n two
loving women and one fond nurse could give him; but that, of course, his
legitimate wife would naturally be glad to be beside him when he passed
away, and that if she made haste she might be here in time."

The Young Doctor leaned against a tree shaking with laughter.

"What are you smiling at?" Kitty asked ironically. "Oh, she'll be sure
to come--nothing will keep her away after being coaxed like that!" he
said, when he could get breath.

"Laughing at me as though I was a clown in a circus!" she exclaimed.
"Laughing when, as you say yourself, the man that she--the cat--wrote
that fiendish letter to is in trouble."

"It was a fiendish letter, was it?" he asked, suddenly sobered again.
"No, no, don't tell me," he added, with a protesting gesture. "I don't
want to hear. I don't want to know. I oughtn't to know. Besides, if she
comes, I don't want to be prejudiced against her. He is troubled, poor
fellow."

"Of course he is. There's the big land deal--his syndicate. He's got
a chance of making a fortune, and he can't do it because--but Jesse
Bulrush told me in confidence, so I can't explain."

"I have an idea, a pretty good idea. Askatoon is small."

"And mean sometimes."

"Tell me what you know. Perhaps I can help him," urged the Young Doctor.
"I have helped more than one good man turn a sharp corner here."

She caught his arm. "You are as good as gold."

"You are--impossible," he replied.

They talked of Crozier's land deal and syndicate as they walked slowly
towards the house. Mrs. Tynan met them at the door, a look of excitement
in her face. "A telegram for you Kitty," she said.

"For me!" exclaimed Kitty eagerly. "It's a year since I had one."

She tore open the yellow envelope. A light shot up in her face. She
thrust the telegram into the Young Doctor's hands.

"She's coming; his wife's coming. She's in Quebec now. It was my
letter--my letter, not your cable, that brought her," Kitty added
triumphantly.

CHAPTER IX. NIGHT SHADE AND MORNING GLORY

It was as though Crozier had been told of the coming of his wife, for
when night came, on the day Kitty had received her telegram, he could
not sleep. He was the sport of a consuming restlessness. His brain would
not be still. He could not discharge from it the thoughts of the day and
make it vacuous. It would not relax. It seized with intentness on each
thing in turn, which was part of his life at the moment, and gave it
an abnormal significa