n her arms. She had a sudden conviction, as,
holding the blind in her hand, she looked out into the night, that again
tragedy was to cross her threshold. Standing for an instant under
the fascination of terror, she recovered herself with a shiver, and,
stepping down from the chair where she had been fixing the blind, with
the instinct of real woman, she ran to the bed of the room where she
was, and made it ready. Why did she feel that it was Shiel Crozier's bed
which should be made ready? Or did she not feel it? Was it only a dazed,
automatic act, not connected with the person who was to lie in the bed?
Was she then a fatalist? Were trouble and sorrow so much her portion
that to her mind this tragedy, whatever it was, must touch the man
nearest to her--and certainly Shiel Crozier was far nearer than Jesse
Bulrush. Quite apart from wealth or position, personality plays a part
more powerful than all else in the eyes of every woman who has a soul
which has substance enough to exist at all. Such men as Crozier have
compensations for "whate'er they lack." It never occurred to Mrs. Tynan
to go to Jesse Bulrush's room or the room of middle-aged, comely Nurse
Egan. She did the instinctive thing, as did the woman who sent a man a
rope as a gift, on the ground that the fortune in his hand said that he
was born not to be drowned.

Mrs. Tynan's instinct was right. By the time she had put the bed into
shape, got a bowl of water ready, lighted a lamp, and drawn the bed out
from the wall, there was a knocking at the door. In a moment she had
opened it, and was faced by John Sibley, whose hat was off as though
he were in the presence of death. This gave her a shock, and her eyes
strove painfully to see the figure which was being borne feet foremost
over her threshold.

"It's Mr. Crozier?" she asked.

"He was shot coming home here--by the M'Mahon mob, I guess," returned
Sibley huskily.

"Is--is he dead?" she asked tremblingly. "No. Hurt bad."

"The kindest man--it'd break Kitty's heart--and mine," she added
hastily, for she might be misunderstood; and John Sibley had shown signs
of interest in her daughter.

"Where's the Young Doctor?" she asked, catching sight of Crozier's face
as they laid him on the bed. "He's done the first aid, and he's off
getting what's needed for the operation. He'll be here in a minute or
so," said a banker who, a few days before, had refused Crozier credit.

"Gently, gently--don't do it that way," said