m up in his
decisions--and he knew well enough that Butler had done it only because
of his faith in Burns himself and his remembrance of some of his
extraordinary successes, not because his own judgment approved.

Five o'clock--six o'clock--he had thrown himself into the chair again,
and had, at last, dropped into an uneasy sort of half slumber, when the
office door quietly opened and Miss Mathewson came in. It was two hours
before she was due. Burns roused and regarded her wonderingly, with eyes
heavy and blood-shot. She stood still and looked down at him, sympathy
in her face. She herself was pale with fatigue and loss of sleep, for
she had been with him throughout the week of struggle over the case
he had lost, and she knew the situation as no one else, even his
professional colleagues, knew it. But she smiled wanly down at him, like
a pitying angel.

"You didn't go to bed, Doctor," she said, very gently. "I was afraid you
wouldn't. Won't you go now? You know there's a day's work before you."

He shook his head. "No--I'd rather get out in the air. I'm going now.
I'd like to take the Imp and--drive to--"

"No, no!"--She spoke quickly, coming closer, as if she understood and
would not let him use the reckless, common phrase which sometimes means
despair. "I thought you might be feeling like that--that's why I came
early. Not that I can say anything to cheer you, Doctor Burns--I know
you care too much for that. But there's one thing you must realize--you
must say it over and over to yourself--you did your best. No human being
can do more."

"A fool's best," he muttered. "Cold comfort that."

"Not a fool's best--a skilful surgeon's best."

He shook his head again, got slowly up from his chair, and stood
staring down into the ashes of the long-dead fire. The usually straight
shoulders were bent; the naturally well-poised head, always carried
confidently erect, was sunk upon the broad chest.

Amy Mathewson watched him for a minute, her own face full of pain; then
laid her hand, rather timidly, upon his arm. He looked round at her
and tried to smile, but the effort only made his expression the more
pitiful.

"Bless your heart," said he, brokenly, "I believe you'd stand by me to
the last ditch of a failure."

Her eyes suddenly filled. "I'd let you operate--on my mother--to-day,"
said she, in a low voice.

He gazed into her working face for a long moment, seized her hand and
wrung it hard, then strode away into