ith the winder open, and Mr. Rash bein'
out I couldn't sleep like----"

"How long did they let him lie there?"

"Oh, not long. First they was for callin' a hambulance; but when I
tells 'em that 'e's my boy, and lives in my 'ouse, they brings 'im in
and we lays 'im on the sofa in the libery, and I rings up Dr. Lancing,
and----"

But something in Barbara snapped. She could stand no more. Not to cry
out or break down she sprang to her feet. "That'll do, Steptoe. I know
now all I need to know. Thank you for telling me. I shall stay here
till the doctor or the nurse comes down. If I want you again I'll
ring."

[Illustration: "BUT BY AND BY I CREEPS OUT AND DOWN THE STEPS, AND THERE
'E WAS, ALL 'UDDLED EVERY WYE."]

Lashing up and down the drawing-room, wringing her hands and moaning
inwardly, Barbara reflected on the speed with which Nemesis had
overtaken her. "If he wasn't here--or if he was dead," she had said,
"I believe I could be happier." As long as she lived she would hear
the curious intonation in Aunt Marion's voice: "He's dead?--after
all?" It was in that _after all_ that she read the unspeakable
accusation of herself.

Waiting for the doctor was not long. On hearing his step on the stair
Barbara went out to meet him. "How is he?" she asked, without wasting
time over self-introductions.

"It's a little difficult to say as yet. The case is serious. Just how
serious we can't tell to-day--perhaps not to-morrow. I find no trace
of fracture of the cranium, or of laceration of the brain; but it's
too soon to be sure. Dr. Brace and Dr. Wisdom, who've both been here,
are inclined to think that it may be no more than a simple concussion.
We must wait and see."

Relieved to this extent Barbara went on to explain herself. "I'm Miss
Walbrook. I was engaged to Mr. Allerton till--till quite recently.
We're still great friends--the greatest friends. He had no near
relations--only cousins--and I doubt if any of them are in New York as
late in the season as this--and even if they are he hardly knows
them----"

The doctor, a cheery, robust man in the late thirties, in his own line
one of the ablest specialists in New York, had a foible for social
position and his success in it. Even now, with such grave news to
communicate, he couldn't divest himself of his dinner-party manner or
his smile.

"I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Walbrook, at the Essingtons'
dinner--the big one for Isabel--and afterwards at the dance.