t Chesney never asked for a dose before
the regular hours, or for an increase of the amount. She, too, was
cheered and hopeful.

For a week this happy state of things lasted. Then one morning, after
his daily visit to Chesney's room, Bellamy came to her with an harassed
face.

"Mrs. Chesney," he said, "don't take it too hard--but your husband has
got hold of morphia in some way. The symptoms are marked this morning.
It's inconceivable, I know; but there's the fact."

Sophy's air-castle broke in upon her in smothering vapours. She sank
down on the nearest chair, and gazed out before her with blank eyes.

"Are you sure?" she asked mechanically, after a moment.

"Quite sure."

"Since when?"

"Only recently--during the night, probably. But the eyes show it
unmistakably--and the dryness of the mucous membrane."

"I know," said Sophy. So well she knew that she felt as if her own mouth
were like an ash, merely from her vivid realisation of the doctor's
words.

"Have you taxed him with it?" she then asked.

"Yes. He only jeers. Asks me how he could have got it--says that he's
not a wizard. It's terrible, Mrs. Chesney, terrible! If Nurse Harding
were only here!"

"Yes. It seems as if Fate were against him."

"Fate!" cried Bellamy. "Himself, you mean! How he could descend to this
when----"

He broke off abruptly, shocked by the white hopelessness of the young
face.

"Forgive me," he said. "Besides, one should never judge too harshly in
these cases. I've heard of men, anxious to be cured, getting well over
the cursed thing, getting quite free of it for as much as a year, then,
in some sudden moment of weakness, returning to it."

Suddenly a vigorous, alert look replaced Sophy's passive expression. She
stood up, facing the perturbed physician.

"What must we do?" she asked. "I am ready to do anything to save him.
Anything that I may do with self-respect--anything that will not put my
boy in danger. Explain to me. Whatever it is, I will do it--if it is in
my power."

She shone white and vivid against the grey, rain-strung frame of the
hall window. She dazzled there in the dark, grim hall, flashing
something free and Amazonian into the staid discreetness of the sober,
conventional house. Bellamy watched her, without being quite able to
translate into clear thought the impression that she produced on him at
that moment.

She put it into words for him herself: "I mean that I will fight for him
like a comrade--