the bed.

As she bent over him and whispered, "Mortimer!" the simple tone
seemed to have an almost magic effect on him.

He opened his eyes which before had been languidly closed and
gazed up at her face as if he saw a vision. Slowly the expression
on his face changed as he realized that it was indeed Violet
herself. In spite of the pain of his hurts which must have been
intense a smile played over his features, as if he realized that
it would never do to let her know how serious had been his
condition.

As she bent over her hand had rested on the white covers of the
bed. Feebly, in spite of the bandages that swathed the arm nearest
her, he put out his own brawny hand and rested it on hers. She did
not withdraw it, but passed the other hand gently over his
throbbing forehead. Never have I seen a greater transformation in
an invalid than was evident in Mortimer Warrington. No tonic in
all the pharmacopoeia of Dr. Mead could have worked a more
wonderful change.

Not a word was said by either Warrington or Violet for several
seconds. They seemed content just to gaze into each other's faces,
oblivious to us.

Warrington was the first to break the silence, in answer to what
he knew must be her unspoken question.

"Your aunt--gambling," he murmured feebly, trying hard to connect