the
poor little jar of roses I dipped my handkerchief and passed it over
Mrs. Dupont's brow, scared more than half to death. Presently, she
seemed to revive a little. She breathed and sighed, and then came a
flood of tears. She stared at me with great, deep, frightened eyes, and
with a finger pointed to a column of the paper. I took it from her and
held it out at a convenient distance from my eyes, about two feet away.
There was a printed list referring to reservists gone from New York. For
many weeks, doubtless, she had scanned it, fearing, hopeful, with
quick-beating heart that was only stilled when she failed to find that
which she tremblingly sought.

I caught the name, among other announcements of men fallen at the front.

--Paul Dupont--

I also looked at her, open-mouthed, stupidly. She stared again at me,
as if I could have reassured her, sworn that it was a mistake, told her
not to believe her eyes.

Then, she rose again on her elbow and turned to the slumbering mite at
her side, but, although the salty drops of her anguish fell on the
baby's face, he continued to sleep on.

CHAPTER V

GORDON HELPS

The passing of the next week or two can only be referred to in a few
words, for how can a man gauge the distress of a soul, measure the
intensity of its pangs, weight the heavy burden of sorrow? That good
little Dr. Porter came in very often. Most tactfully he pretended that
his visits were chiefly to me, and would merely drop into the other room
on his way out of mine; at any rate the smallness of the bill he
rendered long afterwards made me surmise that this was the case.

In the meanwhile, the weather remained very warm and the doors were
often left open. I went into the room quite frequently. Eulalie is the
salt of the earth, but she still has a little of the roughness of the
unground crystal so that, for conversational purposes, Frances Dupont
perhaps found my presence more congenial. Her faithful, but temporary,
retainer was always there, exuding an atmosphere of robust health and
lending propriety to my visits. She was generally darning socks.

The hungry one snatches at any morsel presented to him, while those who
are dying of thirst pay little heed to the turbidity of pools they may
chance upon. The poor Murillo-girl, perforce, had to be content with
such friendship and care as her two new friends could give her. Frieda
always came in once a day, but she was tremendously busy with he