ton. Aunt Margaret was waiting for them on the
landing, and they were not quick enough in shutting the door. I heard
what she said. To-morrow morning Sir Alfred is coming again.
Bridgie,--_is he going to cut off my foot_?"

"He is not, darling. He is going to give you chloroform and do
something to the bone to try to make it sound and healthy again."

"And if that fails, will he cut it off then?"

"He will operate again, and go on trying as long as he dare."

"And if everything else fails, then--"

"Yes, Sylvia," said Bridgie gently.

Downstairs in the dining-room Miss Munns had been consulting with Whitey
as to how the patient was to be prepared for the ordeal of to-morrow,
and by whom the news should be broken. Whitey had taken the task upon
herself with the unselfish heroism of her profession, but her pretty
face was worn with the strain of this long anxious case, and Bridgie's
heart had ached for her in her painful task. Now, in the midst of her
own agitation, she felt a thrill of unselfish joy that she had been able
to take one burden at least from those heavily-laden shoulders.

Sylvia knew not only of the ordeal of the morrow, but also of that
nightmare dread of what might have to follow. She had known it for a
week past, and had lain quietly on her bed with all the horror and
misery of it locked up in her own heart. Such restraint seemed almost
incredible to the outspoken Irish nature, but Bridgie's words of
admiration brought an added shade over the invalid's face.

"No, it was not bravery, it was cowardice! I was like an ostrich hiding
my head in the ground for fear of what I might see. I literally dare
not ask until it came to the last moment. Oh, Bridgie, what a week it
has been! Going to sleep with the weight on my heart; waking up and
thinking, `What is it? What is it?' and the shock of remembering
afresh! I lay and thought it all out; never to be able to run, nor
bicycle, nor skate, nor dance, nor even walk without crutches, to dread
going upstairs, to be cut off from girls of my own age because I could
not take part in their amusements, to hear people say `Poor thing!' and
look pitifully at me as I hobbled by. I've tried to be resigned and
take it like invalids in books, but--I can't! I feel desperate.
Bridgie, suppose it was you! How would you feel?"

"I should cry myself ill for two or three days, and then brisk up and be
thankful that if it was one foot, it wasn't two!" said