ce reached
him.

"I am going to _walk_ back, Robert."

"Yes; but, Naida," Thornton protested, "you're not strong enough yet."

"Don't you understand?" she cried, half laughing, half sobbing. "There
is no 'yet'--I am cured, dear--_all_ cured. I'm well and strong. Try to
understand, Robert--oh, I'm so happy, so--so thankful. I know it's
miraculous, that it's almost impossible to believe--but try to
understand."

"I am trying to," said Thornton numbly, watching her as she moved about.
"And it seems as though I were in a dream--that this isn't real--that
you're not real."

"It's not a dream," she said. "Oh, I'm so strong again. Why, Robert, it
would be just as absurd for me to be wheeled back in that chair as for
you to be--and besides I have no right to do that now. It would be a
sacrilege, profaning the gratitude in my heart--I am cured and these
poor people here must see that I am cured--Robert, we must leave that
wheel-chair here that others, poor sufferers who will come now, will see
and believe and be cured too. And, Robert, in some way, I do not know
just how, we who are rich must do something to help people to get here."

"Naida," said Thornton, his voice low, shaken, "I feel as though I were
in another world. I have seen what I can hardly make myself believe that
I have seen. I can't explain--I am speaking, but my very voice seems
strange to me. I feel as you do about helping others--how could I feel
otherwise? What we could do I do not know as yet, either--but I will do
anything. I was a scoffing fool--and you were cured before my eyes--a
boy was cured--and that other, deformed as no creature was ever deformed
before, was cured"--Thornton's lips quivered, and he hid his face in his
hands.

"While the iron is hot--strike," murmured Madison. He gazed a moment
longer at the group--Mrs. Thornton's hand was on her husband's shoulder
now--then his eyes roved over the frenzied scenes still being enacted
everywhere upon the lawn. "I wonder?" he muttered. The frown on his
forehead cleared suddenly. "Of course!" said he to Pale Face Harry.
"It's a cinch--it's as good as done!"

Pale Face Harry stared at him queerly.

"No, Harry," smiled Madison, "my pulse is quite normal now, thank you.
Listen. This is where we call the first showdown on cold hands--and the
dealer slips himself an ace." He drew a key from his pocket and put it
in Pale Face Harry's hand. "That's the key of the small trunk in my
room at the hotel-