When we arrived Margaret was very ill.  The house itself had a serious air:  it was no longer the palace of festivity and gayety, precautions had been taken to secure quiet, the pavement was littered, and within the hushed movements and the sombre looks spoke of apprehension and the absence of the spirit that had been the life and light of the house.  Our arrival seemed to be a relief to Henderson.  Little was said.  I had never before seen him nervous, never before so restless and anxious, probably never before in all his career had he been unnerved with a sense of his own helplessness.

“She has been asking for you this moment,” he said, as he accompanied Miss Forsythe to Margaret’s apartment.

“Dear, dear aunt, I knew you would come—­I love you so;” she had tried to raise herself a little in her bed, and was sobbing like a child in her aunt’s arms.

“You must have courage, Margaret; it will all be well.”

“Yes, but I’m so discouraged; I’m so tired.”

The vigil began.  The nurses were in waiting.  The family physician would not leave the house.  He was a man of great repute in his profession.  Dr. Seftel’s name was well known to me, but I had never met him before; a man past middle life, smooth shaven, thin iron-gray hair, grave, usually taciturn, deliberate in all his movements, as if every gesture were important and significant, but with a kindly face.  Knowing that every moment of his waking life was golden, I could not but be impressed with the power that could command his exclusive service for an indefinite time.  When he came down, we talked together in Henderson’s room.

“It is a question of endurance, of constitution,” he said; “many weak women have this quality of persistence; many strong women go to pieces at once; we know little about it.  Mrs. Henderson”—­glancing about him—­“has everything to live for; that’s in her favor.  I suppose there are not two other men in the country whose fortune equals Henderson’s.”

I do not know how it was, probably the patient was not forgotten, but in a moment the grave doctor was asking me if I had seen the last bulletin about the yacht regatta.  He took the keenest interest in the contest, and described to me the build and sailing qualities of the different yachts entered, and expressed his opinion as to which would win, and why.  From this he passed to the city government and the recent election—­like a true New Yorker, his chief interest centred in the city politics and not in the national elections.  Without the least unbending from his dignity, he told me many anecdotes about city politicians, which would have been amusing if I had not been anxious about other things.

The afternoon passed, and the night, and the day, I cannot tell how.  But at evening I knew by the movements in the house that the crisis had come.  I was waiting in Henderson’s library.  An hour passed, when Henderson came hurrying in, pale, excited, but joyous.