in full possession of his senses. "Hark!" he said, and as he spoke a cry
broke faintly forth above them, and there was sound of rushing feet. A
frightened maid burst into the room unannounced.

"Oh, Miss Gila, I beg yer pardon, but Master Harry's got his father's
razor, an' he's cut hisself something awful."

The maid was weeping and wringing her hands helplessly, but Gila stood
frowning angrily. Courtland sprang up the stairs. In the tumult of his
mind he would have rejoiced if the house had been on fire, or a cyclone
had struck the place--anything so he could fling himself into service.
He drew in long, deep breaths. It was like mountain air to get away from
that lurid room into the light once more. A sense of lost power
returned, was over him. The spell was broken.

He bent over the little boy alertly, grasped the wrist, and stopped the
spurt of blood. The frightened child looked up into his face and stopped
crying.

"You should have telephoned for the doctor at once and not made all this
fuss in the presence of a guest," scolded Gila as she came up the
stairs. She looked garish and out of place with her red velvet and
jewels in the brilliant light of the white-tiled bathroom. She stood
helplessly by the door, making no move to help Courtland. The maid was
at the telephone, frantically calling for the family physician.

"Hand me those towels," commanded Courtland, and saw the look of disgust
upon Gila's face as she reluctantly picked her way across the
blood-stains. It struck him that they were the color of her frock. The
stain of the crushed berry. He moistened his dry lips. At least the