They went out to dinner, and Burns found himself somehow able to forget sufficiently to enjoy the appetizing dishes which were served to him, and to keep his brow clear and his mind upon the table talk. When he went away, afterward, back to the scene of his irritation and anxiety, he bore with him a peculiar sense of having his good genius with him, to help him tend those devastating fires of temperament which when they burned too fiercely could only hinder him in the fight he waged. It was almost daybreak when he returned. Ellen was not asleep, although she did not expect him to come upstairs, if only for fear of disturbing her at that hour. But presently the cautious opening of her door caused her to raise her head and lift her arms. Her husband came to her, and sat down close beside her. "I've discharged myself from the case," he said. He spoke quietly, but his voice vibrated with feeling. "It was the only thing to do. No man could keep on with a case where the family were secretly following the consultant's directions, instead of those of the physician in charge. But,--for your sake, little wife, I've done something I never would have believed I'd do." She sat up, her eyes fixed on the dim outlines of his face. "Tell me!" she urged. "To begin with, I had it out with them, and let them know I understood the situation perfectly--and had understood it all along. That I couldn't stay with people who had lost faith in me. That if I were out of it they could have the full benefit of Van Horn's orders, and the nurses would be relieved of a mighty difficult situation. I suppose you don't know--few people do--that it's a bad breach of professional ethics for a consultant to conduct himself so that he throws doubt on the ability of the man in charge? In this case it was a piece of outrageous--" He caught himself up. "I can't get going on that, or--those fires won't stay banked!" She had his hand in both hers, and she lifted it to her lips. He drew a smothered breath or two, and went on. "They were glad enough to see me out of it. Van Horn was--also glad! You see,--within the last few hours the patient had lost ground--Van's prognosis was being verified. But, when it came to taking leave of the patient, there was the dickens to pay. His pulse jumped and his temperature went up, and there was trouble for fair. He begged me not to leave him. From the start his faith has been pinned tight to me. The family hadn't reckoned with that. They found themselves obliged to reckon with it. They saw I must be kept, or the game would be up in short order." "Oh, then you _had_ to stay!" "Yes, I had to stay--but--I couldn't! Van Horn was in charge, and the family wanted him in charge." "But the patient would die if you didn't stay. You couldn't let professional etiquette--"