"'Brain _fever_!' Then who ... the telegram certainly said 'tumor.'" "Yes, yes. _I_ said that. Oh, I can't tell you why; but I just _know_ that it is, Donald, for little Lou has been exactly like you told me that baby up north was--the one you saved by a ... a miracle. Oh, don't you remember? It was in the paper." Her sentences had become piteously incoherent; but their significance slowly dawned upon him. To Miss Merriman the conversation was somewhat of an enigma, and she stood aside, regarding Rose with an expression half bewildered, half frightened. Had this strange child summoned so famous a physician, whose moments, even, were golden, to the heart of the Cumberlands on her own initiative and on the strength of her own childish guess, merely? It was incredible, a tragic farce. Perhaps something of similar import passed swiftly through the man's mind, for he placed his large hands upon the girl's slender shoulders, and, for an instant, sent a searching gaze deep into her eyes, now luminous with unshed tears, as he had first seen them. They looked up at him troubled, but frankly trusting. "Do you mean, Rose," his words came slowly, "that you sent for me without a doctor's suggestion and advice; that you did it on your own hook?" She nodded. "I just couldn't bear to have her die. She is all that ... that Judd has got in the world, now, and I knew that you could save her for him." His hands felt the controlled tension of her body, and he impulsively drew her close to him. When he answered, his voice was strangely gentle. "It's all right, little doctor. I'm glad that you did, and only hope that I can help. Now, let's all sit down here before the fire--how good it feels after that bitter ride, doesn't it, Miss Merriman?--and you will tell me all that you can about the baby's trouble--every single thing that you have noticed from the first, no matter how little it is. You see, that only by knowing exactly how the patient has acted can the surgeon even hope to guess where the trouble has its seat. Once before I told you that a nurse has got to face the truth, understandingly and bravely, and I may as well tell you about some of the difficulties which lie in the path that we must tread to-night. Your faith has been almost--sublime, dear. I wonder if it would have failed if you had known how like a child in knowledge--a child searching in the dark--is a surgeon at such a time as this?" "I ... I don't believe that I understand, and you kind of frightened me, Don. I thought that all you would have to do would be to ... to cut out that awful thing that is stealing away Lou's precious life. Wasn't that what you did for that other little child?"