Noyes looked grave. “Mrs. Porter has had a trying year; anxiety for her son, Monday’s tragedy--” His gesture was eloquent. “Try and humor her as much as you can, Miss Deane; her frayed nerves won’t stand opposition.” He took an undecided step across the room. “Mr. Porter is so much improved that I will go and lie down. Call me at once should Mr. Porter awaken and any alarming symptoms appear.” “Very well, doctor.” Vera’s eyes strayed from his haggard face to his empty coat sleeve, and with difficulty she controlled all evidence of curiosity. Before he reached the door she again spoke to him: “Are you occupying your same room?” she asked. Noyes looked his impatience. “Yes, I am,” he said, and his manner was far from gracious. “Good night, Miss Deane.” “Good night, sir,” and Vera closed the hall door. Everything had been arranged in the sick room for the night, and Vera selected a chair farthest from the night light and near her patient, and prepared for a long vigil. But while she continued to gaze steadily at Craig Porter, every sense alive to catch his need of careful nursing, she could not center her thoughts on her patient. Slowly she reviewed the happenings of the day--her meeting with Beverly Thorne; his possession of the black-edged card. Was it mere chance, Fate or Fury which had entwined their paths? Could she place dependence upon Thorne? Her heart beat more swiftly and a vivid blush dyed her cheeks as recollection rose of the message his eyes conveyed as they stood together at Diamond Rock barely eight hours before. Pshaw! she was not impressionable, like Dorothy and Millicent--and experience had taught her something of man’s duplicity. Vera blinked violently, and leaned over to smooth out an infinitesimal wrinkle from the white sheet. Craig Porter had not awakened, and she forced thoughts of Beverly Thorne out of her mind and instead endeavored to recall her scene with Mrs. Porter in the library. As she remembered the expression in the older woman’s eyes when she had asked, “Who in this household would have a motive for killing Bruce Brainard?” Vera turned cold. Why had she not obliged Mrs. Porter to give a direct answer to her own question--at least she would have had her suspicions either confirmed or denied; any alternative would have been preferable to the intolerable suspense she was enduring. She passed a hand before her eyes, and her thoughts took a new trend. What had brought Alan Noyes back to the Porters’ when he-- The opening of the hall door abruptly terminated her troubled reflections, and she rose as Mrs. Porter entered the room. Without speaking Mrs. Porter tiptoed over to the bed and gazed long and earnestly at her son. “Is he really asleep?” she whispered. “Yes, Mrs. Porter. Won’t you take my chair?” placing it for her. Mrs. Porter seated herself, drawing Vera down to sit on the arm in order that she might speak confidentially and not raise her voice.