the sick room. "May
I go now?"

"Yes. No tears, you know, and no huggings--just one little kiss--and
then come back here."

Dorothy flew from the room, light and soundless as blown thistledown.
The doctor turned to his friend.

"There is something troubling her," he said gravely, "something that is
eating at her heart. Ordinarily I wouldn't consent to anyone seeing her
so soon; but she called for you in her delirium; and now that she is
conscious, she whispers that she must consult you. Perhaps you can
relieve her trouble, whatever it is. I'm going to chance it; after
Dorothy has seen her, you may. I don't know exactly what to say,
but--well, answer the question in her eyes, if you can--but only a
moment--only give her relief. She must have no excitement."

Gard nodded.

"I think I know," he said slowly.

The doctor nodded in understanding, as the girl appeared, her face drawn
by emotion.

"Oh, poor mother!" she gasped. "She seemed--so--I don't know
why--grateful--to me--thanked me for coming to her--_thanked_ me, Dr.
Balys, as if I wasn't longing every minute to be with her! She is not
quite over her delirium yet, do you think?"

Balys smiled. "Of course she is grateful to see you. Your mother has
been very close to the Great Divide, and she, more than any of us,
realizes it. Now," he said, turning to Gard, "go in and make your little
speech; and, mind you, say your word and go. No conversation with my
patient."

Gard stood up, excitement gripping him. He was to see her eyes again,
open and understanding. He was to hear her voice in coherent tones once
more! The realization of this wonder thrilled him. He went to her
presence as some saint of old went to the altar, where, in a dream, the
vision of miracle had been promised him. All the pain and torture of the
past seemed nothing in the light of this one thing--that she was herself
again, to meet him hand to hand and eye to eye. He entered the quiet
room and crossed its dimly lighted spaciousness to the bed. The nurse
rose tactfully and busied herself among the bottles on the distant
dresser.

At last, after the ordeal that they had gone through, in the lonely,
hollow torture chamber of the heart, they met, and knew. With a sigh of
understanding, she moved her waxen fingers, and, comprehending her
gesture, he took her hand and held it, striving to impart to her
weakness something of his own vigor. For a moment they remained thus.
Then into her eyes, wher