deal the blow of truth. This was a very
marvel of friendship; like the love of David and Jonathan, it passed
the love of women.

The doctor temporized. Mr. Ponsonby had rallied wonderfully; his
constitution was much stronger than he had been given to understand;
it was rather soon to give a definite opinion, but----

Here Stephen interrupted him.

"Great God, man! Can't you answer a plain question. Yes or no?"

The doctor drew himself up and, to quote his own language, "let him
have it straight."

"If he lives to get home it will be a good deal more than I expect of
him."

French nodded toward the door, and turned his back.

* * * * *

That night he relieved the doctor's watch by sitting up with his
friend, and, having given him his broth at midnight, was almost dozing
in his chair when a whisper from Simeon roused him. The sound was so
faint, he held his breath to listen.

"Stephen, I want to see Deena."

French's heart began thumping like the screw of his yacht. How he
thanked God that he could look his friend in the face as he answered:

"So you shall, old man; just as quickly as steam can carry you to
her."

A look of satisfaction came into the tired eyes.

"It will be a race with death," he said, "but perhaps--thank you,
Stephen." And he fell asleep.

CHAPTER X.

With Deena the spring moved drearily. Her position was strangely
anomalous; she was neither wife nor widow, without the right to be
glad or sad--only dumbly wretched. She could not mourn for a husband
who might be living, nor could she ignore the fact that he might be
dead, and all the while that parting scene with Stephen burned into
her conscience like a brand.

She shut herself up with Polly and the baby, and hardly went out of
the house while she remained in New York. Love for the child crept
deep into her heart and soothed her into patience when all else
failed.

In May the house in Harmouth returned to her keeping, the lease having
expired, and she left the Sixty-fifth Street household with reluctance
to take up her old life. In the great city she had been but a human
atom. Her conduct, her unhappiness, her very existence mattered to no
one there, except, perhaps, to Ben and Polly, who were as tender and
sympathetic as such vigorous people could be; but in Harmouth every
creature was interested in Simeon's fate, and watched Deena with a
curiosity she found maddening.

She felt herself the ma