As she watched the powerful form of her husband grow daily weaker before the assaults of one of the most treacherous enemies modern science has to face, she felt herself in the grip of a great dread which could not be for an hour thrown off.  She did not let go of her courage; but beneath all her serenity of manner—­remarked often in wonder by the nurses and physicians—­lay the fear which at times amounted to a conviction that for her had come the end of earthly happiness.

She was able to appreciate none the less the devoted and skillful attention given to Burns by his colleagues.  Dr. Max Buller had long been his attached friend and ally, and of him such service as he now rendered was to have been counted on.  But concerning Dr. James Van Horn, although Ellen well knew how deeply he felt in Burns’s debt for having in all probability saved his life only a few months earlier, she had had no notion what he had to offer in return.  She had not imagined how warm a heart really lay beneath that polished urbanity of manner with its suggestion of coldness in the very tone of his voice—­hitherto.  She grew to feel a distinct sense of relief and dependence every time he entered the door, and his visits were so many that it came to seem as if his motor were always standing at the curb.

“You know, Len, Van’s a tremendous trump,” Burns himself said to her suddenly, in the middle of one trying night when Doctor Van Horn had looked in unexpectedly to see if he might ease his patient and secure him a chance of rest after many hours of pain.  “It seems like a queer dream, sometimes, to open my eyes and see him sitting there, looking at me as if I were a younger brother and he cared a lot.”

“He does care,” Ellen answered positively.  “You would be even surer of it if you could hear him talk with me alone.  He speaks of you as if he loved you—­and what is there strange about that?  Everybody loves you, Red.  I’m keeping a list of the people who come to ask about you and send you things.  You haven’t heard of half of them.  And to-day Franz telephoned to offer to come and play for you some night when you couldn’t sleep with the pain.  He begged to be allowed to do the one thing he could to show his sympathy.”

“Bless his heart!  I’d like to hear him.  I often wish my ears would stretch to reach him in his orchestra.”  Burns moved restlessly as he spoke.  A fresh invasion of trouble in his hand and arm was reaching a culmination, and no palliative measures could ease him long.  “You’ve no idea, Len,” he whispered as Ellen’s hand strayed through his heavy coppery locks with the soothing touch he loved well, “what it means to me to have you stand by me like this.  If I give in now it won’t be for want of your supporting courage.”

“It’s you who have the courage, Red—­wonderful courage.”

He shook his head.  “It’s just the thought of you—­and the Little-Un—­and Bobby Burns—­that’s all.  If it wasn’t for you—­”