moment he moved, they were able to control him for a short time.

The surgeon was with Freckles. The Angel had been told that the word
he brought that morning would be final, so she curled in a window seat,
dropped the curtains behind her, and in dire anxiety, waited the opening
of the door.

Just as it unclosed, McLean came hurrying down the hall and to the
surgeon, but with one glance at his face he stepped back in dismay;
while the Angel, who had arisen, sank to the seat again, too dazed to
come forward. The men faced each other. The Angel, with parted lips and
frightened eyes, bent forward in tense anxiety.

"I--I thought he was doing nicely?" faltered McLean.

"He bore the operation well," replied the surgeon, "and his wounds are
not necessarily fatal. I told you that yesterday, but I did not tell you
that something else probably would kill him; and it will. He need not
die from the accident, but he will not live the day out."

"But why? What is it?" asked McLean hurriedly. "We all dearly love the
boy. We have millions among us to do anything that money can accomplish.
Why must he die, if those broken bones are not the cause?"

"That is what I am going to give you the opportunity to tell me,"
replied the surgeon. "He need not die from the accident, yet he is
dying as fast as his splendid physical condition will permit, and it is
because he so evidently prefers death to life. If he were full of hope
and ambition to live, my work would be easy. If all of you love him as
you prove you do, and there is unlimited means to give him anything he
wants, why should he desire death?"

"Is he dying?" demanded McLean.

"He is," said the surgeon. "He will not live this day out, unless some
strong reaction sets in at once. He is so low, that preferring death to
life, nature cannot overcome his inertia. If he is to live, he must be
made to desire life. Now he undoubtedly wishes for death, and that it
come quickly."

"Then he must die," said McLean.

His broad shoulders shook convulsively. His strong hands opened and
closed mechanically.

"Does that mean that you know what he desires and cannot, or will not,
supply it?"

McLean groaned in misery.

"It means," he said desperately, "that I know what he wants, but it is
as far removed from my power to help him as it would be to give him a
star. The thing for which he will die, he can never have."

"Then you must prepare for the end very shortly" said the surgeon,
tu