Two hours went by; the lines in Dr. Parkman's face were deepening. They worked on unfalteringly--hypodermics, heat, rubbing, oxygen, all those things with which man seeks to deceive himself, and for which the foe, with the tolerance of power, is willing to wait. But their faces were changing. The call of the outgoing tide, that tide over which human determination has not learned to prevail, was coming close. They worked on, for they were trained to work on, even through the sense of their own futility. Looking about her Ernestine saw it all, and held him with a passionate protectiveness. If all else failed, her arms--arms to which he had ever come for help and consolation--could surely hold him! The cold fear crept farther and farther into her heart, and as it crept on her arms about him tightened. Not while she held him like this! Oh not while she held him like this! And then a frenzy possessed her. That she should sit here powerless--weeping--despairing, surrendering, while Karl slipped from her! She must do something--say something--something to hold him firm--call him back--make him understand that he must fight! Suddenly a light broke over her face. She looked at Dr. Parkman, who was bending over Karl. "I will tell him," she whispered--"what I did--the secret--about the work." He hesitated; medically his judgment was against it; and then, white to the lips with the horror of the admission he faced the fact that this had passed beyond things medical. Let her try where he had failed. Through a rush of uncontrollable tears he nodded yes. And she did tell him,--in words which were not sentences, with sharp flashes of thought--such flashes as alone could penetrate the semi-consciousness into which she must reach; after a moment of pause in which to gather herself together for the great battle of her life, with concentration, illumination, with a piercing eloquence which brought hot tears to every cheek, and deep, deep prayers to hearts which would have said they did not know how to pray--a woman fighting for the man she loved, human love at its whitest heat pitted against destiny--she told him. "Karl," at the last--"you _understand?_--That's the great secret!--_That's_ the great picture! I've not painted one stroke this winter! I've been working for _you_--working in your laboratory every day--studying day and night--getting ready to be your eyes--going to give you back your work--oh, Karl--_Karl_--won't you--" but the sobs could hold back no longer. She had reached him. He took it in, just a little at first, but comprehension was growing, and upon his face a great wondering, a softening.