"Of course," she answered.

"It will seem very long to me," he returned slowly. "Almost a
lifetime."

"Perhaps you will telephone now and then."

"Very often, if I may."

"The nurse says she 'll not allow me to answer the telephone after nine
at night."

"Nine to-night is a long way off yet."

"It's only half a day."

"But that's twelve hours!"

"Do you think that long?"

"Yes. That seems a very long while to me."

"It is soon gone."

"Too soon."

"Then comes the night and then the morning and then you 'll bring him
home."

"Then I 'll bring him home."

What a new meaning that word home had when it fell from her lips. What
a new meaning everything had.

She turned aside to address some one in the room and then her voice
came in complaint.

"The nurse is here with my medicine."

"Then close your eyes and swallow it quickly. I 'll telephone you
later and inquire how it tasted."

"Thank you. Good bye."

"Good bye."

He hung up the receiver and settled down to the grim task of counting
the passing minutes which were draining his life as though each minute
were a drop of blood let from an artery. And all the company he had
for it was this poor devil on the bed who grimaced as he breathed.

He folded his arms. If this, too, was a part of the cost he must pay
it like a man.

CHAPTER XVI

_The Fourth Day_

The morning of Tuesday, May twenty-eighth, found Donaldson still
sitting in the chair, facing the form upon the bed. He had not
undressed, and had slept less than an hour. He was now waiting for
eight o'clock, when he had received permission from the nurse to ring
up Miss Arsdale again.

With some tossing Arsdale had slept on without awaking fully enough to
be conscious of his surroundings. Now, however, Donaldson became aware
that the fellow's brain was clearing. He watched the process with some
interest. It was an hour later before the man began to realize that he
was in a strange room, and that another was in the room with him. It
was evident that he was trying hard, and yet with fear of whither the
road might lead him, to trace himself back. He had singled out
Donaldson for some time, observing him through half-closed eyes, before
he ventured to speak.

"Where am I?" he finally faltered huskily.

"In my charge."

"Who are you?"

"One Donaldson."

"I never heard of you."

"That is not improbable."

Arsdale reflected upon this for some time before he gain