sistance is
low, but he'll probably pull through. What I'm afraid of is his reason.
We'll break this fever now, and then you must find something to interest
him outside of himself. That is his only salvation."

"I wish I thought I could," Huntington replied doubtfully. "There will
be no help from him, for the last thing he desires is to live."

"But if to live is to--"

"I know,--I shall do my best."

A week later Hamlen's life was out of danger, but at times his mental
wanderings confirmed the doctor's worst apprehensions. Yet Huntington
came to dread the depression of the saner moments more than the vagrant
hallucinations. The dramatic details of the unleashing of the war-dogs
of one nation after another should have been enough to arouse his
interest, but his only comment was, "It is a fitting end to a hollow
world, with its thin veneer of sham civilization; would to God it had
come sooner!"

Finally it seemed safe to leave the patient in the care of the trained
nurse, and Huntington made his deferred return to Sagamore Hall. Marian
had kept in touch with Hamlen's progress as well as she could over the
telephone, but there was much which her heart craved to learn more
intimately. The illness afforded a simple explanation to the other
guests of the peculiar disappearance of both men, so Huntington's
confidences needed to be told to Mrs. Thatcher alone. Still, there was
a single exception. One of the first questions Huntington asked of
Marian was whether Merry knew the whole truth, and when he learned from
both how much each had gained from their mutual confidences he insisted
that the girl hear from him the details of what had happened since.

He told his story simply, trying to spare Marian and making as light as
possible of the part which he himself had played, yet the whole-souled
devotion he had given his friend could be concealed no more than the
serious results of Mrs. Thatcher's persistency. Huntington had claimed
from him the life which would have been forfeited, promising to make
good use of it; now that it was at his disposal, what was he to do with
it? He admitted freely to Mrs. Thatcher and Merry that as yet he had
found no solution.

"This necessity of doing your splendid work over again is but one of the
results of my culpable stupidity," Marian said penitently. "When I think
of it, it seems as if I should go mad!"

Huntington rejoiced in the change which he found in Mrs. Thatcher. The
sudden vi