Apart from my agony of pity for Fay, I was sorely grieved on my own account at the thought of losing Frank. A strong friendship had grown up between the boy and myself--a friendship that was fraught with joy for me. Although I had eschewed the avuncular attitude arranged for me by Annabel towards Fay, I had accepted it with regard to Frank; and when I heard the verdict of the great doctor from London, I felt as if I were indeed losing a dearly-beloved nephew. Whilst I was aimlessly wandering about the Rectory dining-room, Arthur came in. "How is the boy now?" I asked, though I knew too well what the answer would be. "Just the same. Jeffson says there will not be much change now until the end." "And Fay?" "Bearing up wonderfully, poor child! She is so brave and calm now that I fear it will be the worse for her when the need for calmness and courage is over. Reggie, I have telephoned for Henderson, and he is coming at once." "Who is Henderson?" I asked. "A great friend of mine." I sighed. "I don't see the use of torturing the poor boy with any more doctors, Arthur. Both Sir Frederic and Jeffson pronounced the case absolutely hopeless." "But Henderson isn't a doctor," replied Arthur in his leisurely way. "Then why send for him?" I asked most unreasonably. "He is a spiritual healer, and has worked some wonderful cures. If any one can save Frank, he can." "I don't believe in that sort of thing," I replied, with all the irritability of helpless misery. "Probably not; but I don't see what that has to do with it. Our belief in anything doesn't affect the thing itself, it only affects us." "Then do you believe that your friend can cure the boy, after three doctors have given him up?" Arthur thought for a moment, and then he said: "No, I don't believe that Henderson can cure the boy; but I believe that Christ working through Henderson can do so, and I am going to see if He will." We were both silent for a few minutes, and then Blathwayte suddenly said: "By the way, I have forgotten the thing I came down to say to you. Fay wants you to go and sit with her in Frank's room." I went at once. Fay's lightest word was law to me. For an hour or two I sat in the sick-room, where the girl whom I loved knelt beside her dying brother. The doctor and the day-nurse were doing all they could to fan the flame that was so rapidly being extinguished, but that all amounted to very little. Already the beautiful boyish mouth was closed too tightly for any nourishment or stimulant to pass through the once mobile lips, and the boy could not have spoken even if he had wished to do so; but he was too ill now to desire to speak, and lay in rigid unconsciousness waiting for the end to come. Nobody spoke, except the doctor and the nurse; but I knew in my soul that it helped Fay to feel me near, and so I stayed while the hours rolled on and Frank's life ebbed away.