which none disputed.  The door into the garden was always open, and Columbus was extremely happy, being of supremely independent habits and quite capable of trotting round to the kitchen premises of the castle for his daily portion without disturbing anyone en route.  How he discovered the kitchen Juliet never knew.  Doubtless his exploring faculty stood him in good stead.  But his appearance there was absolutely regular and orderly, and he always returned to the conservatory when he had been fed with the bustling self-importance of one whose time was of value.  He never entered the sick-room except on invitation, and he never raised his voice above a whisper when in the conservatory.  It was quite evident that he fully grasped the situation and accommodated himself thereto.  All he asked of life was to be near his beloved one, and the snuffle of his greeting whenever she joined him was ample testimony to the joy of his simple soul.  Just to see her, just to hear her voice, just sometimes to kiss and be kissed, what more could any dog desire?

Certainly an occasional scamper after rabbits in the park made a salutary change, but Columbus was prudent and he never suffered himself to be drawn very far in pursuit.  A sense of duty or expediency always brought him back before long to the couch in the conservatory to lie and watch, brighteyed, for the only person who counted in his world.

He was watching for her now, but without much hope of her coming.  She seldom left Vera’s bedside in the afternoon for it was then, in the heat of the day, that she usually suffered most.  But to-day she had been better.  Today for the first time she was able to turn her head and smile and even to murmur a few sentences without distress.  Her eyes dwelt upon Juliet’s quiet face with a wistful affection.  She had come to lean upon her strength with a child’s dependence.

“Quite comfortable?” Juliet asked her gently.

“Quite,” Vera made whispered reply.  “But you—­you look so tired.”

Juliet smiled at her.  “I dare say I shall fall asleep if you do,” she said.

“You ought to have a long rest,” said Vera, and then her heavy eyes brightened and went beyond her as her husband’s tall figure came softly in from the conservatory.

He came to her side, stooped over her, and took her hand.  Her fingers closed weakly about his.

“Send her to bed!” she whispered.  “She is tired.  You come instead!”

He bent and kissed her forehead with a tenderness that made her cling more closely.  “Shall I do instead?” he asked her gently.

She offered him her lips though she was panting a little.  “Yes, I want you.  Make Juliet—­go to bed!”

He turned to Juliet, his wife’s hand still in his.  All the hard lines were smoothed out of his face.  There was something even pathetic about his smile.

“Will you go to bed, Juliet,” he said in that new gentle voice of his, “and leave me in charge?”