faint. But Mrs. Nevill Tyson was not of the fainting kind; she was only
tired, tired and sick.

It was arranged that Tyson was to leave by the two o'clock train the next
day. He was packing up his things about noon, when Molly staggered into
his dressing-room with her teeth chattering. Clinging to the rail of the
bedstead for support, she gazed at the preparations for his departure.

"I wish you wouldn't go away, Nevill," she said.

"It's all right, I'll be back in a day or two." He blushed at his own
lie.

Mrs. Nevill Tyson sat down on the bed and began to cry.

"What's the matter, Moll, eh?"

"I don't know, I don't know," she sobbed. "I'm afraid, Nevill--I'm so
terribly afraid."

"Why, what are you afraid of?" He looked up and was touched by the terror
in her face.

"I don't know. But I can bear it--I won't be silly and frightened--I can
bear it if you'll only stay."

She slid on to her knees beside him; and while she implored him to stay,
her hands worked unconsciously, helping him to go--smoothing and folding
his clothes, and laying them in little heaps about the floor, her figure
swaying unsteadily as she knelt.