, what are you blubbing for? Anyone would think--" A
sudden pause, then in a low, eager tone, "Hullo,--Avery?"

The incredulous interrogation of the words cut her to the heart. She went
up the step and into the car as if drawn by an irresistible magnetism,
seeing neither Crowther nor Victor, aware only of a prone, gaunt figure
on a stretcher, white-haired, skeleton-featured, that reached a trembling
hand to her and said again, "Hullo!"

For one wild second she felt as if she were in the presence of old Sir
Beverley, so striking was the likeness that the drawn, upturned face bore
to him. Then Piers' eyes, black as the night, smiled up at her,
half-imperious, half-pleading, and the illusion was gone.

She stooped over him, that trembling hand fast clasped in hers; but she
could not speak. No words would come.

"Been waiting, what?" he said. "I hope not for long?"

But still she could not speak. She felt choked. It was all so unnatural,
so cruelly hard to bear.

"I shan't be like this always," he said. "Afraid I look an awful guy just
at present."

That was all then, for Crowther came gently between them; and then he
and Victor, with infinite care, lifted the stretcher and bore the master
of the house into his own home.

Half an hour later Avery turned from waving a farewell to Crowther, who
had insisted upon going back to town with the car that had brought them,
and softly shut out the night.

She had had the library turned into a bedroom for Piers, and she crossed
the hall to the door with an eagerness that carried her no further.
There, gripping the handle, she was stayed.

Within, she could hear Victor moving to and fro, but she listened in vain
for her husband's voice, and a great shyness came upon her. She could not
ask permission to enter.

Minutes passed while she stood there, minutes of tense listening,
during which she scarcely seemed to breathe. Then very suddenly she
heard a sound that set every nerve a-quiver--a groan that was more of
weariness than pain, but such weariness as made her own heart throb in
passionate sympathy.

Almost without knowing it, she turned the handle of the door, and opened
it. A moment more, and she was in the room.

He was lying flat in the bed, his dark eyes staring upwards out of deep
hollows that had become cruelly distinct. There was dumb endurance in
every line of him. His mouth was hard set, the chin firm as granite. And
even then in his utter helplessness there