“There is no note come, ma’am,” replied the waiting-maid, a couple of minutes later, “but he says that Mr. Lawton’s been over an hour at home,—at least he came in then, and he’s not seen him go out, that is, not by the lift. He must have let himself in with a key, then, for neither Sellers nor I opened for him.” “Perhaps he went to the den, thinking we were all out, and does not realize how late it is,” said Brooke, moving swiftly down the hall, followed by her mother. Turning the corner, for her father had located his den, for the sake of quiet, as far as possible from the rest of the apartment, she saw the light that shone above and below the portière, for the door was not wholly closed. “Yes, he is here after all!” and she threw open the door without knocking, as she alone dared, and entered with some playful words upon her lips, quite prepared to rumple the iron-gray hair, a little thin on top, that partially capped the figure seated at his desk, with his left hand, as usual, in his pocket. The next moment she stopped, as an undefined feeling of dread held her fast,—the right hand was stiffly extended, as if it had just let go its hold of the movable ’phone that stood on the desk, and knocked it over. The usually alert figure had settled in the chair, the head dropping backward, while, after a single breath, that resounded like a snore, there was no sound. Brooke touched him quickly; there was still the warmth of life, and the left side of the face twitched frightfully, but no words came; his face, flushed at first, was growing rapidly livid. Instantly she wound her strong young arms about him, and, laying him on the thick rug, his head slightly turned and raised, she motioned to her mother and the maid, who had come at her unconscious call, to loosen collar and clothing, while she sped back to the telephone in her mother’s sitting room to call a doctor who was resident in the hotel, and he was at hand almost before she realized that the call had gone forth. “Cerebral hemorrhage; has he had bad news or some sudden shock?” was what the physician said a moment after he entered the room where Adam Lawton lay, and saw the litter of papers and the overthrown instrument. But there was no letter or telegram among them that could indicate, and the ominous telephone receiver was mute. As the men from the house helped move him to his room, Mrs. Lawton and Brooke following silent with the first calmness of a shock, her own words rang in her ears. “He must come into our lives and let us do for him or take us into his life; the ‘some day’ when he will have time to listen must begin to-night!” The first hour passed, that period of rapid action following a calamity that intervenes before the clutch of the tension of continued strain is felt.