time; she is just the sort of temperament
tuberculosis gets hold of with annoying rapidity--often sooner than
we who have had plenty of experience with the enemy suspect. I have
always said that the Fenwick child might have been saved had it not
been for the interference of Mrs. Fenwick after the consultation."

"And you are really telling me the truth?" Alice gasped--her lips set,
her breast heaving.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"Unfortunately--yes," was his reply.

Alice straightened to her feet, crossed to the mantel and stood for
some moments with her forehead pressed against the cool edge of the
marble, Sperry watching her in silence.

"Poor Margie!" he heard her say--then she turned to him with a
strange, calm look in her eyes.

"You must go," she said with an effort; "it is late. Blakeman will be
here in a moment to turn on the lights." She stretched forth her hands
to him. For a second he held them warm and trembling in his own, then
Blakeman's rapid step in the conservatory was heard.

"Good-night," he said in a louder tone, as the butler appeared. "I
shall see you at the Van Renssalaer's Thursday--we are to dine at
eight, I believe."

She smiled wearily in assent.

"And remember me to your good husband," he added. "I hope he will have
the best of luck."

"They say hunting is a worse habit to break than bridge," she returned
with a forced little laugh.

Blakeman followed the doctor to the door. Reverently he handed him
his stick, coat and hat--a moment later the heavy steel grille closed
noiselessly.

Blakeman stood grimly looking out of the front window, his jaw set,
his eyes following the doctor until he disappeared within his coupe
and slammed the door shut.

"Damn him!" he said. "If he tells that child that I'll strangle him!"

CHAPTER FOUR

In a deserted lumber clearing up Big Shanty Brook a chipmunk skitted
along a fallen hemlock in the drizzle of an October rain. Suddenly he
stopped and listened, his heart, thumping against his sleek coat. He
could hear the muffled roar of the torrent below him at the bottom of
the ravine, talking and grumbling to itself, as it emptied its volume
of water swollen by the heavy rains and sent it swirling out into the
long green pool below.

"Was it the old brook that had frightened him?" he wondered. "Perhaps
it was only the hedge-hog waddling along back from the brook to his
hole in the ledge above, or it might be the kingfisher, who