Sometimes they beheld flare up fitfully that mysterious thing called the human spirit, which all this crushing process had not served to extinguish.  She seemed to be defending her rights, whatever these may have been!  She expostulated with policemen.  And once, when Hodder was present, she brought back vividly to his mind that first night he had seen her, when she had defied him and sent him away.  In moments she lived over again the careless, reckless days when money and good looks had not been lacking, when rich food and wines had been plentiful.  And there were other events which Sally Grower and the good-natured Irishwoman, Mrs. McQuillen, not holding the key, could but dimly comprehend.  Education, environment, inheritance, character—­what a jumble of causes!  What Judge was to unravel them, and assign the exact amount of responsibility?

There were other terrible scenes when, more than semiconscious, she cried out piteously for drink, and cursed them for withholding it.  And it was in the midst of one of these that an incident occurred which made a deep impression upon young Dr. Giddings, hesitating with his opiates, and assisting the indomitable Miss Grower to hold his patient.  In the midst of the paroxysm Mr. Bentley entered and stood over her by the bedside, and suddenly her struggles ceased.  At first she lay intensely still, staring at him with wide eyes of fear.  He sat down and took her hand, and spoke to her, quietly and naturally, and her pupils relaxed.  She fell into a sleep, still clinging to his fingers.

It was Sally who opposed the doctor’s wish to send her to a hospital.

“If it’s only a question of getting back her health, she’d better die,” she declared.  “We’ve got but one chance with her, Dr. Giddings, to keep her here.  When she finds out she’s been to a hospital, that will be the end of it with her kind.  We’ll never get hold of her again.  I’ll take care of Mrs. McQuillen.”

Doctor Giddings was impressed by this wisdom.

“You think you have a chance, Miss Grower?” he asked.  He had had a hospital experience.

Miss Grower was wont to express optimism in deeds rather than words.

“If I didn’t think so, I’d ask you to put a little more in your hypodermic next time,” she replied.

And the doctor went away, wondering . . . .

Drink!  Convalescence brought little release for the watchers.  The fiends would retire, pretending to have abandoned the field, only to swoop down again when least expected.  There were periods of calm when it seemed as though a new and bewildered personality were emerging, amazed to find in life a kindly thing, gazing at the world as one new-born.  And again, Mrs. McQuillen or Ella Finley might be seen running bareheaded across the street for Miss Grower.  Physical force was needed, as the rector discovered on one occasion; physical force, and something more, a dauntlessness that kept Sally Grower in the room after the other women had fled in terror.  Then remorse, despondency, another fear . . . .