was dull,
monotonous. "Katharine is very ill, pneumonia."

"They have sent for you?"

"Yes. And to hurry."

Olive spoke impetuously.

"I am so sorry. But it may be better than you think."

He looked across at her, as if he had not been aware of her presence
until she spoke.

"Good morning, Miss Keltridge," he said hastily. "Yes, it may be. In
pneumonia there's always some hope, till the very last, I imagine. That
is the reason," he turned back to the doctor; "the reason I've come to
you. Can you go to Boston with me?"

The doctor swiftly conned his list of cases.

"This noon? Ye--es. But, Brenton," his keen old eyes were infinitely
kind; "you know it is by no means sure that Mrs. Brenton will let me
see her."

"I think she will," Brenton said quietly. "She has never been in a
place like this--" there came a sudden wave of recollection which made
him glance furtively across at the doctor, then add, "exactly. Besides,
Catie was always very fond of you."

And Olive, hearing, comprehended once again and, comprehending, gave to
Brenton a new sort of loyalty which she had heretofore denied him. She
knew that, in that old-time nickname, coming unbidden to the husband's
lips, there was the proof that all memory of Katharine's disaffection
had been wiped out from Brenton's mind, for evermore.

It was early, the next morning, when Olive carried the final bulletins
to Reed. Her father had just called her up upon the telephone to tell
her that the end had come. Up to the last of her consciousness,
Katharine had refused to see him; only the healer and Brenton had been
allowed inside the room. Then, when she had sunk into the fitful stupor
which could have only the one ending, Brenton had come to summon him;
and they had stood together, hand on hand, while the life before them
ebbed away. It had been a peaceful passing. Just at the very end had
come a moment of full consciousness, when she had turned to smile up at
her husband.

"Scott," she said to him; "I'm sorry. But, in the next world, I think
perhaps you'll understand me just a little better."

And then the earth-light had faded from her eyes and, in its place,
there had dawned the dazzling recognition of the things that are to be.

Reed listened to it all, in perfect silence. When Olive had finished,--

"Poor old Brenton!" he said slowly. "It was a conjugal I-told-you-so,
coming back to him as a message out of the misty borderland he's tried
so hard to pene