Mostyn left the room and groped his way down to the telephone in the lower hall. A new fear had clutched him, a fear so compelling that all else was forgotten. A chill of grim, accusing horror was on him. His brain was in a whirl as he tried to recall the desired number. Did Providence, Fate, or whatever the ruling force was, intend this as his crowning punishment? Had the impalpable hand, reaching for him, descended on his offspring? He finally got the doctor's servant on the 'phone, then Dr. Loyd himself, who had just arrived in his automobile. "Have you taken his temperature?" was the doctor's first question. "No, we haven't a thermometer, and do not know how to use one, anyway." "Well, I'll be out immediately," was the brusque answer. "I must see him to-night--don't exactly like the symptoms. I saw him in driving past your home the other day, and did not quite like his looks." Mostyn dragged himself up the stairs. Passing Mitchell's room, he half paused at the door. Should he wake him and explain the situation? He decided against it. The child's condition would only loosen the man's pent-up wrath in the presence of the physician and perhaps delay the examination. He went back to the nursery, and, lifting Dick in his arms, he bore him into his own room, which was cooler. He dampened a towel in ice-water, folded it, and laid it on the flushed brow. "That feels nice, Daddy," Dick smiled, grimly, "but it hurts here," putting his hand gingerly on his side. A few minutes later the doctor's car was heard on the drive. Mostyn descended to meet him. They shook hands formally, and Mostyn led him up the stairs to the patient. The doctor was past middle age, iron-gray, full-whiskered, and stockily built. He took the child's temperature, and looked grave as he glanced at the thermometer under the drop-light, and washed it in a glass of water. "One-hundred and five!" he said, crisply. "Big risks have been taken, Mostyn. I only hope my fears are groundless." "Your fears?" But the doctor seemed not to hear. He raised the child's thin night-shirt and passed his fingers gently over the abdomen. "Tell me where that pain is, Dick," he said, softly. "Where does it hurt most when I press down?" "There! there!" Dick cried out in sudden agony. "I see. That will do. I sha'n't hurt you again." He drew the shirt down and moved back toward the lamp. "I'm sure you will give him--something to reduce that fever." Mostyn knew that the remark was a mere tentative foil against the verdict stamped upon the bearded face. The doctor slowly wiped the tiny tube and restored it to its case. "I must be frank," he said, in a low tone. "My opinion is that he must be operated on at once--without delay--early in the morning at the very latest." "Why--why--surely--" Mostyn began, but went no further. The objects in the room seemed to swim about him. He and the doctor were buoys floating face to face.