He looked at his watch and saw that Sturtevant had been gone five
minutes over the half hour. He switched off the electric light, and
stood in his window, which faced the street down which the doctor in
his car must come. He realised at once that this was more endurable.
He was doing what a woman would have done long before. He was
masculine, and had not the quick instinct to stand by the window and
watch out, to ease impatience. The road was like a broad silver band
under the moon. The lights in house windows gleamed through drawn
shades, except in one house, where he could see quite distinctly a
woman seated beside a lamp with a green shade, sewing, with regular
motions of a red, silk-clad arm. Von Rosen strained his eyes, and
saw, as he thought, a dark bulk advancing far down the street. He
watched and watched, then noted that the dark bulk had not moved. He
wondered if the motor had broken down. He thought of running out to
see, and made a motion to go, then he saw swiftly-moving lights pass
the dark bulk. He thought they were the lights of the motor, but as
they passed he saw it was a cab taking someone to the railroad
station. He knew then that the dark bulk was a clump of trees.

Then, before he could fairly sense it, the doctor's motor came
hurtling down the street, its search-lights glaring, swinging from
side to side. The machine stopped, and Von Rosen ran to the door.

"Here I am," said Sturtevant in a hushed voice. There was a sound
from the room above, and the doctor, Von Rosen and nurse looked at
each other. Then Von Rosen sat again alone in his study, and now, in
spite of the closed door, he heard noises above stairs. Solitude was
becoming frightful to him. He felt all at once strangely young, like
a child, and a pitiful sense of injury was over him, but the sense of
injury was not for himself alone, but for all mankind. He realised