But fate willed otherwise. When Doctor Dempsy arrived on the early train there were no conflicting opinions as to his condition; it was critical, and there would have to be an operation within twenty-four hours. Miss Maxwell brought the news to Peter along with the doctor's wish that his friend should be with him as long as the powers allowed. "Does Leerie know?" asked Peter. "She was present at the consultation." "What did she say?" "Nothing. But she looked very white and drawn. I'm afraid she hasn't slept much." "Good Lord! you don't believe she really thinks Brainard will bungle!" But Miss Maxwell cut him short. "This is no time to bother with futile suppositions. Please, Mr. Brooks! Remember that for all our sakes--Doctor Dempsy's most of all--this is the time to keep our nerve and think only one way." With a grave shake of the head she left him at the door of Doctor Dempsy's room. To Peter the day crept on at a snail's pace; to Sheila it galloped. Peter saw her just once, when, at Doctor Dempsy's urgent wish, she came in for a moment between operations, muffled to the eyes in her gown and mask. "Come here, child." The old doctor held out a commanding hand and drew the nurse close to the bed. "I've had something on my mind ever since I saw your face this morning. Might as well say it now before I forget it." He smiled up gently at the great, deep-gray eyes looking down wistfully at him. "I imagine that you two youngsters may be fretting some over to-morrow--seven A.M. Hey? Mean trick to saddle you with the responsibility of an old, worn-out hulk like mine, with the chances fifty-fifty on patching it up. What I wanted to say was that you mustn't take it too hard if I don't patch. 'Pon my soul I sha'n't mind for myself." A voice called from the corridor outside, "Miss O'Leary, Doctor Brainard's waiting." Doctor Dempsy gave the hand inside the rubber glove a tight squeeze. "Remember, Leerie, I know you'll keep the little old lantern burning for me as long as you can, and here's good luck, whatever happens." She went without a word. Peter had become vastly absorbed at the window in watching Hennessy sweeping a gathering of leaves from the curb. When he finally came back to his chair by the bedside he flattered himself that his expression was beatifically cheerful and his voice perfectly steady. As the day waned a storm gathered, and by nightfall the sanitarium and the surrounding country were in the grip of a full-fledged equinoctial. Doctor Dempsy was put to bed early, and Peter went back to his room in the main building to write himself into a state of temporary forgetfulness, if he could. He had tinkered with his pen, sharpened half a dozen pencils, and mussed up as many sheets of paper when a knock brought him to his feet. Sheila O'Leary stood at the door. Her lips were bravely trying to smile away the haggard lines of the face.