and, above all
things, freedom from care. Freedom from care!

Every footfall was taken to-day with reference to this. An impression of
Justin as of something noble and firm seemed to emanate from the room
where he lay and fill the house; in his complete abdication, he
dominated as never before. More than that, there seemed to be a peculiar
poignancy, a peculiar sweetness, in every little thing done for him; it
made one honorable to serve him.

The light was still brightly that of day at a quarter of seven, when
Dosia, who had been putting Zaidee and Redge to bed, came into Lois'
room, and found her with crimson cheeks and eyes red from weeping. At
Dosia's entrance she rose at once from her chair, and Dosia saw that she
was partially dressed in her walking-skirt; she flared out passionately
in speech as she was crossing the room, as if in answer to some implied
criticism:

"I don't care what you say--I don't care what anybody says. I can't
stand it any longer, when it's _killing_ him! He _can't_ rest unless he
has that money. Am I to just sit down and let my husband die, when he's
in such trouble as this? Is _that_ all I can do? Why, whose trouble is
it? Mine as well as his! If it's his responsibility, it's mine,
too--mine as well as his!"

She hit her soft hand against the sharp edge of the table, and was
unconscious that it bled. "If there's nobody else to get that money for
him, _I'll_ rise up and get it. He's stood alone long enough--long
enough! He says there is no help left, but he forgets that there's his
wife!"

"Oh, Lois," said Dosia, half weeping. "Oh, Lois, what can _you_ do?
There, you've waked the baby--he's crying."

"Get me the waist to this and my walking-jacket. No, give me the baby
first; he's hungry."

[Illustration: "THE TWO WOMEN SITTING ON THE BENCH, WRAPPED AROUND BY
THE LONELINESS AND THE INTENSE STILLNESS OF THE ONCOMING NIGHT"]

She spoke collectedly, bending over the child as she held him to her,
and straightening the folds of the little garments. "There, there, dear
little heart, dear little heart, mother's comfort--oh, my comfort, my
blessing! Get my things out of the closet now, Dosia, and my gloves from
that drawer, the top one. Oh, and get out baby's cloak and cap, too. I
forgot that I couldn't leave him. I must take him with me." She sank her
voice to a low murmur, so as not to disturb the child.

"Where are you going?" asked Dosia.

"To Eugene Larue."

"Mr. Larue!"

"Ye