--and she was
certainly going to suffer a long time. Wyant seemed hardly conscious of
the increase of pain--his whole mind was fixed on the prognosis. What
matter if the patient suffered, as long as he proved his case? That, of
course, was not his way of putting it. In reality, he did all he could
to allay the pain, surpassed himself in new devices and experiments. But
death confronted him implacably, claiming his due: so many hours robbed
from him, so much tribute to pay; and Wyant, setting his teeth, fought
on--and Bessy paid.

* * * * *

Justine had begun to notice that it was hard for her to get a word alone
with Dr. Garford. The other nurses were not in the way--it was Wyant who
always contrived to be there. Perhaps she was unreasonable in seeing a
special intention in his presence: it was natural enough that the two
persons in charge of the case should confer together with their chief.
But his persistence annoyed her, and she was glad when, one afternoon,
the surgeon asked him to telephone an important message to town.

As soon as the door had closed, Justine said to Dr. Garford: "She is
beginning to suffer terribly."

He answered with the large impersonal gesture of the man to whom
physical suffering has become a painful general fact of life, no longer
divisible into individual cases. "We are doing all we can."

"Yes." She paused, and then raised her eyes to his dry kind face. "Is
there any hope?"

Another gesture--the fatalistic sweep of the lifted palms. "The next ten
days will tell--the fight is on, as Wyant says. And if any one can do
it, that young fellow can. There's stuff in him--and infernal
ambition."

"Yes: but do _you_ believe she can live--?"

Dr. Garford smiled indulgently on such unprofessional insistence; but
she was past wondering what they must all think of her.

"My dear Miss Brent," he said, "I have reached the age when one always
leaves a door open to the unexpected."

As he spoke, a slight sound at her back made her turn. Wyant was behind
her--he must have entered as she put her question. And he certainly
could not have had time to descend the stairs, walk the length of the
house, ring up New York, and deliver Dr Garford's message.... The same
thought seemed to strike the surgeon. "Hello, Wyant?" he said.

"Line busy," said Wyant curtly.

* * * * *

About this time, Justine gave up her night vigils. She could no lon