n as he came out of the chloroform, and
she had responded at once.

"You won't leave me, dear?" he had questioned, when he opened his eyes
from the drowsiness that the opiate forced upon him, and saw her
sitting beside him.

"No, Bob; I'll stay as long as you want me."

He had smiled feebly at her.

"It won't be very long."

A glimmer in his eyes showed that he understood the possible
impertinent interpretation of his speech.

"You won't mind letting me hold your hand, Sydney, will you?" he had
said, in his hoarse, weak voice. "It's one of the perquisites of dying.
Tuck your fingers in there, dear. Those doctors have strapped me up so
I can't move my arm."

So she sat with her hand in his, and her eyes looking out across the
meadows to Buck Mountain, while Bob dozed and woke and dozed again,
always smiling happily at her when he found her still beside him, and
pressing her fingers in his weak grasp.

As the sun sank towards the west he roused from his stupefied slumber,
and spoke with growing clearness.

"It's mighty good of you to stay here, Sydney. I'm selfish to ask you,
but I haven't seen you much lately, I've been so busy with the crops."

"You've never failed me, Bob dear. It's my turn now."

"It's just because I'm weak, I suppose, but I want a little flattery.
Don't you think I've done pretty well about--drinking?"

"You've been wonderful, Bob. I honor and respect you more than I can
say. You feel that, don't you?"

"Thank you, dear. You know I did it for you? Oh, I told her all about
it," as Sydney glanced towards the corner where Mrs. Morgan, worn out
with grief, was sleeping behind a screen. "I've been a little more
hopeful about you lately, since--well----"

He paused, not liking to finish his sentence "since the Baroness came,"
for it suggested implications too delicate for utterance.

"But I always knew, really, that you couldn't care for me in that way.
It was a temporary deceit, the way you can make yourself believe for a
few minutes that you haven't a toothache, and then it jumps on you
again."

"Dear old Bob."

Sydney bent forward and kissed him. Over his face spread a radiance of
unexpected happiness.

"Oh, Sydney, you darling! I say, Sydney, if you wouldn't think that I'm
taking advantage of my condition--would you mind--_would_ you do that
again?"

She kissed him again, gladly, willingly, and he sank happily to sleep.
When he woke once more he asked for von Rittenheim.

"H