no more morphine; not a
drop."

She stared at him incredulously, then laughed.

"Stop joking," she said, roughly. "Give it to me--quick--quick! I am
very weak."

"No," he said.

Then, as he continued to hold her eyes, her own gradually expanded with
terror. She raised herself on one arm.

"You mean that?" she asked.

"Yes."

He watched her critically. She would be interesting.

"You are going to cure me with drastic measures, since others have
failed?"

"Possibly."

Her face contracted with hatred. She had been a rather clever woman, and
she believed that he was going to experiment with her. But she had also
been a strong-willed woman and used to command since babyhood.

"Give me that morphine," she said, imperiously. "If you don't I'll be
dead before morning."

He stood imperturbable. She sprang from the bed and flung herself upon
him, strong with anger and apprehension.

"Give it to me!" she screamed. "Give it to me!" And she strove to bite
him.

He caught her by the shoulder and held her at arm's-length. She writhed
and struggled and cursed. Her oaths might have been learned in the
gutter. She kicked at him and strove to reach him with her nails,
clawing the air. She looked like a witch on a broomstick.

"What an exquisite bride she was!" he thought. "And what columns of
rubbish have been printed a