automobile, sir. I was just thinking what a pity it is Dicky wouldn't
realize it. He's always wanted to ride in one." Suddenly her tears
flowed, unheeded, and she clung to the little hand convulsively.
"I don't know what I shall do without him, Sir, I don't . . . . I've
always had him . . . and when he's sick, among strangers." . . .

The rector rose to the occasion.

"Now, Mrs. Garvin," he said firmly, "you must remember that there is only
one way to save the boy's life. It will be easy to get you a room near
the hospital, where you can see him constantly."

"I know--I know, sir. But I couldn't leave his father, I couldn't leave
Richard." She looked around distractedly. "Where is he?"

"He will come back presently," said the rector. "If not, I will look for
him."

She did not reply, but continued to weep in silence. Suddenly, above the
confused noises of the night, the loud notes of a piano broke, and the
woman whose voice he had heard in the afternoon began once more with
appalling vigour to sing. The child moaned.

Mrs. Garvin started up hysterically.

"I can't stand it--I can't stand her singing that now," she sobbed.

Thirty feet away, across the yard, Hodder saw the gleaming window from
which the music came. He got to his feet. Another verse began, with
more of the brazen emphasis of the concert-hall singer than ever.