“Silly boy,” she replied. “The bills have got to be paid; a nice muddle you would be in if you had them to do yourself. But, dearest--” her face grew suddenly grave and she took his hand--“listen. I _have_ written you something--it's there--” her fingers touched an elastic bound pile of papers. “I'm perfectly well, but if anything _should_ happen, I want my sister to have the baby. Because I think, dear--” she stroked his hand with a look of compassionate understanding--“that without me you would not want it very much. Miss Mason would take it to England for you, and you could make my sister an allowance. I've left you her address, and all that I can think of to suggest.” He gazed at her dumbly. Her face glowed with life and beauty, her voice was sweet and steady. There she sat, utterly mistress of herself, in the shadow of life and death. Was it that her imagination was transcendent, or that she had none? He did not know, he did not understand her, but in that moment he could have said his prayers at her feet. The nurse entered. “Now, Mr. Byrd, I think if you could go to the end of the lane and be looking out for the doctor? Mrs. Byrd ought to have her bath.” Stefan departed. In a dream he walked to the lane's end and waited there. He was thinking of Mary, perhaps for the first time, not as a beautiful object of love and inspiration, nor as his companion, but as a woman. What was this calm strength, this certitude of hers? Why did her every word and act seem to move straight forward, while his wheeled and circled? What was it that Mary had that he had not? Of what was her inmost fiber made? It came to him that for all their loving passages his wife was a stranger to him, and a stranger whom he had never sought to know. He felt ashamed. It was about eleven o'clock when the distance was pricked by two points of light, which, gradually expanding, proved to be the head-lamps of the doctor's car. She stopped at his hail and he climbed beside her. “I'm glad you came, though I think I know the turning,” said Dr. Hillyard cheerfully. “How long will it be, doctor?” he asked nervously. “Feeling jumpy?” she replied. “Better let me give you a bromide, and try for a little sleep. Don't you worry--unless we have complications it will be over before morning.” “Before _morning_!” he groaned. “Doctor, you won't let her suffer--you will give her something?” He was again reassured. “Certainly. But she has a magnificent physique, with muscles which have never been allowed to soften through tight clothing or lack of exercise. I expect an easy case. Here we are, I think.” The swift little car stopped accurately at the gate, and the doctor, shutting off her power, was out in a moment, bag in hand. The nurse met them in the hall.