t responsible. Alan Conrad had
come to Chicago, not by their direction, but by Benjamin Corvet's; but
Uncle Benny being gone, they had been the ones who met him, they had
received him into their own house; but they had not thought to warn him
of the dangers of the city and, afterward, they had let him go to live
alone in the house in Astor Street with no better adviser than
Wassaquam. Now, and perhaps because they had not warned him, he had
met injury and, it might be, more than mere injury; he might be dying.

She walked anxiously up and down her room, clutching her kimona about
her; it would be some time yet before she could hear from her father.
She went to the telephone on the stand beside her bed and called Henry
Spearman at his apartments. His servant answered; and, after an
interval, Henry's voice came to her. She told him all that she knew of
what had occurred.

"Do you want me to go over to the hospital?" he asked at once.

"No; father has gone. There is nothing any one can do. I'll call you
again as soon as I hear from father."

He seemed to appreciate from her tone the anxiety she felt; for he set
himself to soothe and encourage her. She listened, answered, and then
hung up the receiver, anxious not to interfere with the expected call
from her father. She moved about the room again, oppressed by the long
wait, until the 'phone rang, and she sprang to it; it was her father
calling from the hospital. Alan had had a few moments' consciousness,
but Sherrill had not been allowed to see him; now, by the report of the
nurse, Alan was sleeping, and both nurse and internes assured Sherrill
that, this being the case, there was no reason for anxiety concerning
him; but Sherrill would wait at the hospital a little longer to make
sure. Constance's breath caught as she answered him, and her eyes
filled with tears of relief. She called Henry again, and he evidently
had been waiting, for he answered at once; he listened without comment
to her repetition of her father's report.

"All right," he said, when she had finished. "I'm coming over, Connie."

"Now?"

"Yes; right away."

"You must give me time to dress!" His assumption of right to come to
her at this early hour recalled to her forcibly the closer relation
which Henry now assumed as existing between them; indeed, as more than
existing, as progressing. And had not she admitted that relation by
telephoning to him during her anxiety? She had not tho