This meant more hours of waiting, during which Ellen could set her mind and hand to nothing which was not purely mechanical.  She was realizing to the full that it was the unknown factor of which Burns had often spoken, the unforeseen contingency, which might upset all the calculations and efforts of science and skill.  Well she knew that, though her husband’s reputation was an assured one, it might suffer somewhat from the loss of this prominent case.  Ellen felt certain that this last consideration was one to weigh little with Burns himself compared with his personal and bitter regret over an unsuccessful effort to save a life.  But it seemed to her that she cared from every point of view, and to her the time of waiting was especially hard to bear.

There was one relief in the situation—­never had she had her vigils shared as Jordan King was sharing this one.  As the hours went by, both by messages over the telephone and by more than one hurried drive out to see Ellen in person, did he let her know that his concern for Burns’s victory was only second to her own.

“He’s got to save him!” was his declaration, standing in her doorway, late in the evening, hat in hand, bright dark eyes on Ellen’s.  “And the way he’s sticking by, I’m confident he will.  That bull-dog grip of his we know so well would pull a ton of lead out of a quicksand.  He won’t give up while there’s a breath stirring, and even if it stops he’ll start it again—­with his will!”

“You are a loyal friend.”  Ellen’s smile rewarded him for this blindly assured speech, well as she knew how shaky was the foundation on which he might be standing.  “But the last message he sent was only that no ground had been lost.”

“Well, that’s a good deal after ten hours.”  He looked at his watch.  “Keep a brave heart, Mrs. Burns.  I’m going to the hospital now to see if I can get just a glimpse of our man before we settle down for the night.  And I want to arrange with Miss Dwight—­she was my nurse—­to let me know any news at any hour in the night.”

It was at three in the morning that King called her to say with a ring of joy in his voice:  “There’s a bit of a gain, Mrs. Burns.  It looks brighter.”

It was at eight, five hours later, that Burns himself spoke to her.  His voice betrayed tension in spite of its steadiness.  “We’re holding hard, Len; that’s about all I can say.”

“Dear—­are you getting any rest?”

“Don’t want any; I’m all right.  I’ll not be home till we’re out of this, you know.  Good-bye, my girl.”  And he was gone, back to the bedside.  She knew, without being told, that he had hardly left it.

Thirty-six hours had gone by, and Ellen and Jordan King had had many messages from the hospital before the one came which eased their anxious minds:  “Out of immediate danger.”  It was almost another thirty-six before Burns came home.

She had never seen him look more radiantly happy, though the shadows under his eyes were heavy, and there were lines of fatigue about his mouth.  Although she had been watching for him he took her by surprise at last, coming upon her in the early morning just as she was descending the stairs.  With both arms around her, as she stood on the bottom stair, he looked into her eyes.