"Well! And you're ill? What is the matter? Ah! Last night--it was your--your father--I heard?" "Yes," she answered. "I've not been well since--for a long time, and I gave out last night." "Here I am talking when I might be of some use," said Lane, and he hurried out of the room. The landlady had discreetly retired to the other end of the hall. He thrust some money into her hands. "She seems pretty sick. Do all you can for her, be kind to her. I'll pay. I'm going for a doctor." He telephoned for Doctor Bronson. An hour later Lane, coming upstairs from his meal, met the physician at Rose's door. He looked strangely at Lane and shook his head. "Daren, how is it I find you here in this place?" "Beggars can't be choosers," answered Lane, with his old frank smile. "Humph!" exclaimed the doctor, gruffly. "How about the girl?" asked Lane. "She's in bad shape," replied Bronson.... "Lane, are you aware of her condition?" "Why, she's ill--that's all I know," replied Lane, slowly. "Rose didn't tell me what ailed her. I just found out she was here." Doctor Bronson looked at Lane. "Too bad you didn't find out sooner. I'll call again to-day and see her.... And say, Daren, you look all in yourself." "Never mind me, Doctor. It's mighty good of you to look after Rose. I know you've more patients than you can take care of. Rose has nothing and her father's a poor devil. But I'll pay you." "Never mind about money," rejoined Bronson, turning to go. Lane could learn little from Rose. Questions seemed to make her shrink, so Lane refrained from them and tried to cheer her. The landlady had taken a sudden liking to Lane which evinced itself in her change of attitude toward Rose, and she was communicative. She informed Lane that the girl had been there about two months; that her father had made her work till she dropped. Old Clymer had often brought men to the hotel to drink and gamble, and to the girl's credit she had avoided them. For several days Doctor Bronson came twice daily to see Rose. He made little comment upon her condition, except to state that she had developed peritonitis, and he was not hopeful. Soon Rose took a turn for the worse. The doctor came to Lane's room and told him the girl would not have the strength to go through with her ordeal. Lane was so shocked he could not speak. Dr. Bronson's shoulders sagged a little, an unusual thing for him. "I'm sorry, Daren," he said. "I know you wanted to help the poor girl out of this. But too late. I can ease her pain, and that's all."