tayed another year. They had met only once since he had been
stationed at Fort Ellsworth: last Christmas, when he had run on to New
York and surprised her. She had been in great beauty, looking not a day
over thirty. And now--Max could not make it seem true. But, at least,
she wanted him. Max clutched at the thought with passion, and scarcely
heard Grant saying that he must hurry on to the office; he had come only
for a word and a handshake: it was better that the governor alone should
go with dear old Max to the house.

Mrs. Doran's town automobile was waiting with a solemn chauffeur and
footman who bent their eyes reverently, not to look the stricken young
soldier in the face. Max had a sick thrill as he saw the smart blue
monster, with its row of glittering glass eyes; it had been his
Christmas present to his mother by request. When the telegram told him
briefly that she had been hurt in a motor accident, he had thought with
agony that it might have been in the car he had given. He was thankful
that it had not been so. That would have seemed too horrible--as if he
had killed her. Now he would hear how it had really happened. Every
nerve was tense as if he were awaiting an operation without anesthetics.

There were not many blocks to go from the Grand Central to the Fifth
Avenue home of the Dorans, an old house which had been remodelled and
made magnificent by Max's father to receive his bride. In less than ten
minutes the blue automobile had slipped through all the traffic and
reached its destination; but many questions can be asked and answered in
eight minutes. Between the moment of starting, and the moment when Max's
one hastily packed suitcase was being carried up to the door, he had
heard the whole story. The fated car had been a friend's car. There had
been a collision. The two automobiles had turned over. For half an hour
she had lain crushed under the weight of the motor before she could be
got out. Her back was broken, and she had been horribly burnt. Even if
she could have lived--which was impossible--she would have been
shockingly disfigured. Edwin Reeves had been with her once, for a few
minutes: she had wanted to speak to him about certain things, matters of
business, and the doctors, who never left her, had stopped giving her
opiates on purpose. From the first she had said that she must be kept
alive till Max could come, and that no matter what she had to suffer her
mind must be clear for a talk with hi