“She is worse!” he said in a husky whisper. “Why didn't you tell me so?” but he did not wait for an answer. “Where is the child?” he demanded. “I carried him across the back lots to Mis' Gibbs a spell ago. I couldn't tend him and her, too, he was real fretful.” “I must go for the doctor,” said Stephen. “You needn't, Mr. Landray, Mis' Gibbs said she'd go to the saloon for him; I seen her lantern just a moment ago. You'd best have something to eat,” she urged. He turned away impatiently. “I'm not hungry. Have the doctor come up-stairs as soon as he gets here.” But when Arling arrived a few moments later, accompanied by Gibbs, and joined Stephen in the chamber above where he sat holding his wife's hand in both his own, he merely shook his head. It was as he had expected, only the end had been longer deferred than he had thought possible. He stole from the room and rejoined Gibbs in the kitchen. “You tell him, Gibbs—I can't,” he said. Gibbs rubbed his straggling unkempt beard with a tremulous hand. “Maybe he don't need to be told,” he suggested. “But if you think he should be, I'll do it;” and he stood erect, with something of his old air. He mounted the creaking stairs. Stephen must have heard him coming, for he opened the door and stepped out into the narrow hall, that was barely large enough to hold the two men and the small stand, where Mrs. Bassett had placed a smoky lamp with a dirty chimney. “Where's the doctor—why don't he come back?” Landray demanded in a fierce whisper. “Is the drunken fool going to do nothing?” “Steve,” began the general, with white shaking lips, “Steve, bear up, Arling says there ain't anything he can do.” Stephen looked at him, scarce comprehending what it was he said. “He don't know what he's talking about—the fool's drunk!” he said roughly. “I reckon he is,” lamented Gibbs weakly. “I'd'a had him under the pump if there'd been time, but my Julia said for him to hurry, and I closed up and brought him along just as he was, he wasn't fit to come by himself.” “Send him up here again,” said Stephen with stern insistence. “There is something he can do—my God—” and he broke off abruptly and re-entered his wife's room. “Come!” said Gibbs, when he had returned to the kitchen. “Come, stir around!” he ordered, laying a hand on Arling's shoulder. “Come, there's something you can do, and you've got to do it.” He was in a panic of haste. He snatched up his dingy medicine case and thrust it into Arling's shaking hands. “He's waiting for you, go up and do what you can.” “Haven't you told him, Gibbs? She is dying, all he's got to do is to look at her to see that.” “You're the one to tell him then—poor Steve—you go to him. I must go fetch my Julia and the baby;” and he stumbled out into the darkness with neither hat nor lantern, and fled across the back lots toward the light that burned in his own window.