The door opened unheeded by either, and Hilda stood in the opening.

“I’ve found her ...” she said.

Dulac uttered a gulping gasp and closed his eyes, that had been unwinking, closed his eyes a moment, and with their closing the tenseness went out of him and he sagged downward so that his body rested on the desk.  Bonbright shoved himself back and leaped to his feet.

“Hilda ...” he said, and his voice was tired; the voice of a man who has undergone the ultimate strain.

“I’ve found her.  She’s ill—­terribly ill.  You must go to her.”

Dulac raised himself and looked at her.

“You’ve found—­her?” he said.

“We must go to her,” said Bonbright.  He was not speaking to Hilda, but to Dulac.  It seemed natural, inevitable, that Dulac should go with him.  Dulac was in this, a part of it.  Ruth and Dulac and he were the three actors in this thing, and it was their lives that pivoted about it.

They went down to the car silently, Dulac breathing deeply, like a man who had labored to weariness.  In silence they drove to Mrs. Moody’s boarding house, and in silence they climbed the stairs to Ruth’s little room.  Mrs. Moody hovered about behind them, and the mercenary sheltered her body behind the kitchen door, her head through the narrow opening, looking as if she were ready to pop it back at the least startling movement.

The three entered softly.  Ruth seemed to be sleeping, for her eyes were closed and she was very still.  Bonbright stood at one side of her bed, Dulac stood across from him, but they were unconscious of each other.  Both were looking downward upon Ruth.  She opened her eyes, saw Bonbright standing over her; shut them again and moved her head impatiently.  Again she opened her eyes, and looked from Bonbright to Dulac.  Her lips parted, her eyes widened ...  She pointed a trembling finger at Dulac.

“Not you ...” she whispered.  “Not you ...  Him.”  She moved her finger until it indicated Bonbright.

“I don’t—­believe you’re—­really there ... either of you,” she said, “but I—­like to have—­you here. ...  You’re my husband. ...  I love my husband,” she said, and nodded her head.

“Bonbright!” whispered Hilda.

He did not need the admonition, but was on his knees beside her, drawing her to him.  He could not speak.  Ruth sighed as she felt his touch.  “You’re real,” she whispered.  “Is he real, too?”

“We’re all real, dear,” said Hilda.

“Ask him—­please to go away, then,” Ruth said, pointing to Dulac.  “I don’t want to—­hurt him ... but he knows I—­don’t want him. ...”

“Ruth!” Dulac’s utterance was a groan.

“You know—­don’t you, Hilda? ...  I told you—­a long time ago ...  I never loved—­him at all.  Isn’t that—­queer? ...  I thought I did—­but--I didn’t know ...  It was something else ...  You won’t feel too bad ... will you?”