The men constituting the Vigilance Committee began to feel a sense of futility, almost of absurdity.  They had armed and enrolled themselves—­against what?  The growth of the organization slowed down, but it already numbered thousands of members.  Only its leaders retained their faith in its ultimate necessity, and they owed perhaps more than they realized to Willy Cameron’s own conviction.

It was owing to him that the city was divided into a series of zones, so that notification of an emergency could be made rapidly by telephone and messenger.  Owing to him, too, was a new central office, with some one on duty day and night.  Rather ironically, the new quarters were the dismantled rooms of the Myers Housecleaning Company.

On the day after his proposal to Edith, Willy Cameron received an unexpected holiday.  Mrs. Davis, the invalid wife of the owner of the Eagle Pharmacy, died and the store was closed.  He had seen Edith for only a few moments that morning, but it was understood then that the marriage would take place either that day or the next.

He had been physically so weary the night before that he had slept, but the morning found him with a heaviness of spirit that he could not throw off.  The exaltation of the night before was gone, and all that remained was a dogged sense of a duty to be done.  Although he smiled at Edith, his face remained with her all through the morning.

“I’ll make it up to him,” she thought, humbly.  “I’ll make it up to him somehow.”

Then, with Ellen out doing her morning marketing, she heard the feeble thump of a cane overhead which was her mother’s signal.  She was determined not to see her mother again until she could say that she was married, but the thumping continued, and was followed by the crash of a broken glass.

“She’s trying to get up!” Edith thought, panicky.  “If she gets up it will kill her.”

She stood at the foot of the stairs, scarcely breathing, and listened.  There was a dreadful silence above.  She stole up, finally, to where she could see her mother.  Mrs. Boyd was still in her bed, but lying with open eyes, unmoving.

“Mother,” she called, and ran in.  “Mother.”

Mrs. Boyd glanced at her.

“I thought that glass would bring you,” she said sharply, but with difficulty.  “I want you to stand over there and let me look at you.”

Edith dropped on her knees beside the bed, and caught her mother’s hand.

“Don’t!  Don’t talk like that, mother,” she begged.  “I know what you mean.  It’s all right, mother.  Honestly it is.  I—­I’m married, mother.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, Edith?”

“No.  I’m telling you.  I’ve been married a long time.  You—­don’t you worry, mother.  You just lie there and quit worrying.  It’s all right.”

There was a sudden light in the sick woman’s eyes, an eager light that flared up and died away again.