He led her away to another room--to rest a little before the journey. When he returned his glance met the boy’s absently. He arranged trifles on his desk--paperweight and pens and blotter--as affairs of importance, before he spoke, casually: “She will always be ill--Yes. It is a hopeless case--Yes.” He paused a little between the words, giving the boy time. “She will suffer--more than she has yet. But we can help a little.” He had drawn a paper toward him and was writing his hieroglyphics with slow care, not looking up. “We will ease it, all we can. Keep her mind at rest. Make her happy.” He turned his spectacles on the young man. “You can make her happy. That will do more for her than I can.... Will she live? Yes, yes. Longer than the rest, perhaps.... Shall you tell her?--not today, I think--some other time. She is a little tired. She is a brave woman.” III SIMEON Tetlow glanced up sharply. The door had opened without a sound. “You ’ve come. Umph!” He shoved the pile of letters from him. “Sit down.” The air was full of sunshine. Even in the dingy office it glinted and shone. Across its radiance Simeon studied the dull face. “Well!” The eyes of the boy met his, half-wistfully, it seemed. “She needs me, sir,” he said. Simeon stirred uneasily. “Seen Dr. Blake?” “Yes, sir. He says he cannot help her.” “Umph!” Simeon shifted again in his chair. His eye dropped to the pile of papers beside him. The boy’s hands had reached out to them. Almost instinctively the fingers were threading their way among them, sorting and arranging in neat piles. Simeon watched the fingers jealously. It was as if he might spring upon them and fasten them there forever. The young man’s eyes traveled about the room, noting signs of disorder. “I can stay today,” he said slowly. He hesitated. “I can stay a week, sir, if you want me.” “I don’t want you a week.” The man was looking at him savagely. “You must bring them here!” he said. “Here!” in doubt. The man nodded. “They can live here as well as anywhere!” The boy pondered it a minute. He shook his head slowly. “They would n’t be happy,” he said. “She has friends there, in Bridgewater--people she’s known ever since she was a little girl--and father has his work. He ’s an old man. It would n’t be easy for him to get work here. He has an easy job--” “Work enough here,” growled Simeon. He was studying the boy’s face keenly. Was it possible the fellow was making capital of all this? He threw off the thought. “Work enough here,” he repeated. John considered it again. He looked up. The lamps threw their clear light into the future. “I ’d thought of that, sir,” he said slowly, “and I ’ve talked about it--a little. But I saw it hurt them. So I dropped it.” “You ’re missing the chance of a lifetime,” said Simeon. “There are men working below that’d give ten years off their life to get what you’ve got without trying.” The boy’s quiet eye met his.