“All right, darling, Mother is going to stay with you,” and she took the little one in her arms, adding, “Now we are all right, aren't we.” Kathleen ran downstairs, turned up the light in the living room and passed quietly into the bedroom. “Sorry to trouble you, Sybil, but there's something wrong with this infernal bandage.” Kathleen went and brought in the lamp. “Your sister cannot leave Doris, Mr. Romayne,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I can be of use.” For a few moments the sick man gazed at her as at a vision. “Is this another of them?” he said wearily. “I have been having hallucinations of various sorts for the last two days, but you do look real. It is you, Kathleen, isn't it?” “Really me, Mr. Romayne,” said the girl cheerfully. “Let me look at your arm.” “Oh, hang it, say 'Jack,' won't you, and be decent to a fellow. My God, I have wanted you for these ten days. Why didn't you come to me? What did I do? I hurt you somehow, but you know I wouldn't willingly. Why have you stayed away from me?” He raised himself upon his elbow, his voice was high, thin, weak, his eyes glittering, his cheeks ghastly with the high lights of fever upon them. Shocked, startled and filled with a poignant mothering pity, Kathleen struggled with a longing to take him in her arms and comfort him as the mother was the little wailing child upstairs. “Excuse me just a moment,” she cried, and ran out into the living room and then outside the door and stood for a moment in the dark, drawing deep breaths and struggling to get control of the pity and of the joy that surged through her heart. “Oh, God,” she cried, lifting her hands high above her head in appeal, “help me to be strong and steady. He needs me and he wants me too.” From the darkness in answer to her appeal there came a sudden quietness of nerve and a sense of strength and fitness for her work. Quickly she entered the house and went again to the sick room. “Thank God,” cried Jack. “I thought I was fooled again. You won't go away, Kathleen, for a little while, will you? I feel just like a kiddie in the dark, do you know? Like a fool rather. You won't go again?” He raised himself upon his arm, the weak voice raised to a pitiful appeal. It took all her own fortitude to keep her own voice steady. “No, Jack, I am going to stay. I am your nurse, you know, and I am your boss too. You must do just as I say. Remember that. You must behave yourself as a sick man should.” He sank back quietly upon the pillow. “Thank God. Anything under heaven I promise if only you stay, Kathleen. You will stay, won't you?” “Didn't you hear me promise?” “Yes, yes,” he said, a great relief in his tired face. “All right, I am good. But you have made me suffer, Kathleen.” “Now, then, no talk,” said Kathleen. “We will look at that arm.”