r some months," he replied gravely.

Mrs. Levice eyed him questioningly, but he offered no explanation.

"Then do you think," she continued, "that this asthma made the pneumonia
more dangerous?"

"Undoubtedly."

Her fingers clutched at the sheet convulsively; but the strength of her
voice and aspect remained unbroken.

"Thank you," she said, "for telling me so candidly. Then will you be
here to-morrow morning?"

"I shall manage to meet him at Oakland with a closed carriage."

"May I go with you?"

"Pardon me; but it will be best for you to receive him quietly at
home. There must be nothing whatever to disturb him. Have all ready,
especially yourself."

"I understand," she said. "And now, Doctor, let me thank you for your
kindness to me;" she held out both hands. "Will you let Ruth show you to
a room, and will you breakfast with us when you have rested?"

"I thank you; it is impossible," he replied, looking at his watch. "I
shall hurry home now. Good-morning, Mrs. Levice. There may be small
cause for anxiety; and, remember, the less excited you remain, the more
you can help him."

He turned from her.

"Ruth, will you see the doctor to the door?"

She followed him down the broad staircase, as in former days, but with
a difference. Then he had waited for her to come abreast with him, and
they had descended together, talking pleasantly. Now not a word was
said till he had put on his heavy outer coat. As he laid his hand on the
knob, Ruth spoke,--

"Is there anything I can do for my father, do you think?"

She started as he turned a tired, haggard face to hers.

"I can think of nothing but to have his bed in readiness and complete
quiet about the house."

"Yes; and--and do you think there is any danger?"

"No, no! at least, I hope not. I shall be able to tell better when I see
him. Is there anything I can do for you?"

She shook her head; she dared not trust herself to speak in the light
of his tender eyes. He hastily opened the door, and bowing, closed it
quickly behind him.

Chapter XXIV

The sun shone with its usual winter favoritism upon San Francisco this
Thursday morning. After the rain the air felt as exhilarating as a day
in spring. Young girls tripped forth "in their figures," as the French
have it; and even the matrons unfastened their wraps under the genial
wooing of sunbeams.

Everything was quiet about the Levice mansion. Neither Ruth nor her
mother felt inclined to talk; so whe