"I would advise against it," the doctor said, in a tone and manner that was intended to be a polite refusal of permission. "But I _must_ see her, I tell you. I demand to see her! I am her husband, and if she is quiet to-day I demand to see and speak to her." "Mr. Graham, this case is unique, as I have told you before; and even if she is quiet I think it best not to—" "Now, doctor, stop right there a moment. She is my wife, and I will not be bound by any orders her mother may have given you! I am going to see her this once. I assume all responsibility, sir!" The physician looked at him with a sneer of contempt on his face. "Very well, Mr. Graham," he said finally. "You shall see her. But permit me to say that Mrs. Phillips has had the good sense and the good taste to make no suggestions to me as to how I shall manage this case.... Come right along down to the ward, sir." He led the way down a long hall and, tapping upon a door, was admitted into a transverse corridor by an attendant. "How is Mrs. Graham?" he asked in an undertone. "Quiet at the moment, sir." Hayward heard Helen’s voice and started forward eagerly. The physician caught him by the arm and restrained him. "Wait," he whispered. "Let’s listen a minute." It was hard for Hayward to wait. He could hear Helen’s words coming from the second door down the corridor, and only the doctor’s hand stayed him from rushing into her presence. They moved quietly nearer to the door and stood still to hear what she was saying. As they listened tides of joy rolled in upon Hayward’s heart.... Helen was humming a song that her husband had heard of old. Her voice, though somewhat weak, had its old joyous ring. Hayward could easily imagine she was coming tripping down to the stable for her horse to take a morning canter. When she finished the song and was silent, he noted for the first time that the grated door to her cell was locked and its rungs and pickets were heavily padded. He resented that, and turned upon the physician to protest, but was held by the doctor’s signal for silence. He obeyed, but his resentment grew as Helen’s words came again in gentle accents to them. She was moving slowly about, and was evidently arranging some flowers—to judge by the things she was saying to them. It was very kind of the doctor, her husband thought, to let her have her flowers—she was always so fond of them.... In half a minute she was singing a lullaby that she had sung to their baby. Hayward could hardly contain himself. And when he heard her walk across the room,—to a window, it seemed,—and say, in a tone so expressive of longing: "If Hayward would only come and take me out to-day! It is such a beautiful day outside," he snatched his arm free of the doctor’s hand and called to her as he sprang in front of the door.