When the physician turned again toward the bed, to touch with gentle fingers the wrist of his patient, his eyes were wet.

At his touch, her eyes opened to regard him with affectionate trust and gratitude.

“Well Mary,” he said almost bruskly.

The lips fashioned the ghost of a smile; into her eyes came the gleam of that old time challenging spirit.  “Well—­Doctor George,” she answered.  Then,—­“I—­told you—­I would not—­go—­until he came.  I must—­have my way—­still—­you see.  He will—­come—­to-day He must come.”

“Yes, Mary,” returned the doctor,—­his fingers still on the thin wrist, and his eyes studying her face with professional keenness,—­“yes, of course.”

“And George—­you will not forget—­your promise?  You will—­give me a few minutes—­of strength—­when he comes—­so that I can tell him?  I—­I—­must tell him myself—­George.  You—­will do—­this last thing—­for me?”

“Yes, Mary, of course,” he answered again.  “Everything shall be as you wish—­as I promised.”

“Thank you—­George.  Thank you—­my dear—­dear—­old friend.”

The nurse—­who had been standing at the window—­stepped quickly to the table that held a few bottles, glasses, and instruments.  The doctor looked at her sharply.  She nodded a silent answer, as she opened a small, flat, leather case.  With his fingers still on his patient’s wrist, the physician spoke a word of instruction; and, in a moment, the nurse placed a hypodermic needle in his hand.

As the doctor gave the instrument, again, to his assistant, a quick step sounded in the hall outside.

The patient turned her head.  Her eager eyes were fixed upon the door; her voice—­stronger, now, with the strength of the powerful stimulant—­rang out; “My boy—­my boy—­he is here!  George, nurse, my boy is here!”

The door opened.  A young man of perhaps twenty-two years stood on the threshold.

The most casual observer would have seen that he was a son of the dying woman.  In the full flush of his young manhood’s vigor, there was the same modeling of the mouth, the same nose with finely turned nostrils, the same dark eyes under a breadth of forehead; while the determined chin and the well-squared jaw, together with a rather remarkable fineness of line, told of an inherited mental and spiritual strength and grace as charming as it is, in these days, rare.  His dress was that of a gentleman of culture and social position.  His very bearing evidenced that he had never been without means to gratify the legitimate tastes of a cultivated and refined intelligence.

As he paused an instant in the open door to glance about that poverty stricken room, a look of bewildering amazement swept over his handsome face.  He started to draw back—­as if he had unintentionally entered the wrong apartment.  Looking at the doctor, his lips parted as if to apologize for his intrusion.  But before he could speak, his eyes met the eyes of the woman on the bed.