sleep at all, and she knew that she had insomnia, and
remembered that it was of insomnia her mother had died.

She came to herself one day, sitting in Doctor Hentley's office. He was
looking at her in a puzzled way.

"Got plenty to eat?" he was asking.

She nodded.

"Any serious trouble?"

She shook her head.

"Everything's all right, doctor... except..."

"Yes, yes," he encouraged.

And then she knew why she had come. Simply, explicitly, she told him. He
shook his head slowly.

"It can't be done, little woman," he said

"Oh, but it can!" she cried. "I know it can."

"I don't mean that," he answered. "I mean I can't tell you. I dare not.
It is against the law. There is a doctor in Leavenworth prison right now
for that."

In vain she pleaded with him. He instanced his own wife and children
whose existence forbade his imperiling.

"Besides, there is no likelihood now," he told her.

"But there will be, there is sure to be," she urged.

But he could only shake his head sadly.

"Why do you want to know?" he questioned finally.

Saxon poured her heart out to him. She told of her first year of
happiness with Billy, of the hard times caused by the labor troubles, of
the change in Billy so that there was no love-life left, of her own deep
horror. Not if it died, she concluded. She could go through that again.
But if it should live. Billy would soon be out of jail, and then the
danger would begin. It was only a few words. She would never tell any
one. Wild horses could not drag it out of her.

But Doctor Hentley continued to shake his head. "I can't tell you,
little woman. It's a shame, but I can't take the risk. My hands are
tied. Our laws are all wrong. I have to consider those who are dear to
me."

It was when she got up to go that he faltered. "Come here," he said.
"Sit closer."

He prepared to whisper in her ear, then, with a sudden excess of
caution, crossed the room swiftly, opened the door, and looked out.
When he sat down again he drew his chair so close to hers that the arms
touched, and when he whispered his beard tickled her ear.

"No, no," he shut her off when she tried to voice her gratitude. "I have
told you nothing. You were here to consult me about your general health.
You are run down, out of condition--"

As he talked he moved her toward the door. When he opened it, a patient
for the dentist in the adjoining office was standing in the hall. Doctor
Hentley lifted his voice.

"Wha