"Cheer up, Jean," he added, coming over to her sofa. "Don't grow hysteric, whatever happens." He sat down and put his arm around her. Five minutes ago she would have clung to him and poured her soul out on his breast--would have put up her hand to his cheek and blessed him and worshiped him, as a wife does--and would have spared him the worst of everything, and given him the best; refrained from complaint, and lavished hope; made little of her own suffering, and much of his distress for her sake, as this wife could.... Now, she lay quite still and irresponsive. She did not speak, but tried to smile gently upon him. Then he saw her color change, and he flung the window up--for he was startled--and held her to the air. "Poor girl!" he said. "Poor Jean! My poor Jean!" "Oh, _don't_!" cried Jean. For the tenderness, coming after that other, well-nigh slew her. She began to sob,--the cruel sobs that wreck a weakened heart,--and the man fought for her life for an hour. When Dr. Thorne came the danger was quite over; as it usually is in such cases before the physician can arrive; but he said roughly,-- "What have you been doing to her?" "He has been saving my life," panted Jean. "Well," replied Esmerald Thorne, "he can." When the two men went downstairs, the doctor said,-- "Your pardon,--if I wronged you, Avery?" for he was generous in apology for so imperious a man. "Why, yes, doctor," returned the husband, with a puzzled face, "I think you did." Jean lay quietly on the blue lounge. Pink and the baby were taken over to Helen's. The house was unnaturally still. Marshall was coming home in the middle of the afternoon to see her--to see _her_! The sick woman seemed to herself for that span of peace like a bride again, cherished and happy. Care and illness had never occurred. Life had not dulled the eyes of love. Use had never threatened joy with indifference. This word, that deed, such a scene, all were phantasms of the fog into which she had fallen. She must have grown morbid, as the sick do. Oh, the rose-red star hung in the heavens yet! His key clicked in the lock, and he came running up the stairs; dashed in, and knelt beside the lounge; then put his arm about her quietly, for he was shocked when he saw how she looked. His dark, fine face was broken with his feeling. Hers quivered as she lifted it to his kiss. "Did you lose the case, poor dear?" she said. "Curse the case!" cried Avery. "What's a case? ... I 'm not going gunning, Jean. I 'm going to stay with you." Color brushed all over her wan cheek, her brow, her lips. "I _was_ so afraid of guns!" she pleaded. "I always have been!" "It is one of your weaknesses," replied the husband, a shade less tenderly.