Rhoda Gray's eyes darkened, as she closed the door behind her,
and stepped quickly forward to the bedside. For a moment she
stood looking down at the recumbent figure; at the matted tangle
of gray-streaked brown hair that straggled across a pillow which
was none too clean; at the heavy-lensed, old-fashioned, steel-bowed
spectacles, awry now, that were still grotesquely perched on the
woman's nose; at the sallow face, streaked with grime and dirt, as
though it had not been washed for months; at a hand, as ill-cared
for, which lay exposed on the torn blanket that did duty for a
counterpane; at the dirty shawl that enveloped the woman's shoulders,
and which was tightly fastened around Gypsy Nan's neck-and from the
woman her eyes shifted to an empty bottle on the floor that
protruded from under the bed.

"Nan!" she called sharply; and, stooping over, shook the woman's
shoulder. "Nan!" she repeated. There was something about the
woman's breathing that she did not like, something in the queer,
pinched condition of the other's face that suddenly frightened
her. "Nan!" she called again.

Gypsy Nan opened her eyes, stared for a moment dully, then, in a
curiously quick, desperate way, jerked herself up on her elbow.

"Youse get t'hell outer here!" she croaked. "Get out!"

"I am going to," said Rhoda Gray evenly. "And I'm going at once."
She turned abruptly and walked toward the door. "I'm going to
get a doctor. You've gone too far this time, Nan, and -"

"No, youse don't!" Gypsy Nan s voice rose in a sudden scream. She