id="Page_17" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 17]"/> She had seen it too many times roused to fierce struggle, holding death at arm's length and fighting, inch by inch, for a life that was slipping away. To her Dr. Carmon was not so much a man, as a mighty gripping force that did things when you needed him.

"I suppose I was hungry," he said.

He picked up the last crumb of sandwich and smiled at her.

Aunt Jane nodded. "You needed something to eat."

"And some one to tell me to eat it," he replied. And with the words he was gone.

The next minute Aunt Jane, sitting in the office, heard the warning toot of his motor as it turned the corner of the next street and was off for the day's work.

IV

In the reception-room a man was waiting. He was thick-set, with dark hair and eyes and an obstinate chin. He looked up with a doubtful flash as Aunt Jane came in.

"How is she?" he demanded. He had sprung to his feet.

Aunt Jane descended into a creaking chair and folded her hands quietly. "Sit down, Mr. Dalton," she said; "I'm going to tell you all about it."

The words seemed to promise limitless details.

He sat down, chafing a little and looking at her eagerly.

She smiled on him. "Hard work waiting, isn't it?" she said.

His face broke a little.

"Has she come out of it?"

Aunt Jane nodded. "Yes, she's got through." She rocked a little in the big chair. "She's standing it pretty well, considering," she added after a pause.

"Will she get well?" The question burst at her.

She looked up at him slowly—at the dark eyes and obstinate chin. "I don't know," she said. She waited a minute. "I suppose you'd rather know the truth," she asked.

"Yes—yes."

"I thought so." The muslin strings nodded. "When my husband died they didn't let us know how sick he was. I've always thought we might have saved him—between us—if we'd known. They wanted to spare my feelings." She looked at him inquiringly.

"Yes." He waited a little less impatiently. The world was a big place. Everybody died.... Would Edith die?... He looked at her imploringly.

She returned the look with one full of gentleness. "I don't see how she's going to live," she said slowly. The face under its white cap took on a trance-like look. The eyes were fixed on something unseen. She drew a quick breath.... "But I guess she will," she said with a tremulous laugh.

The man's lips parted.

She looked at him again. "If I were you, Mr. Dalton, I'd go home and feel pretty big and strong and well, and I'd hope pretty hard."

He looked at her, bewildered.

She was on her feet. She ran her eye over his face and person. "I'd wear the cleanest, freshest clothes I could get, and I'd look so 'twould do her good just to set eyes on me."

He flushed under the two days' growth of beard and ran his hand awkwardly across his chin. "But they won't let me see her?" he said.

"Well, I don't know," responded Aunt Jane. "It'll do her good—whether she sees you or not," she added energetically.

He rose with a smile, holding out his hand. "I believe you're right," he said. "It gives me something to do, anyway, and that's worth a good deal."

"Yes, it's something to do," she responded, "and I don't suppose any of us knows just what cures folks."

"Could I see her to-morrow, perhaps?" he asked, watching her face.

She shook her head emphatically. "Not till I think best," she replied with decision.

His face fell.

"And not then," she said, "unless you're feeling pretty well and strong and happy."

He gave a little abrupt laugh. "Oh, you've fixed that all right. I shan't sigh—not once—in a dark room—with the lights out."

Aunt Jane smiled serenely. "That's good." At the door she paused a moment. "I wouldn't reckon too much on seeing her," she said. "I shan't let any one see her till she asks. She won't pay much attention for three-four days yet."

A peculiar look crossed the man's dark face. "That's all right," he said. "I can wait."

Outside the door he lifted his face a little to the fresh breeze. His eyes stared absently at the drifting sky. "Now, how did she know Edith wouldn't want to see me?" he said softly: "how did she find that out?"

V

Aunt Jane bent her head and listened to the heavy breathing. Then she spoke softly to the nurse in charge, who listened obediently and went away. It was not an unusual thing for Aunt Jane to assume control of a case at any moment. Perhaps she was most likely to do this about three or four o'clock in the morning when all the hospital was asleep and a chill had crept into the air. The nurse in charge of a critical case would look up to find Aunt Jane standing beside her, fresh from a cold bath, with a smile on her big, restful face and a whispered command on her lips that sent the tired nurse to bed with a clear conscience.

The patients that Aunt Jane assumed in this peremptory fashion always recovered. Perhaps they would have recovered in any case. This is one of the things that no one knows. It may be noted, however, in passing, that the patients themselves as they came into the new day, holding fast to Aunt Jane's hand, cherished a belief that had it not been for that firm, plump hand, the new day would not have dawned for them.... They had no strength and no will of their own. But through the cold and the darkness, something held them; and when the spirit came creeping back with the morning, the first thing that their eyes rested on was Aunt Jane's face.

The woman's eyes opened suddenly. They looked for a moment, dull and unseeing, into Aunt Jane's. Then they fell shut. Aunt Jane's fingers noted the pulse and passed once or twice across the high, fretted brow. Slowly a look of sleep passed over the face and the strained lines relaxed. Aunt Jane, watching it, gave a nod of satisfaction. Out in the orchard the robin sang his twilight song, slow and cool and liquid, with long pauses between, and the dusk crept into the white room, touching it.

Aunt Jane sat passive, waiting, the eyes under her white cap glowing with a still, deep look. All the threads of life and death in the hospital gathered up and centred in the quiet figure sitting there. Not a pulse in the great building beat, or flickered and went out, that Aunt Jane did not know it. But she sat waiting while the twilight deepened, a look of restfulness in her big face. Now and then she crooned to herself, half humming the lines of some hymn and falling silent again, watching the sleeper's breath.

The night nurse paused outside the door, and a little rush of gaslight flickered in. Aunt Jane rose and closed the door and shifted a screen noiselessly to the foot of the bed. The long night had settled down for its sleep. And Edith Dalton's soul was keeping watch with death. Slowly it sank back into the grim hold ... only a spark left, with Aunt Jane keeping guard over it.... So the night passed and the day, and another night and another day ... and the third day dawned. Edith Dalton would have said, as the spark glowed higher and blazed a little and lighted her soul, and her eyes rested on Aunt Jane's face, that the figure sitting there had not left her side for three days. Down through the deepest waters, where death lulled her and heaven waited, she had felt a touch on her soul, holding her, drawing her steadily back to