“Hello, Stefan dear,” said a small, rather high voice, which made him jump violently. Then he saw a face on the pillow, its eyes closed, and its nose and mouth covered with a wire cone. In a moment there came a gasp, the sheathed form drew tense, the nurse spilled a few drops from her can upon the cone, the growling recommenced and heightened to a crescendo. Stefan had an impression of tremendous physical life, but the human tone of the “Hello, Stefan,” was quite gone again. He was backing shakily out when the doctor called to him. “It will be born quite soon, now, Mr. Byrd,” her cheery voice promised. Trembling with relief, he stumbled downstairs. Farraday was standing rigid before the fireplace, his face quite expressionless. “She's having ether--I don't think she's suffering. The doctor says quite soon, now,” Stefan jerked out. “I'm thankful,” said Farraday, quietly. He stooped and picked up his fallen pipe, but it took him a long time to refill it--particles of tobacco kept showering to the rug from his fingers. Stefan, with a new cigarette, resumed his prowl. Midsummer dawn was breaking. The lamplight began to pale before the glimmer of the windows. A sleepy bird chirped, the room became mysterious. There had been rapid steps overhead for some moments, and now the two men became aware that the tiger-like sounds had quite ceased. The steps overhead quieted. Farraday put out the lamp, and the blue light flooded the room. A bird called loudly, and another answered it, high, repeatedly. The notes were right over their heads; they rose higher, insistent. They were not the notes of a bird. The nurse appeared at the door and looked at Stefan. “Your son is born,” she said. Instantly to both men it was as if eerie bonds, drawn over-taut, had snapped, releasing them again to the physical world about them. The high mystery was over; life was human and kindly once again. Farraday dropped into his chair and held a hand across his eyes. Stefan threw both arms round Miss McCullock's shoulders and hugged her like a child. “Oh, hurrah!” he cried, almost sobbing with relief. “Bless you, nurse. Is she all right?” “She's perfect--I've never seen finer condition. You can come up in a few minutes, the doctor says, and see her before she goes to sleep.” “There's nothing needed, nurse?” asked Farraday, rising. “Nothing at all, thank you.” “Then I'll be getting home, Byrd,” he said, offering his hand to Stefan. “My warmest congratulations. Let me know if there's anything I can do.” Stefan shook the proffered hand with a deeper liking than he had yet felt for this silent man. “I'm everlastingly grateful to you, Farraday, for helping me out, and Mary will be, too. I don't know how I could have stood it alone.”