Doctor Byrne obeyed, opening the door softly.  He saw Joe Cumberland prone, of course, upon the couch.  One hand lay as usual across his breast, but the other was at his side, clasped in the hands of Dan Barry.  The old cattleman slept.  Yes, there was no doubt that for the first time in many days he slumbered soundly.  The lean, narrow chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths; the eyes were closed, and there was no twitching of muscles to betray ragged nerves or a mind that dreamed fiercely while the body slept.  Far over the sleeping man leaned the stranger, as if he were peering closely into the closed eyes of Joe Cumberland.  There was a tenseness of watching and waiting in his attitude, like the runner on the mark, or like the burden-bearer lifting a great weight, and Byrne gathered, in some mysterious manner, the impression that Barry sent through his hands and into the body of Cumberland a continual stream of nervous strength—­an electric thing.  Nonsense, of course.  And it was nonsense, also, to think that the huge dog which lay staring up into the face of the master understood all this affair much better than the practiced mind of the physician.  Yet the illusion held with Randall Byrne in spite of all his scepticism.

He was certain that he had made not the slightest sound in opening the door, but presently the head of the watcher turned slowly, and Byrne was looking into those same yellow, terrible eyes.  At the same instant the sick man moaned faintly.  The doctor closed the door as softly as he had opened it and turned a drawn face upon Kate Cumberland.

“I don’t understand; it isn’t possible!” he whispered.

“No one understands,” said the girl, and smiled mirthlessly.  “Don’t try to, Doctor Byrne.  Go to bed, and sleep.  If you can.  Good night.”

“But you,” said Byrne, following her, “are almost as ill as your father.  Is there nothing I can do for you?”

“You?” she asked, surprised.  “No, nothing.”

“But there’s not the slightest colour in your face.  And you are trembling, Miss Cumberland!”

She did not seem to hear him.

“Will he stay?” she asked of herself.  “Will he leave before the morning?”

“I shall see that he stays,” said the doctor.  “I will stay here outside the door and see that he does not leave, if you wish.”

Once more she smiled in that baffling manner.

“Could you keep the wind from blowing, Doctor Byrne?  If I thought that he could be kept——­” she stopped.  “He has forgotten us.  He has forgotten all of us except Dad.  And if Dad cannot keep him, nothing will keep him.  It’s useless for you to wait here.  Good night again, Doctor Byrne.”

He watched her up the stairs.  By the dim light he saw her hand catching at the balustrade as if she were drawing herself up, step by step.  When she reached the landing and turned half towards him, he saw that her head was fallen.

“Not a glance, not a thought for me,” murmured the doctor.  “But if the stranger does leave——­” Instead of finishing the muttered sentences, he drew a chair back against the wall and sat down with folded hands to wait.