disappearing. Bert waited, his heart thundering. Murmuring and
tears came from some remote region. Then quietly and slowly Nancy,
in new black, came in. And Bert knew that to the end of the world,
as long as he should breathe, life would mean Nancy's life to him;
and the world was only Nancy.

They sat down on the slippery horsehair, and talked softly and
quickly. Ticket--train--telegrams--the little money that was
necessary--he advised her about them all. He called her "Nancy"
to-day, for the first time. He remembered afterward that she had
called him nothing. She went to get Mrs. Venable, after a while,
and later Sis' Sally Anne drew him aside and told him to make
Nancy drink her good hot tea. She drank it, at his command. Clark
Belknap came that evening; others came--all too late. Before the
first of them, Bert had taken her to the train, had made her as
comfortable as he could, had sat beside her, with her soft gloved
hand tight in his, murmuring to her that she had so much to be
thankful for--no pain, no illness, no real age. But she had left
him, she said, her lip trembling and her eyes brimming again. He
reminded her of her pretty, dependent step-mother, of the two
little half-brothers who were just waiting for Nancy to come and
straighten everything out.

"Yes--I've got to keep up for them!" she said, smiling bravely.
And in a tense undertone she added, "You're wonderful to me!"

"And will you have some supper--just to break the evening?"

"I had tea." She leaned back, and shut her eyes. "I couldn't--
eat!" she whispered pitifully. His response was to put his clean,