Was there no escape from the dilemma? She felt dried up, parched, athirst for something; her throat contracted in a burning ache.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. She sat in silence with a great pain in her heart. Over beyond the window sill the glow was dying, and the gathering pall was rising and coming nearer. Like a blanket the relentless world the cog-world of personal interests, regulations, and restrictions--was coming, gathering up its wastage into its blue-gray depths.

Joe was speaking again. His voice was suddenly clearer.

"I wonder," he was saying, "if you'd mind goin' for Zeke Thompson and sendin' him up to me? I want him to go somewhere for me. And will you--will you call up Mr. Clausen of the Pulvia Company and tell him I'll get back on the job soon's I can? To-morrow'll do to call him up."

"Surely I will, Joe," she replied.

The door opened softly from the hall and Mrs. Mosby appeared, shading a lamp with her hand. "Keep your seat." she exclaimed as Mary Louise rose to her feet. "I'm just getting ready to bring him his supper."

Then she went back out again.

Mary Louise bent over the bed. The lamp was directly behind her and she could not see for blurring.

"Do take care of yourself, Joe," she whispered. "I'll come back again to-morrow," and then she slipped noiselessly from the room.

Directly Mrs. Mosby returned with a steaming tray which she set on the little table by the bedside. "Has she gone?" she asked.

Joe turned and looked with indifference at the tray, with its white napkins and egg-sh.e.l.l china. "Don't believe I want anything much, Aunt Lorry," he said.

"Come now, Joseph. You must. I've a soft-boiled egg and some milk toast and cocoa. Dr. Withers says you must keep up your strength."

He turned languidly away. "And Aunt Lorry," he added.

"Yes?"

"I don't need anything--specially this sympathy stuff." He paused and frowned at the ceiling. "I don't--I don't want to have any company.

Reckon I can get along all right."

Ten minutes later she carried away the tray with the food on it but scarcely touched. And he lay in the gathering darkness, watching the ceiling, with the wavering circles from the open fire and the soft whisper of the wind in the withered leaves outside the window. There came a gentle patter of rain on the roof and night slipped down upon Bloomfield. He sighed gently, turned his head, and fell asleep....

Some four blocks away a girl was walking--swiftly, her hands clenched so that the knuckles were white. Bright spots burned in her cheeks and her eyes were deep and starry with bright vision. A man, pa.s.sing close, turned and watched her curiously, saw her enter a wooden gate.

A few feet from a darkened porch she seemed to spring forward in her haste. He saw her run up the steps and disappear into the house....

There was the sound of water being poured from one vessel into another, in the downstairs back-hall, and then the shuffling of retiring feet. Mrs. Mosby stood outlined in the high doorway, a lighted candle in her hand, her eyes straining into the darkness.

"Come, brother Rob," she called and waited.

There was a m.u.f.fled reply.

"It will certainly be good," she went on, half to herself and pleasantly musing, "to have a real bathroom with hot water from a spigot. The city's pleasant in winter. I'm sorry we're waiting until January first. Come, brother Rob. The water's getting cold."