They leant over the banisters conferring, while Mary, in the arm-chair, remained trembling with suspense. The vista opened by Kincaid's words had shown her how tenaciously she still clung to life, how passionately she would clutch at a chance of prolonging it. Awhile ago her one prayer had been to die speedily; now, with a possibility of rescue dangled before her eyes, her prayer was only for the possibility to be fulfilled. Would he be satisfied, or would he send her away? Her fate swung on the decision. She did not marvel at the tenacity; it seemed to her so natural that she did not question it at all. Yet it is of all things the oddest--the love of living which the most life-worn preserve in their hearts. Every day they long for sleep, and daily the thought of death alarms them--terrifies their inconsistent souls, though few indeed believe there is a Hell, and everybody who is good enough to believe in Heaven believes also that he is good enough to go to it. "O God," she whispered, "make him take me! Forgive me what I did; don't let me suffer any more, God! You know how I loved him--how I loved him!" "Well," said Corri, on the landing, "and what are you going to do?" "I'm thinking," said Kincaid, "of letting my mother go to see her." "It's wildly philanthropic, isn't it?" "It looks wild, of course." He mused a moment. "But, after all, one knows where she comes from; her father was a professional man; she's a lady." "What was her father's name, again?" "Brettan--Anthony." "Ever heard it before?" "If there wasn't such a person, one can find it out in five minutes. Besides, my mother would have to decide for herself. I should tell her all about it, and if an interview left her content, why----" "Well," said Corri, "go back to the Bench and sum up! You'll find me on the bed. By the way, if you could hand my pipe out without offending the young lady, I should take it as a favour." "You've smoked enough. Wait! here's a last cigar; go and console yourself with that!" Kincaid returned to the room; but he was not prepared to sum up at the moment. Mary looked at him anxiously, striving to divine, by his expression, the result of the consultation on the stairs. The person consulted had been Mr. Corri, she concluded, the man that she had been sent to importune. Old or young? easy-going or morose? On which side had he cast the weight of his opinion--this man that she had never seen? "We were talking about the companion's place, Miss Brettan," began Kincaid. "Now, what do you say?" Instantly she glowed with gratitude towards the unknown personage, who, in reality, had done nothing. "Never should you regret it, Dr. Kincaid, never!" "Understand, I couldn't guarantee the engagement in any case," he said hastily. "The most I could do would be to mention the matter; the rest would depend on my mother's own feelings."