er, then picked her up
and carried her to the tenement doorway.

"I guess you're right, all right! She's bad! I'll send in a call," he
said, and started on the run down the street.

Gypsy Nan had lost consciousness. Rhoda Gray settled herself on the
doorstep, supporting the woman's head in her lap. Her face had set
again in grim, hard, perplexed lines. There seemed something unnatural,
something menacingly weird, something even uncanny about it all. Perhaps
it was because it seemed as though she could so surely foresee the end.
Gypsy Nan would not live through the night. Something told her that. The
woman's masquerade, for whatever purpose it had been assumed, was over.
"You'll play the game, won't you? You'll see me through?" There seemed
something pitifully futile in those words now!

The officer returned.

"It's all right," he said. "How's she seem?"

Rhoda Gray shook her head.

A passer-by stopped, asked what was the matter--and lingered curiously.
Another, and another, did the same. A little crowd collected. The
officer kept them back. Came then the strident clang of a gong and
the rapid beat of horses' hoofs. A white-coated figure jumped from
the ambulance, pushed his way forward, and bent over the form in Rhoda
Gray's lap. A moment more, and they were carrying Gypsy Nan to the
ambulance.

Rhoda Gray spoke to the officer:

"I think perhaps I had better go with her."

"Sure!" said the officer.

She caught snatches of the officer's words, as he made a report to the
doctor:

"Found her here in the street...Charlotte Green...nothing else...the
White Moll, straight as God makes 'em...she'll see the woman through."
He turned to Rhoda Gray. "You can get in there with them, miss."

It took possibly ten minutes to reach the hospital, but, before that
time, Gypsy Nan, responding in a measure to stimulants, had regained
consciousness. She insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand as they
carried in the stretcher.

"Don't leave me!" she pleaded. And then, for the first time, Gypsy Nan's
nerve seemed to fail her. "I--oh, my God--I--I don't want to die!" she
cried out.

But a moment later, inside the hospital, as the admitting officer began
to ask questions of Rhoda Gray, Gypsy Nan had apparently recovered her
grip upon herself.

"Ah, let her alone!" she broke in. "She doesn't know me any more than
you do. She found me on the street. But she was good to me, God bless
her!"

"Your name's Charlotte Green? Y