TO Belden, pacing the library doggedly, the waiting seemed interminable, the strain unnecessarily prolonged. A half-hour ago quick feet had echoed through the upper halls, windows had opened, doors all but slammed, vague whisperings and drawn breaths had hovered impalpably about the whole place; but now all was utterly quiet. His own regular footfall alone disturbed the unnatural stillness of a large house.

Outside, the delicious October sun poured down through an atmosphere of faultless blue. The foliage was thick yet, and the red-and-yellow leaves danced heartlessly in the wind. A year ago they had gone on a nutting-party, and Clarice had raced with the children and picked up more than anybody else. Now-even to think of her brought that faint odor of salts-of-lavender and beef-tea that disheartened him so, somehow, when he sat by her bed coaxing her into sipping the stuff.

Some one was coming down the stairs. It was Peter's step-his new one since last Friday, when they had all, it seemed, begun to walk and talk and breathe a little differently. Belden hurried across the room and caught him at the foot of the steps.

'Well, old man, how goes it?' he demanded, with a determined cheerfulness.

His brother-in-law stared at him emptily.

'It's to-morrow,' he said, gripping the newel-post, 'to-morrow afternoon. Jameson is coming-they'll do it here. Jameson brings his special nurse for the-the operation, but the other one is due at five, and you get her just the same. I told Henry to put up the dog-cart. I don't know, though-maybe the runabout-no, the tire's loose. Still, it might do-'

'For heaven's sake, Peter, don't bother about it! I'll find a rig. What else does he say?'

'He says there's a good fighting chance-a very good one. He says her grit alone-Oh, Belden, what shall we do? What shall we do?'

Peter sat down heavily on the lowest stair.

'Only last week she was so well-and yet she really wasn't. I suppose he knows. But it doesn't seem possible-I can't get it through my head. Poor little Caddy! She never had a sick day in her life. No headaches, like most Women, even-no nonsense-Oh, Belden, what shall we do?'

'Brace up, Peter; think what a good fighting chance means, think of that! It's not as if Caddy were old; she has that on her side. She's seven years behind me, you know.'

Peter scowled. 'You're fifty, aren't you?'