He sank a little into the pillow, and Sydney gave von Rittenheim a glance of dismissal. "You're tired, dear," she said to Bob. "A little. I think I'll take a nap. Oh, Baron, I almost forgot. I was in Asheville a few days ago,--Monday, Tuesday,--I don't know when," he went on, weakly, "and I met a man who said he thought he knew you. He's at the hotel,--a German." "Did he tell you his name?" "I can't remember. Something long. He said if you were Friedrich von Rittenheim from the Black Forest that he knew you well, and would you look him up? You will, won't you?" "Yes, I will." "If you don't, he'll think I've broken my promise." "I will. He shall know that you told me. Good-by, Bob, good-by." But Bob was asleep and did not answer. It was with the ebbing of the night and the coming of the dawn that Bob's soul went out,--went out in stress and travail. When the struggle was over, Sydney left the old doctor and his wife kneeling side by side at the edge of the bed, and crept down-stairs. Von Rittenheim was sitting before the fire, his head buried in his hands. He sprang to meet her as she entered. "Is he----? Has he----?" The girl nodded. "Just now." Suddenly she threw her arms over her head and broke into stifled sobs. Friedrich was torn with distress. He drew her to the fire, and established her in a big chair, wrapping her warmly in a rug from the couch. Somewhere he found a glass of wine, and made her take it. Then he knelt beside her, rubbing the fingers that were cold and cramped from Bob's long clasp, and talking softly to her as to a child. God alone knows the force he put upon himself not to take her in his arms and comfort her on his breast; not to pour into her ears the words that were burning his heart out. Drops of moisture stood on his forehead as he resisted the temptation that was the stronger because he felt that she returned his love, and that these forbidden words would be her greatest comfort. But Sydney was not insensible of their subtle, unspoken sympathy, and at last yielded to the solace of warmth and the consciousness of being cared for, and, exhausted, closed her eyes in sleep. Friedrich stirred the fire and watched its light play on the face of the woman he loved, and gave himself up to wonder and longing and regret. * * * * *