s likewise in waiting; and a New
York specialist had been summoned to prolong, if possible, the life of
one from whom all desire for life had passed.

Before sunrise a wind came from the northern spruces; the dawn was
cloudless, fiery red, and the air had an autumn sharpness. At ten o'clock
Dr. Harmon arrived, was met at the station by Austen, and spent half an
hour with Dr. Tredway. At noon the examination was complete. Thanks to
generations of self-denial by the Vanes of Camden Street, Mr. Hilary Vane
might live indefinitely, might even recover, partially; but at present he
was condemned to remain, with his memories, in the great canopied bed.

The Honourable Hilary had had another caller that morning besides Dr.
Harmon,--no less a personage than the president of the Northeastern
Railroads himself, who had driven down from Fairview immediately after
breakfast. Austen having gone to the station, Dr. Tredway had received
Mr. Flint in the darkened hall, and had promised to telephone to Fairview
the verdict of the specialist. At present Dr. Tredway did not think it
wise to inform Hilary of Mr. Flint's visit--not, at least, until after
the examination.

Mr. Vane exhibited the same silent stoicism on receiving the verdict of
Dr. Harmon as he had shown from the first. With the clew to Hilary's life
which Dr. Tredway had given him, the New York physician understood the
case; one common enough in his practice in a great city where the fittest
survive--sometimes only to succumb to unexpected and irreparable blows in
the evening of life.

On his return from seeing Dr. Harmon off Austen was met on the porch by
Dr. Tredway.

"Your father has something on his mind," said the doctor, "and perhaps it
is just as well that he should be relieved. He is asking for you, and I
merely wished to advise you to make the conversation as short as
possible."

Austen climbed the stairs in obedience to this summons, and stood before
his father at the bedside. Hilary lay, back among the pillows, and the
brightness of that autumn noonday only served to accentuate the pallor of
his face, the ravages of age which had come with such incredible
swiftness, and the outline of a once vigorous frame. The eyes alone shone
with a strange new light, and Austen found it unexpectedly difficult to
speak. He sat down on the bed and laid his hand on the helpless one that
rested on the coverlet.

"Austen," said Mr. Vane, "I want you to go to Fairview."

His