Holding the sleeping Shenton close to her, she turned a troubled face
toward the afterglow. The golden sea was gone. There was a last glimmer
of amber in the heavens, but it faded suddenly, as though somewhere
beyond the edge of the world some one had put out the light. Night had
fallen.

Mrs. Leighton carried her boy into the house. She stopped at her
husband's study door.

"Orme, are you there?" she called. "Please come."

There was the sound of a chair scraping back. The door was flung open.
Leighton looked from Ann's face to her burden, and his own face paled.

"Again?" he asked.

"O, Orme," cried Ann, "I'm frightened. What is it, Orme? Dr. MacDonald
must come. Send for him. We _must_ know!"

The Reverend Orme took the boy from her arms and carried him into a
spare bedroom. He laid him down. Shenton's head fell limply to one side
upon the pillow. The pillow was white, but not whiter than the boy's
face.

MacDonald's gruff voice was soon heard in the hall.

"Not one of the bairns, Mammy? Young Shenton, eh?" He came into the room
and sat down beside the boy. He felt his pulse, undid his waist,
listened to his heart and lungs. The doctor shook his head and frowned.
"Nothing extra-ordinary--nothing." Then he brought his face close to the