"Good Lord!" cried Tom, "Good Lord!" The sweat started out on his forehead. He remembered what Stamps had said of her youth and her pale face, and he thought of Delia Vanuxem, and from this thought sprang a sudden recollection of the deserted medical career in which he had been regarded as so ignominious a failure. He had never mentioned it since he had cut himself off from the old life, and the women for whose children he had prescribed with some success now and then had considered the ends achieved only the natural results of his multitudinous gifts. But the thought of the desolate young creature lying there alone struck deep. He listened one moment, then made his resolve. "Go to the stable," he said, "and throw a saddle over the horse you will find there. I know something of such matters myself, and I shall be better than nothing, with a woman's help. I have a woman here who will follow us." He went into the back room and awakened Aunt Mornin. "Get up," he said, "and saddle the mule and follow me as soon as you can to the cabin in Blair's Hollow. The wife of a man who lives there needs a woman with her. Come quickly." When he returned to the door his horse stood there saddled, the stranger sitting on his own and holding the bridle. Tom mounted in silence, but once finally seated, he turned to his companion. "Now strike out," he said. There were four miles of road before them, but they scarcely slackened rein until they were within sight of the Hollow, and the few words they exchanged were the barest questions and answers. The cabin was built away from the road on the side of the hill, and leaving their horses tethered at the foot of the slope, they climbed it together. When they reached the door, the stranger stopped and turned to Tom. "There is no sound inside," he faltered; "I dare not go in." Tom strode by him and pushed the door open. In one corner of the room was a roughly made bedstead, and upon it lay a girl, her deathly pale face turned sideways upon the pillow. It was as if she lay prostrated by some wave of agony which had just passed over her; her breath was faint and rapid, and great drops of sweat stood out upon her young drawn face. Tom drew a chair forward and sat down beside her. He lifted one of her hands, touching it gently, but save for a slight quiver of the eyelids she did not stir. A sense of awe fell upon him. "It's Death," he said to himself. He had experience enough to teach him that. He turned to the man. "You had better go out of the room; I will do my best." * * * * * In a little over an hour Aunt Mornin dismounted from her mule and tethered it to a sapling at the side of the road below. She looked up at the light gleaming faintly through the pines on the hillside. "I cum 's fas' 's I could," she said, "but I reckon I'd orter been here afore. De Lord knows dis is a curi's 'casion."