thing
there--nothing that could be seen, at least. But when she opened the
door a deadly cold wind blew in and seemed to sweep past her right up
the stairs, although it was a calm, warm summer night outside.
Immediately she heard a cry. She ran upstairs--and her husband was
dead. And she always believed, so Gertrude said, that when she opened
that door she let Death in.

"It was so ridiculous of me to feel so frightened. But I was distracted
and worn out, and I simply felt for a moment that I dared not open the
door--that death was waiting outside. Then I remembered that I had no
time to waste--must not be so foolish--I sprang forward and opened the
door.

"Certainly a cold wind did blow in and filled the hall with a whirl of
snow. But there on the threshold stood a form of flesh and blood--Mary
Vance, coated from head to foot with snow--and she brought Life, not
Death, with her, though I didn't know that then. I just stared at her.

"'I haven't been turned out,' grinned Mary, as she stepped in and shut
the door. 'I came up to Carter Flagg's two days ago and I've been
stormed-stayed there ever since. But old Abbie Flagg got on my nerves
at last, and tonight I just made up my mind to come up here. I thought
I could wade this far, but I can tell you it was as much as a bargain.
Once I thought I was stuck for keeps. Ain't it an awful night?'

"I came to myself and knew I must hurry upstairs. I explained as
quickly as I could to Mary, and left her trying to brush the snow off.
Upstairs I found that Jims was over that paroxysm, but almost as soon
as I got back to the room he was in the grip of another. I couldn't do
anything but moan and cry--oh, how ashamed I am when I think of it; and
yet what could I do--we had tried everything we knew--and then all at
once I heard Mary Vance saying loudly behind me, 'Why, that child is
dying!'

"I whirled around. Didn't I know he was dying--my little Jims! I could
have thrown Mary Vance out of the door or the window--anywhere--at that
moment. There she stood, cool and composed, looking down at my baby,
with those, weird white eyes of hers, as she might look at a choking
kitten. I had always disliked Mary Vance--and just then I hated her.

"'We have tried everything,' said poor Susan dully. 'It is not ordinary
croup.'

"'No, it's the dipthery croup,' said Mary briskly, snatching up an
apron. 'And there's mighty little time to lose--but I know what to do.
When I lived over-harbour