But he went. As he left the room his wife
placed a revolver in his pocket.

The great porch of the mansion was dark,
but the physician made out that the door was
open, and he entered. A feeble light came
from the bronze lamp at the turn of the stairs,
and by it he found his way, his feet sinking
noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head
of the stairs the man met him. The doctor
thought himself a tall man, but the stranger
topped him by half a head. He motioned
the physician to follow him, and the two went
down the hall to the front room. The place
was flushed with a rose-colored glow from
several lamps. On a silken couch, in the
midst of pillows, lay a woman dying with
consumption. She was like a lily, white,
shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming
movements. She looked at the doctor ap-
pealingly, then, seeing in his eyes the in-
voluntary verdict that her hour was at hand,
she turned toward her companion with a
glance of anguish. Dr. Block asked a few
questions. The man answered them, the
woman remaining silent. The physician ad-
ministered something stimulating, and then
wrote a prescription which he placed on the
mantel-shelf.