As she looked from her door and listened intently, she heard the sound of a woman’s voice in choking, stifled sobs, in the room having a door directly across the narrow hall from hers.

“My Lord!  There’s two of us!” said Kate.

She leaned closer, listening again, but when she heard a short groan mingled with the sobs, she immediately tapped on the door.  Instantly the sobs ceased and the room became still.  Kate put her lips to the crack and said in her off-hand way:  “It’s only a school-marm, rooming next you.  If you’re ill, could I get anything for you?”

“Will you please come in?” asked a muffled voice.

Kate turned the knob, and stepping inside, closed the door after her.  She could dimly see her way to the dresser, where she found matches and lighted the gas.  On the bed lay in a tumbled heap a tiny, elderly, Dresden-china doll-woman.  She was fully dressed, even to her wrap, bonnet, and gloves; one hand clutched her side, the other held a handkerchief to her lips.  Kate stood an instant under the light, studying the situation.  The dark eyes in the narrow face looked appealingly at her.  The woman tried to speak, but gasped for breath.  Kate saw that she had heart trouble.

“The remedy!  Where is it?” she cried.

The woman pointed to a purse on the dresser.  Kate opened it, took out a small bottle, and read the directions.  In a second, she was holding a glass to the woman’s lips; soon she was better.  She looked at Kate eagerly.

“Oh, please don’t leave me,” she gasped.

“Of course not!” said Kate instantly.  “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

She bent over the bed and gently drew the gloves from the frail hands.  She untied and slipped off the bonnet.  She hunted keys in the purse, opened a travelling bag, and found what she required.  Then slowly and carefully, she undressed the woman, helped her into a night robe, and stooping she lifted her into a chair until she opened the bed.  After giving her time to rest, Kate pulled down the white wavy hair and brushed it for the night.  As she worked, she said a word of encouragement now and again; when she had done all she could see to do, she asked if there was more.  The woman suddenly clung to her hand and began to sob wildly.  Kate knelt beside the bed, stroked the white hair, patted the shoulder she could reach, and talked very much as she would have to a little girl.

“Please don’t cry,” she begged.  “It must be your heart; you’ll surely make it worse.”

“I’m trying,” said the woman, “but I’ve been scared sick.  I most certainly would have died if you hadn’t come to me and found the medicine.  Oh, that dreadful Susette!  How could she?”

The clothing Kate had removed from the woman had been of finest cloth and silk.  Her hands wore wonderful rings.  A heavy purse was in her bag.  Everything she had was the finest that money could buy, while she seemed as if a rough wind never had touched her.  She appeared so frail that Kate feared to let her sleep without knowing where to locate her friends.