Results had justified her. During the attack of brain fever which followed, it had required all the skill of doctors and nurses to hold Nan back from the gates of death. The fever burnt up her strength like a fire, and at first it had seemed as though nothing could check the delirium. All the strain and misery of the last few months poured itself out in terrified imaginings. Wildly she besought those who watched beside her to keep Roger away from her, and when the fear of Roger was not present, the whole burden of her speech had been a pitiful, incessant crying out for Peter--Peter! Nothing would soothe her, and at last, in desperation, Kitty had gone to Mallory and begged him to come. His first impulse had been to refuse, not realising the danger of Nan's illness. Then, when it was made clear to him that her sole chance of life lay in his hands, he had stifled his own feelings and consented at once. But when he came Nan did not even recognise him. Instead, she gazed at him with dry, feverishly brilliant eyes and plucked at his coat-sleeve with restless fingers. "Oh, you _look_ kind!" she had exclaimed piteously. "Will you bring Peter back to me? Nobody here"--she indicated Kitty and one of the nurses standing a little apart--"nobody here will let him come to me. . . . I'm sure he'd come if he knew how much I wanted him!" Mallory had been rather wonderful with her. "I'm sure he would," he said gently, though his heart was wrung at the sight of her flushed face and bright, unrecognising eyes. "Now will you try to rest a little before I fetch him? See, I'll put my arm round you--so, and if you'll go to sleep I'll send for him. He'll be here when you wake." He had gathered her into his arms as he spoke, and his very touch seemed to soothe and quiet her. "You're . . . rather like . . . Peter," she said, staring at him with a troubled frown on her face. Holding that burningly bright gaze with his own steady one, he answered quietly: "I _am_ Peter. They said you wanted me, so of course I came. You knew I would." "Peter? Peter?" she whispered. Then, shaking her head: "No. You can't be Peter. He's dead, I think. . . . I know he went away somewhere--right away from me." Mallory's arms closed firmly round her and she yielded passively to his embrace. Perhaps behind the distraught and weary mind which could not recognise him, the soul that loved him felt his presence and was vaguely comforted. She lay very still for some time, and presently one of the nurses, leaning over her, signed to Peter that she was asleep. "Don't move," she urged in a low voice. "This sleep may be the saving of her." So, hour after hour, Peter had knelt there, hardly daring to change his position in the slightest, with Nan's head lying against his shoulder, and her hand in his. Now and again one of the nurses fed him with milk and brandy, and after a time the intolerable torture of his cramped arms and legs dulled into a deadly numbness.