The miracle was no miracle, of course. But something had happened to K.

that savored of the marvelous. His faith in himself was coming back--not

strongly, with a rush, but with all humility. He had been loath to take up

the burden; but, now that he had it, he breathed a sort of inarticulate

prayer to be able to carry it.

And, since men have looked for signs since the beginning of time, he too

asked for a sign. Not, of course, that he put it that way, or that he was

making terms with Providence. It was like this: if Wilson got well, he'd

keep on working. He'd feel that, perhaps, after all, this was meant. If

Wilson died--Sidney held out her hand to him.

"What should I do without you, K.?" she asked wistfully.

"All you have to do is to want me."

His voice was not too steady, and he took her pulse in a most businesslike

way to distract her attention from it.

"How very many things you know! You are quite professional about pulses."

Even then he did not tell her. He was not sure, to be frank, that she'd be

interested. Now, with Wilson as he was, was no time to obtrude his own

story. There was time enough for that.

"Will you drink some beef tea if I send it to you?"

"I'm not hungry. I will, of course."

"And--will you try to sleep?"

"Sleep, while he--"

"I promise to tell you if there is any change. I shall stay with him."

"I'll try to sleep."

But, as he rose from the chair beside her low bed, she put out her hand to

him.

"K."

"Yes, dear."

"He was out with Carlotta. He promised, and he broke his promise."

"There may have been reasons. Suppose we wait until he can explain."

"How can he explain?" And, when he hesitated: "I bring all my troubles to

you, as if you had none. Somehow, I can't go to Aunt Harriet, and of

course mother--Carlotta cares a great deal for him. She said that I shot

him. Does anyone really think that?"

"Of course not. Please stop thinking."

"But who did, K.? He had so many friends, and no enemies that I knew of."

Her mind seemed to stagger about in a circle, making little excursions, but

always coming back to the one thing.

"Some drunken visitor to the road-house."




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