y of her few
acquaintances, had been struck down, and day by day had weakened and
sickened and wasted, until now, at any hour, at any moment, the life
might be snuffed out like the fight of a spent candle. What a miserable
incompetent had she been! That day in the park when she had come upon
him, so weak and broken and far spent, why had she not, with all her
training and experience, known that even then the flame was flickering
down to the socket, that a link in the silver chain was weakening? Now,
perhaps, it was too late. But quick her original obstinacy rose up in
protest. No! she would not yield the life. No, no, no; again and a
thousand times no! He belonged to her. Others she had saved, others far
less dear to her than Ferriss. Her last patient--the little girl--she
had caught back from death at the eleventh hour, and of all men would
she not save Ferriss? In such sickness as this it was the nurse and not
the doctor who must be depended upon. And, once again, never so strong,
never so fine, never so glorious, her splendid independence, her pride
in her own strength, her indomitable self-reliance leaped in her breast,
leaped and stood firm, hard as tempered steel, head to the Enemy, daring
the assault, defiant, immovable, unshaken in its resolve, unconquerable
in the steadfast tenacity of its purpose.

The story that Ferriss had told to Bennett, that uncalled-for and
inexplicable falsehood, was a thing forgotten. Death stood at the
bed-head, and in that room the little things of life had no place. The
king was holding court, and the swarm of small, everyday issues, like a
crowd of petty courtiers, were not admitted to his presence. Ferriss'
life was in danger. Lloyd saw no more than that. At once she set about
the work.

In a few rapid sentences exchanged in low voices between her and the
doctor Lloyd made herself acquainted with the case.

"We've been using the ice-pack and wet-pack to bring down the
temperature in place of the cold bath," the doctor explained. "I'm
afraid of pericarditis."

"Quinine?" inquired Lloyd.

"From twenty to forty grains in the morning and evening. Here's the
temperature chart for the last week. If we reach this point in axilla
again--" he indicated one hundred and two degrees with a
thumb-nail--"we'll have to risk the cold bath, but only in that case."

"And the tympanites?"

Dr. Pitts put his chin in the air.

"Grave--there's an intestinal ulcer, no doubt of it, and if it
p