ions which keep our souls
apart like prisoners in the cells in some great prison. These two women
had been bearing this for a long time, and we, their nearest friends,
had stood aloof from them. As I stood thinking of this, the
carriage-wheels ground upon the pavement in the _porte cochere_; and a
moment later Jim came in, his face graver than I had ever seen it. He
sat down by Mrs. Trescott, and gently took one of her hands.

"Dr. Aylesbury has given him a morphia injection," said he, "and he is
sound asleep. The doctor thinks it best for us to carry him right to his
room. There is a man here from the hospital, who will stay and nurse
him; and the doctor came, too."

Mrs. Trescott started up, saying that she must arrange his room. Soon
the four of us had placed him in bed, where he lay, puffy and purple,
with a sort of pasty pallor overspreading his face. His limbs
occasionally jerked spasmodically; but otherwise he was still under the
spell of the opiate. His wife, now that there was something definite to
do, was self-possessed and efficient, taking the physician's
instructions with ready apprehension. The fact that Bill had now assumed
the character of a patient rather than that of a portent seemed to make
the trouble, somehow, more normal and endurable. The wife and daughter
insisted upon assuming the care of him, but assented to the nurse's
remaining as a help in emergencies. It was nearing dawn when I took my
leave. As I approached the door, I saw Jim and Josie in the hall, and
heard him making some last tenders of aid and comfort before his
departure. He put out his hand, and she clasped it in both of hers.

"I want to thank you," said she, "for what you have done."

"I have done nothing," he replied. "It is what I wish to do that I want
you to think of. I do not know whether I shall ever be able to forgive
myself--"

"No, no!" said she. "You must not talk--you must not allow yourself to
feel in that way. It is unjust--to yourself and to--me--for you to feel
so!"

I advanced to them, but she still stood looking into his face and
holding his hand clasped in hers. There was something of appeal, of an
effort to express more than the words said, in her look and attitude. He
answered her regard by a gaze so pathetically wistful that she averted
her face, pressed his hand, and turned to me.

"Good-night to you both, and thank you both, a thousand times!" said
she.

* * * *