g again within a few weeks."

"We shall near soon," replied Nan levelly. "Sandy said he would let us
know the result of the doctor's examination."

"Well, come for a stroll in the rose-garden, then. It's
hateful--waiting to hear," said Kitty rather shakily.

"Get Barry to go with you. I'd rather stay here, I think." Nan spoke
quickly. She felt she could not bear to go into the rose-garden where
she had given that promise to Roger which bade fair to wreck the
happiness of two lives--her own and Peter's.

Kitty threw her a searching glance.

"Very well," she said. "Try to rest a little. I'll come up the moment
we hear any news."

She left the room and, as the door closed behind her, Nan gave vent to
a queer, hysterical laugh. Rest! How could she rest, knowing that now
Peter was free--free to make her his wife--the great gates of fate
might yet swing to, shutting them both out of lovers garden for ever!

For she had realised, with a desperate clearness of vision, that if
Roger were incurably injured, she could not add to his burden by
retracting her promise to be his wife. She must make the uttermost
sacrifice--give up the happiness to which the death of Celia Mallory
had opened the way--and devote herself to mitigating Roger's lot in so
far as it could be mitigated. There was no choice possible to her.
Duty, with stern, sad eyes, stood beside her, bidding her follow the
hard path of sacrifice which winds upward, through a blurred mist of
tears, to the great white Throne of God. The words of the little song
which had always seemed a link betwixt Peter and herself came back to
her like some dim echo from the past.

She sank on her knees, her arms flung out across the bed. She did not
consciously pray, but her attitude of thought and spirit was a wordless
cry that she might be given courage and strength to do this thing if it
must needs be.

It was late in the afternoon when Kitty, treading softly, came into
Nan's room.

"Have you been to sleep?" she asked.

"No." Nan felt as though she had not slept for a year. Her eyes were
dry and burning in their sockets.

"There's very bad news about Roger," said Kitty, in the low tones of
one who has hardly yet recovered from the shock of unexpectedly grave
tidings. "His spine is so injured that he'll never be able to walk
again. He"--she choked over the telling of it--"his legs will always
be paralysed."

Nan stared at her vacantly, as though she ha