repulsion in such matters that most people have, and this man's
appearance, as Olga Nilssen had said, was horrible. The face was drawn
hideously, and in the strong, clear light of the electrics it was a
deathly yellow. The eyes were half closed, and the eyeballs turned up so
that only the whites of them showed between the lids. There was froth
upon the distorted mouth, and it clung to the catlike mustache and to
the shallow, sunken chin beneath. But Ste. Marie exerted all his will
power, and took the jerking, trembling head in his hands, holding it
clear of the floor.

"You'd better call the servant," he said. "There may be something that
can be done."

But the woman answered, without looking:

"No, there's nothing that can be done, I believe, except to keep him
from bruising himself. Stimulants--that sort of thing--do more harm than
good. Could you get him on the bed here?"

"Together we might manage it," said Ste. Marie. "Come and help!"

"I can't!" she cried, nervously. "I can't--touch him. Please, I can't do
it."

"Come!" said the man, in a sharp tone. "It's no time for nerves. I don't
like it, either, but it's got to be done."

The woman began a half-hysterical sobbing, but after a moment she turned
and came with slow feet to where Stewart lay.