tty bad, Mr. Lyveden. He's naturally very strong,
and we hope that'll pull him through. We ought to know one way or the
other within twelve hours."

"I see," said Anthony dully. "When I didn't hear, I hoped----"

"Didn't you get my telephone message?"

Anthony shook his head.

"When did you ring up?"

"Yesterday. I spoke to somebody--a man, and asked him to tell you. I
don't know who it was."

Anthony went very white.

"I fancy I do," he said grimly, and drew in a quick breath. "And now
may I see my dog?"

The fair-haired girl led the way to the hospital.

The building, which stood by itself, was as fresh and cool as a dairy,
and a faint clean smell of sanitary fluid rose from its tiled floor.
In the hall were a table and a watchman's chair. Half a dozen rooms
led out of the hall. The girl went straight to the door of one of
these, turned the handle gently, and the next moment they were in the
little chamber. This was full of light and air, for the French
windows, which gave on to a broad veranda, were wide open. Upon the
garden beyond the sun was shining gloriously.

By the side of the great square basket set in a corner Anthony fell on
his knees.

"Why, Patch ..."

The little scrap tried gamely to leap for his master, but his strength
failed him, and he fell sideways on to the pine shavings. Lyveden
gathered him gently into his arms and let him lick his face.

"Did you think I was never coming, Patch? Did you think I'd forgotten
my little dog? My poor little fellow ... my little boy...."

The laboured breathing slipped into a cough, and Lyveden laid the
terrier back on the shavings. There he got to his feet and coughed
desperately. The exertion seemed to exhaust him, for, when the fit was
over, he lay down where he stood, keeping his eyes upon Anthony and now
and again moving his little tail.

The fair-haired girl, who had gone, reappeared, followed by the
grey-headed kennel-man bearing a deck-chair.

"I expect you'll like to stay with him for a bit," she said pleasantly.

Anthony thanked her, and she left him alone.

For Patch's sake, Anthony sat very still.

Considering that he had been afoot since half-past five, it is not
surprising that after a little space he fell asleep.

Queer idiotic fancies bestrode his dreams: what was impossible came
naturally to pass: earth became wonderland, and no one wondered. Patch
and Miss French lay in sick beds upon respective mantelpieces: