ke a cloud.

"Do you know which?" he persisted.

"Yes, Dick."

"Would you have the unbelievable cruelty not to tell me?"

She got up, a taut little figure with a dignity born of her fear and of
her love for him.

"I shall not betray David's confidence," she said. "Long ago I warned
him that this time would come. I was never in favor of keeping you
in ignorance. But it is David's problem, and I cannot take the
responsibility of telling you."

He knew her determination and her obstinate loyalty. But he was fairly
desperate.

"You know that if you don't tell me, I shall go to David?"

"If you go now you will kill him."

"It's as bad as that, is it?" he asked grimly. "Then there is something
shameful behind it, is there?"

"No, no, Dick. Not that. And I want you, always, to remember this. What
David did was out of love for you. He has made many sacrifices for you.
First he saved your life, and then he made you what you are. And he has
had a great pride in it. Don't destroy his work of years."

Her voice broke and she turned to go out, her chin quivering, but half
way to the door he called to her.

"Aunt Lucy--" he said gently.

She heard him behind her, felt his strong arms as he turned her about.
He drew her to him and stooping, kissed her cheek.

"You're right," he said. "Always right. I'll not worry him with it. My
word of honor. When the time comes he'll tell me, and until it comes,
I'll wait. And I love you both. Don't ever forget that."

He kissed her again and let her go.

But long after David had put down his prayer-book that night, and
after the nurse had rustled down the stairs to the night supper on the
dining-room table, Lucy lay awake and listened to Dick's slow pacing of
his bedroom floor.

He was very gentle with David from that time on, and tried to return
to his old light-hearted ways. On the day David was to have his first
broiled sweetbread he caught the nurse outside, borrowed her cap and
apron and carried in the tray himself.

"I hope your food is to your taste, Doctor David," he said, in a high
falsetto which set the nurse giggling in the hall. "I may not be much of
a nurse, but I can cook."

Even Lucy was deceived at times. He went his customary round, sent out
the monthly bills, opened and answered David's mail, bore the double
burden of David's work and his own ungrudgingly, but off guard he was
grave and abstracted. He began to look very thin, too, and Lucy often
heard him