ursery. It had all come out just as she had planned, except
this. Poor little Caddy--a fighting chance!

The next morning seemed to fly by them: it was nine o'clock, ten,
eleven.

At this hour a feverish activity suddenly spread through the house. They
met and passed each other, hurrying, troubled, secretive; the servants
stumbled and quarrelled in their purposeless haste. To Belden, quieting
when he could, sternly optimistic everywhere, at heart heavy and
uncertain, it seemed that the one anchor of their hopes was this calm,
clear-eyed woman in her uniform of authority!

Peter hung pathetically on her lightest word; the children, dazed and
terrified, ate and exercised at her command; his own boy, a strange
hard look in his furtive eyes, followed her like a dog, and Aunt Lucia
submitted with unprecedented meekness to an abrupt curtailment of her
interview with Clarice. He himself went into the bedroom for a moment,
half uncertain of the reality of the experience. It was absurd to
remember that he might never see her, conscious, again--his own little
Caddy.

He sat awkwardly on the side of the bed.

"Well, little woman, how goes it?"

"Queen's taste, Will!"

"Good for you! I'm proud of the Beldens, Caddy--Billy acts like a
drum-major."

Her eyes softened.

"The dear boy," she murmured. Their eyes met. "_Look after him_," hers
said, and his, "_As long as I live!_" He stooped and kissed her lightly.
"Mind you look as well as this to-morrow!"

"Oh, I shall be all right. Miss Strong will take care of me. When I
think how I have the best of everything--such care--I've been a very
happy woman, Will dear."

His eyes filled. He threw her a kiss and went out blindly.

A hand touched his arm. "You've done her good," said the nurse softly.
"You stayed just long enough. She'll take her nap now."

He went heavily into his own room. Below him a little porch led out from
the smoking-room, and as he sat lost in a miserable reverie, voices rose
from it to his window.

"Nobody knows what she's been to me. As much like a mother as I'd let
her. I did everything but the cigarettes, and I meant to tell her I'd do
that too, next month--that's her birthday."

Was this his boy, that pleading, shaken voice? He looked out: the lad
was fingering Miss Strong's white apron nervously. She leaned over the
railing of the little porch, her hand on his shoulder.

"You tell her about it--I'll never smoke another one. It was the last
t