rieving heart and made
her spirit militant, while the creeping hours passed. Over and over she
pursued the tenor of her protest until her wearied system sought refuge
in sleep. She was not conscious of slumbering, but she reasoned later
that she must have slept, for she suddenly became conscious of a touch
on the shoulder and a vibrant utterance of her name.

"Selma, Selma, you must come at once."

Her returning wits realized that it was Pauline who was arousing her and
urging her to Wilbur's bed-side. She sprang forward, and saw the light
of existence fading from her husband's eyes into the mute dulness of
death. Dr. Page was bending over him in a desperate, but vain, effort to
force some restorative between his lips. At the foot of the bed stood
the nurse, with an expression which betrayed what had occurred.

"What is it, Wilbur? What have they done to you? What has happened?"
Selma cried, looking from one to the other, though she had discerned the
truth in a flash. As she spoke, Dr. Page desisted from his undertaking,
and stepped back from the bed, and instantly Selma threw herself on her
knees and pressed her face upon Littleton's lifeless features. There was
no response. His spirit had departed.

"His heart could not stand the strain. That is the great peril in
pneumonia," she heard the doctor murmur.

"He is dead," she cried, in a horrified outburst, and she looked up at
the pitying group with the gaze of an afflicted lioness. She caught
sight of Pauline smiling through her tears--that same unprotesting,
submissive smile--and holding out her hands to her. Selma, rising,
turned away, and as her sister-in-law sought to put her arm about her,
evaded the caress.

"No--no," she said. Then facing her, added, with aggrieved conviction:

"I cannot believe that Wilbur's death was necessary. Why was not
something energetic done?"

Pauline flushed, but, ascribing the calumny to distress, she held her
peace, and said, simply:

"Sh! dear. You will understand better by and by."

BOOK III.

THE SUCCESS

CHAPTER I.

It had never occurred to Selma that she might lose her husband. Even
with his shortcomings he was so important to her from the point of view
of support, and her scheme of life was so interwoven with his, she had
taken for granted that he would live as long as she desired. She felt
that destiny had a second time been signally cruel to her, and that she
was drinking deeply of the cup of sorrow