as though he considered her now more fit to be treated with
confidence.

"He is very ill, but he is holding his own. If you will lie down for a
few hours, I will call you to take Miss Barker's place while she rests."

This was gratifying, and tended to assuage her bitterness. But the
doctor appeared to her anxious, and spent only a few minutes at table.
He said as he rose,

"Excuse me, but Pauline--does she know?"

"I will send her word."

Selma would have been glad to dispense with the presence of her
sister-in-law. Their relations had not been sympathetic since the
episode of Miss Bailey, and, though Pauline still dined at the house
once a week, the intercourse between them had become reserved and
perfunctory. She grudged sharing with her what might be Wilbur's last
hours. She grudged, too, permitting her to help to nurse him, especially
now that her own capabilities were in the way of being recognized, for
she remembered Dr. Page's partiality for her. Still, she appreciated
that she must let her know.

Pauline arrived speedily, and Selma found herself sobbing in her arms.
She was pleased by this rush of feeling on her own part, and, confirmed
in her belief that her sister-in-law was cold because she did not break
down, and, shrinking from her efforts to comfort her, she quickly
regained her self-control. Pauline seemed composed and cheerful, but the
unceasing watchfulness and manifest tension of the doctor were
disconcerting, and as the afternoon shadows deepened, the two women sat
grave and silent, appalled by the suspicion that Wilbur's condition was
eminently critical. Yet Dr. Page volunteered to say to them presently:

"If his heart holds out, I am hopeful that he will pull through."

Dr. Page had given up all his duties for the sake of Wilbur. He never
left the house, manifestly devoting, as shown by the unflagging,
absorbed scrutiny with which he noted every symptom and change, the
fullest measure of his professional skill and a heart-felt purpose to
save his friend's life if human brain or human concentration could
avail. And yet he stated to Pauline in Selma's hearing that, beyond
keeping up the patient's strength by stimulants, science was practically
helpless, and that all they could do was to wait.

And so they sat, still and unemployed watchers, while day turned into
darkness. From time to time, by the night-lamp, Selma saw Pauline
smiling at her as though in defiance of whatever fate might have