The coloured genius of the kitchen cooked a marvellous turkey. We had a plum pudding all the way from England. Dinner was served on a little table before Helen's tent. Miss Brock allowed Helen to eat some of the white meat of the turkey. Hand in hand Helen and I sat watching the baby's joy in her heap of new toys.

"Our Christmas, Ted. It's our day," Helen whispered, her cheek against mine--her old trick when she was happy or pleased. "Do look at baby, Ted. Isn't she a darling?"

"Mummy dear, Santa Claus brought me a real paint-box, an' brushes, an'

pencils, an' paper, an' a book to paint in."

"Isn't that wonderful! Show mummy all your presents."

Baby began bringing them up, one by one, laying them in rows at her mother's feet. A telegraph boy arrived. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the message from him.

I had wired Mr. Claybourne a day or two before that time was nearly up.

He had foreseen that Helen might read it.

"Coming with mother for a Christmas visit. We leave tomorrow. Love to you three." I showed it to Helen.

"How nice of dad, Ted! I'm so glad he's going to take a holiday. Why didn't they plan to be here today?"

Soon after, she went to sleep, and I sat at her feet, thinking of Christmas. At five the doctor dropped in. I saw Miss Brock talking aside with him by his buggy.

"Don't wake her yet," he said, and led me around to the front verandah.

I knew what he meant.

"It may be tonight or tomorrow, Mr. Jevons," he began, as he took his chair. "Miss Brock reports that she has grown markedly weaker in the last twenty-four hours. The excitement of Christmas was not good for her, but I did not want to deprive her of that pleasure. I can stay, if you wish it. There is nothing, however, that I can do. Miss Brock is most competent. I shall be within call, in any event."

"Her father and mother are leaving Deep Harbor tomorrow."

"They will be too late." He said it quite gently, laying his hand upon my knee. I could see him watching me narrowly.

"Go back to her, my boy. I mustn't keep you." He got up and walked down the steps.

In the tent I found Helen just waking up.

"It was--a--beautiful--Christmas--Ted. Why--Ted--I'm awfully--weak."

I gave her a sip of brandy; the doctor had authorized it. Miss Brock came to the tent.

"Will you leave us please?" I asked. "Stay within call with the baby."

Helen was dozing again and did not hear what I said. I put her on her bed and slipped off her dressing gown, tucking her in for the night. The sun was just setting, and the first chill of the California night air sent shivers through me. I put on a heavy overcoat and set my chair beside her bed to wait.

All night I sat there, holding one of her hands. Now and then Miss Brock, with a flash-lamp, came out from the bungalow. I sent her back each time. Helen seemed to sleep quite peacefully. Only once did a fit of coughing rouse her. It was about seven when she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"I think I'll be able to get up today, Ted," she said, so faintly, yet distinctly. I kissed her. She gave me her hand to hold. As she lay there looking at me with her grey eyes, I saw the expression in them change.

Something had come into them that I did not know.

"Miss Brock!" I called.

She stepped in instantly.

"Bring the baby here, will you? Then take her away again." Miss Brock quickly returned with little Helen.

"Good morning, mummy dear," she said.

"Helen--the baby--to say good morning," I whispered in her ear. Helen opened her eyes, looking at me a little puzzled. The strange expression was still there. Slowly she turned her head and looked at the baby.

"Good morning, baby--precious."

I signed to Miss Brock, who took the child away. For a long time yet I sat, holding Helen's hand. She dozed; and again her eyes would open, with the faintest flicker of her smile upon her lips as she saw me by her. Then she opened her eyes once, and I saw she no longer knew me.

"Helen--my Helen girl--it's Ted--your Ted," I whispered frantically. She gave no sign--but slowly, ever so slowly, the eyes glazed. Her hand was still in mine when I knew the end had come. I looked at my watch on the camp table. Twenty minutes to eleven.

I got to my feet, gently laying the hand I had held on her breast. I stooped and kissed her lips. From the door of the tent I looked back again. She was beautiful. I faced the breeze and the dazzling sunshine without. A heavy scent of orange-blossoms was in the air.

I walked into the living room of the bungalow. Miss Brock sprang to her feet when she saw me come in. She gave me one look and dashed for the tent. I sat down before the empty fire place. Little baby Helen ran to me and climbed into my lap. A pair of grey eyes looked up smiling at me.

I think that saved me....

EPILOGUE

_Christmas Eve, 1918_

"Daddy?"

"Yes, my daughter?"

"Think, daddy, think!"

"My dear, I will--if you'll tell me what."

"Tomorrow is Christmas--the first peace Christmas."

"I know."

"And daddy!"

"Well?"

"In the spring I shall be eighteen."

I looked at a tall girl, her cheeks aglow with the frosty crimson which only English winter days can bring. In her hand was a riding crop, and her riding habit sat trim upon her. But it was her grey eyes sparkling fun, and a certain trick of her smile that struck me most. Eyes and smile alike had come straight to her from her mother. "Eighteen," I thought to myself--"her mother's age when I first met her. Was she then a laughing child--a baby like this?"

"Come sit by your daddy tonight, Helen," I said. She flung herself impulsively on a cushion at my feet, her head against my knee.

"Make me comfy."

I drew her closer to me.