beginning. You should eat your dinner, for you will need your
strength," he added with simple graciousness.

"But I am doing nothing," she blurted.

"If there is anything you can do I will let you know."

Their eyes met. His were gray and steady, but kind. She felt that he
chose to treat her like a child, yet that he was trying to be
considerate. She was galled, but after all, he was the doctor, and
Wilbur had the utmost confidence in him, so she must submit. She ate her
dinner, and when she returned preparations were being made for the
night. The nurse was to use a lounge at the foot of Wilbur's bed. Dr.
Page asked permission to occupy the dressing-room adjoining, so as to be
within easy call. He established himself there with a book, returning at
short intervals to look at his patient. Selma had resumed her seat. It
was dark save for a night lamp. In the stillness the only sounds were
the ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece and Wilbur's labored
breathing. It seemed as though he were struggling for his life. What
should she do if he died? Why was she debarred from tending him? It was
cruel. Tears fell on her hand. She stared into the darkness, twisting
her fingers, until at last, as though to show her independence, she
stepped to the bed on tip-toe. Wilbur's eyes were open. He put out his
hand, and, taking hers, touched it to his burning lips.

"Good-night, Selma," he murmured.

She stooped and kissed his brow. "I am here beside you, Wilbur."

A figure stood behind her. She turned, expecting to encounter the
white-capped sentinel. It was Dr. Page. He touched her gently on the
arm. "We must let him rest now. You can do no good. Won't you go to
bed?"

"Oh, no. I shall sit with him all night."

"Very well. But it is important that you should not speak to him," he
said with another touch of emphasis.

She resumed her seat and sat out the night, wide-awake and conscious of
each movement on Wilbur's part. He was restless and moaning. Twice the
nurse summoned the doctor, and two or three times he came to the
bed-side of his own accord. She felt slighted, and once, when it seemed
to her that Wilbur was in distress and anxious for something, she
forestalled the nurse.

"He wishes water," Selma said sternly, and she fetched a glass from the
table and let him drink.

Dr. Page took breakfast with her. She was conscious that somehow her
vigil had affected his estimate of her, for his speech was frank and
direct,