Without the slightest noise Constance sank down on the hallway sofa; Shiela crept up close beside her, closer, when the dreadful sounds broke out again, trembling in every limb, pressing her head convulsively against the elder woman’s arm.

Young Dr. Lansdale came up-stairs an hour later, nodded to Constance, looked sharply at Shiela, then turned to the nurse who had forestalled him at the door.  A glance akin to telepathy flashed between physician and nurse, and the doctor turned to Miss Palliser: 

“Would you mind asking Miss Clay to come back?” he said quietly.  “Oh!—­has she gone to bed?”

Shiela was on her feet:  “I—­I have brought a trained nurse,” she said; “the very best—­from Johns Hopkins—­”

“I should be very glad to have her for a few moments,” said the doctor, looking at the chart by the light of the hall lamp.

Shiela sped down the stairs like a ghost; the nurse re-entered the room; the doctor turned to follow, and halted short as a hand touched his arm.

“Dr. Lansdale?”

He nodded pleasantly.

“Does it do any good—­when one is very, very ill—­to see—­”

The doctor made a motion with his head.  “Who is that young girl?” he asked coolly.

“Mrs. Malcourt—­”

“Oh!  I thought it might have been this Shiela he is always talking about in his delirium—­”

“It is,” whispered Constance.

For a moment they looked one another in the eyes; then a delicate colour stole over the woman’s face.

“I’m afraid—­I’m afraid that my boy is not making the fight he could make,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

She was speechless.

“Why not!” ...  And in a lower voice:  “This corridor is a confessional.  Miss Palliser—­if that helps you any.”

She said:  “They were in love.”

“Oh!  Are they yet?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! She married the other man?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!”

Young Lansdale wheeled abruptly and entered the sick-room.  Shiela returned in a few minutes with her nurse, a quick-stepping, cool-eyed young woman in spotless uniform.  A few minutes afterward the sounds indicated that oxygen was being used.

An hour later Miss Race came into the hallway and looked at Shiela.

“Mr. Hamil is conscious,” she said.  “Would you care to see him for a second?”

A dreadful fear smote her as she crouched there speechless.

“The danger of infection is slight,” said the nurse—­and knew at the same instant that she had misunderstood.  “Did you think I meant he is dying?” she added gently as Shiela straightened up to her slender height.

“Is he better?” whispered Constance.

“He is conscious,” said the nurse patiently.  “He knows”—­turning to Shiela—­“that you are here.  You must not speak to him; you may let him see you for a moment.  Come!”