l. Levice had
dropped into a sort of stupor. Kemp arose then.

"I shall be back presently," he said, addressing Mrs. Levice, who
started perceptibly as he spoke. "I have some few directions to give to
my man that I entirely forgot."

"Could not we send some one? You must not stay away now."

"I shall return immediately. Mr. Levice does not need me while he
sleeps, and these instructions are important. Don't stir, Arnold; I know
my way out."

Nevertheless Arnold accompanied him to the door. Ruth gave little heed
to their movements. Her agitated heart had grasped the fact that the
lines upon her father's face had grown weaker and paler, his breathing
shorter and more rasping; when she passed him and touched his hand, it
seemed cold and lifeless.

At nine the doctor came in again; the only appreciable difference in his
going or coming was that no one rose or made any formal remarks. He
went up to the bed and placed his hand on the sleeping head. Mrs. Levice
moved her chair slightly as he seated himself on the edge of the bed
and took Levice's hand. Ruth, watching him with wide, distended eyes,
thought he would never drop it. Her senses, sharpened by suffering, read
every change on his face. As he withdrew his hand, she gave one long,
involuntary moan. He turned quickly to her.

"What is it?" he asked, his grave eyes scanning her anxiously.

"Nothing," she responded. It was the first word she had spoken to him
since the afternoon ceremony. He turned back to Levice, lowering his ear
to his chest. After a faint, almost imperceptible pause he arose.

"I think you had all better lie down," he said softly. "I shall sit with
him, and you all need rest."

"I could not rest," said Mrs. Levice; "this chair is all I require."

"If you would lie on the couch here," he urged, "you would find the
position easier."

"No, no! I could not."

He looked at Ruth.

"I shall go by and by," she answered.

Arnold had long since gone out.

Ruth's by and by stretched on interminably. Kemp took up the "Argonaut"
that lay folded on the table. He did not read much, his eyes straying
from the printed page before him to the "finis" writing itself slowly
on Jules Levice's face, and thence to Ruth's pale profile; she was
crying,--so quietly, though, that but for the visible tears an onlooker
might not have known it; she herself did not,--her heart was silently
overflowing.

Toward morning Levice suddenly sprang up in bed and made as i