He bent and kissed her forehead--a Judas kiss, he had thought up to now, but not so to-night. To-night he was kind, generous--anxious, even, for her to live. “All right, dearest; very good indeed. And how are you? It’s such a fine evening out. You ought to get well soon so as to enjoy these spring days.” “I’m going to,” she replied softly. “I feel so much better. And how have you been? Has your work gone all right?” He nodded and smiled and told her bits of news. Ethelberta had phoned that she was coming, bringing violets. Wesley had said he would be here at six, with Irma! Such-and-such people had asked after her. How could he have been so evil, he now asked himself, as to wish her to die? She was not so bad--really quite charming in her way, an ideal wife for some one, if not him. She was as much entitled to live and enjoy her life as he was to enjoy his; and after all she was the mother of his children, had been with him all these years. Besides, the day had been so fine--it was now--a wondrous May evening. The air and sky were simply delicious. A lavender haze was in the air. The telephone bell now ringing brought still another of a long series of inquiries as to her condition. There had been so many of these during the last few days, the maid said, and especially to-day--and she gave Mr. Haymaker a list of names. See, he thought, she had even more friends than he, being so good, faithful, worthy. Why should he wish her ill? He sat down to dinner with Ethelberta and Wesley when they arrived, and chatted quite gayly--more hopefully than he had in weeks. His own varying thoughts no longer depressing him, for the moment he was happy. How were they? What were the children all doing? At eight-thirty Doctor Storm came again, and announced that he thought Mrs. Haymaker was doing very well indeed, all things considered. “Her condition is fairly promising, I must say,” he said. “If she gets through another night or two comfortably without falling back I think she’ll do very well from now on. Her strength seems to be increasing a fraction. However, we must not be too optimistic. Cases of this kind are very treacherous. To-morrow we’ll see how she feels, whether she needs any more blood.” He went away, and at ten Ethelberta and Wesley left for the night, asking to be called if she grew worse, thus leaving him alone once more. He sat and meditated. At eleven, after a few moments at his wife’s bedside--absolute quiet had been the doctor’s instructions these many days--he himself went to bed. He was very tired. His varying thoughts had afflicted him so much that he was always tired, it seemed--his evil conscience, he called it--but to-night he was sure he would sleep. He felt better about himself, about life. He had done better, to-day. He should never have tolerated such dark thoughts. And yet--and yet--and yet----