r. Van Camp, unless something unexpected turns up, I think your
cousin will live to jump overboard again."

Offhand as the words were, there was unmistakable satisfaction,
happiness, even triumph in his voice, and he returned Aleck's
hand-clasp with a vise-like grip. His masculinity ignored Agatha, or
pretended to; but she had followed him to the door. As the old man
clasped hands with Aleck, he heard behind him a deep, "O Doctor!" The
next instant Agatha's arms were around his neck, and the back of his
bald head was pressed against something that could only have been a
cheek. Surprising as this was, the doctor did not stampede; but by the
time he had got clear of Aleck and had reached up his hand to find the
cheek, it was gone, and the arms, too. Susan Stoddard somehow got
mixed up in the general _Te Deum_ in the hall, and for the first time,
now that the fight was over, allowed her feminine feelings--that is, a
few tears--to come to the surface.

Aleck, however, went to pieces, gone down in that species of mental
collapse by which deliberate, judicial men become reckless, and strong
men become weak. He stepped softly back into the bedroom and leaned
again over the curved footboard, his face quite miserable. He went
nearer, and held his ear down close to the bedclothes, to hear for
himself the regular beating of the heart. Slowly he convinced himself
that the doctor's words might possibly be true, at least. He turned to
Hand, who had come in and was adjusting the shades, and asked him: "Do
_you_ believe he's asleep?" in the tone of one who demands an oath.

"Oh, yes, sir; he's sleeping nicely, Mr. Van Camp. I saw the change
the moment I came in."

Aleck still hesitated to leave, fearful, apparently, lest he might take
the blessed sleep away with him. As he stood by the bed, a low but
distinct whistle sounded outside, then, after a moment's interval, was
repeated. Aleck lifted his head at the first signal, took another look
at James and one at Hand, then light as a cat he darted from the room
and down the stairs, leaving the house through one of the tall windows
in the parlor. Mr. Chamberlain was standing near the lilac bushes, his
big figure outlined dimly in the darkness.

"Shut up!" Aleck whispered fiercely, as he ran toward him. "He's just
got to sleep, Chamberlain; gone to sleep, like a baby. Don't make an
infernal racket!"

"Oh, I didn't know. Didn't mean to make a racket," began Chamberlain,