that may have existed is now over. Your husband--"

"That _may_ have existed," cried Adelaide. "Do you mean to say there
hasn't been any real danger?"

The young doctor's eyes twinkled.

"An operation even in the best hands is always a danger," he replied.

"But you mean there was no other?" Adelaide asked, aware of a growing
coldness about her hands and feet.

Withers looked as just as Aristides.

"It was probably wise to operate," he said. "Your husband ought to be up
and about in three weeks."

Everything grew black and rotatory before Adelaide's eyes, and she sank
slowly forward into the young doctor's arms.

As he laid her on the bed, he glanced whimsically at the nurse and
shook his head.

But she made no response, an omission which may not have meant loyalty to
Dr. Crew so much as unwillingness to support Dr. Withers.

Adelaide returned to consciousness only in time to be hurried away to
make room for Vincent. His long, limp figure was carried past her in the
corridor. She was told that in a few hours she might see him. But she
wasn't, as a matter of fact, very eager to see him. The knowledge that he