e stairs the
man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man, but the stranger
topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician to follow him, and
the two went down the hall to the front room. The place was flushed with
a rose-colored glow from several lamps. On a silken couch, in the midst
of pillows, lay a woman dying with consumption. She was like a lily,
white, shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming movements. She looked
at the doctor appealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the involuntary
verdict that her hour was at hand, she turned toward her companion with
a glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few questions. The man answered
them, the woman remaining silent. The physician administered something
stimulating, and then wrote a prescription which he placed on the
mantel-shelf.

"The drug store is closed to-night," he said, "and I fear the druggist
has gone home. You can have the prescription filled the first thing in
the morning, and I will be over before breakfast."

After that, there was no reason why he should not have gone home. Yet,
oddly enough, he preferred to stay. Nor was it professional anxiety that
prompted this delay. He longed to watch those mysterious persons, who,
almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their mortal farewells
in their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness.

He sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's
long, white hands, he noted the waving of light hair about her temples,
he observed the details of her gown of soft white silk which fell about
her in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant
which the doctor had provided; sometimes he bathed her face with water.
Once he paced the floor for a moment till a motion of her hand quieted
him.

After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate
of him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife was awake,
impatient to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tale in
silence, and when he had finished she turned her face to the wall and
made no comment.

"You seem to be ill, my dear," he said. "You have a chill. You are
shivering."

"I have no chill," she replied sharply. "But I--well, you may leave the
light burning."

The next morning before breakfast the doctor crossed the dewy sward to
the Netherton house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to
his repeated ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting