Through interminable minutes Ronnie, holding the soap-basin, watched. At last the doctor said: "One more piece, Mrs. Cavendish, just one more piece. It'll do you good." His mother tried to shake her head in refusal, but Dr. Redbank insisted. "There, that will do." Somehow Julia's son knew her immediate danger over. For the first time he could hear her breathing. Faint, irregular breathing. "She's asleep, isn't she?" he whispered, looking down at the closed eyes. But at that, the eyes opened again. His mother seemed to be searching--searching for him about the darkness of the room. He bent over her, and it appeared to him that her pupils moved. "Is there anything you want, mater?" he asked, forgetful of the doctor's warning. The eyes turned in their sockets. Following their glance, Ronnie saw, beside the bed-lamp, a handkerchief--a stained handkerchief. Scarcely conscious of his action, he fumbled in the pocket of the overcoat he was still wearing, found his own handkerchief, dipped it in the soap-basin, and wiped the blood-clots from his mother's lips. Faintly, the lips murmured: "Smithers--want Smithers--want clean sheets." "_Please_ don't talk, Mrs. Cavendish," interrupted the doctor's voice. "You're all right now, mater." Ronnie grasped the situation. "Quite all right. _I_ know exactly what you want done. _I'll_ tell Smithers for you." "She'd like her maid," he whispered to the doctor. "She'd like clean pillow-cases." "Of course she would." The answer sounded loud, almost cheerful. "Of course, she'd like clean pillow-cases. But not for another half-hour, Mrs. Cavendish. I want you to rest. I must insist on your resting." Julia's eyes closed. "We shall have to have a hospital-nurse," whispered Dr. Redbank. "If you'll stay with her I'll go and telephone for one." He tiptoed from the room, leaving mother and son alone. For a long time, hours as it seemed, Ronnie stood watchful. His mother must be asleep--safe--out of pain. A great rush of gratitude, gratitude to some unknown deity, overwhelmed him. Quietly he drew a chair to the bedside. Quietly he sat down. But the faint noise disturbed the woman on the bed. Her eyelids fluttered; and she tried to speak--indistinctly, incoherently, choking on each word. "Ronnie,"--her first thoughts, as always, were for him--"did I--frighten--you?" "Mater," he implored, "please don't try and talk. If there's anything you want, just look at it, and I'll get it for you.'' "Ice," she choked, "more ice." Every movement of her lips frightened him, but he managed to keep fear out of his voice. "Good for you. I'll get it." He took the basin of ice from the bed-table, and fed it to her bit by bit, slowly, as Dr. Redbank had done.