p her? It's terrible!"

"Certainly, Eugene. I'll come right down. Don't worry."

He hung up the receiver and walked up and down the hall again. He could
hear mumbled voices--he could hear muffled screams. A nurse, not Miss De
Sale, came out and wheeled in the operating table.

"Are they going to operate?" he asked feverishly. "I'm Mr. Witla."

"I don't think so. I don't know. Dr. Lambert wants her to be taken to
the operating room in case it is necessary."

They wheeled her out after a few moments and on to the elevator which
led to the floor above. Her face was slightly covered while she was
being so transferred, and those who were around prevented him from
seeing just how it was with her, but because of her stillness, he
wondered, and the nurse said that a very slight temporary opiate had
been administered--not enough to affect the operation, if it were found
necessary. Eugene stood by dumbly, terrified. He stood in the hall,
outside the operating room, half afraid to enter. The head surgeon's
warning came back to him, and, anyhow, what good could he do? He walked
far down the dim-lit length of the hall before him, wondering, and
looked out on a space where was nothing but snow. In the distance a long
lighted train was winding about a high trestle like a golden serpent.
There were automobiles honking and pedestrians laboring along in the
snow. What a tangle life was, he thought. What a pity. Here a little
while ago, he wanted Angela to die, and now,--God Almighty, that was her
voice groaning! He would be punished for his evil thoughts--yes, he
would. His sins, all these terrible deeds would be coming home to him.
They were coming home to him now. What a tragedy his career was! What a
failure! Hot tears welled up into his eyes, his lower lip trembled, not
for himself, but for Angela. He was so sorry all at once. He shut it all
back. No, by God, he wouldn't cry! What good were tears? It was for
Angela his pain was, and tears would not help her now.

Thoughts of Suzanne came to him--Mrs. Dale, Colfax, but he shut them
out. If they could see him now! Then another muffled scream and he
walked quickly back. He couldn't stand this.

He didn't go in, however. Instead he listened intently, hearing
something which sounded like gurgling, choking breathing. Was that
Angela?

"The low forceps"--it was Dr. Lambert's voice.

"The high forceps." It was his voice again. Something clinked like metal
in a bowl.

"It can't be