Gano felt more and more that whatever had been their relation in the past, Mary Burne was absorbed now, not by Driscoll, but by Driscoll's illness and dire need of her ministry. If she had not exactly encouraged, she certainly had not repelled, Gano's growing devotion. Her demeanor was perfect, he said to himself. How could she give her new lover a sign by the death-bed of the man who had adored her for years, who had befriended her, and who was in such need himself of befriending? Gano schooled himself to keep the growing assurance and victory out of his face and manner. He would follow Mary's lead, and when in the gray unpromising life of the sick-room they found some dumb way of communicating, some unasked aid to give, some slight unnoticed contact in the common service rendered, Gano would school his thrilling nerves to keep the secret of his gladness as calmly as Mary Burne kept hers. As he grew worse, Driscoll grew more exacting, and more variable in temper. He had less and less compassion on his friends, and demanded Herculean labors of wakefulness--watching, reading aloud, etc. No invalid had ever a more comfortable confidence in the boundless strength and amiability of those who are well. Gano tried with scant success to save Mary from bearing the brunt of the sick man's exactions. He hurried up-stairs to relieve the watch a little earlier than usual one evening. "Once more I _appeal_ to you," he heard Driscoll saying, with raised voice, before the door was opened. The turning of the knob had either drowned or prevented the reply. Driscoll lay breathing heavily, and Mary, with impassive face, was drawing on her gloves. She looked up and nodded to Gano. "Good-bye," she said, after a moment. But on the threshold she stopped. "Dick," she said, without turning to face Driscoll, "I think I won't come to-morrow." "Yes, you will," he shouted. She turned and looked at him. "Good-bye," was all she said. "Damned selfish women are!" Driscoll growled as the sound of her steps died. "I shouldn't call her exactly a case in point," observed his friend. "Well, she is. She sees how hopeless this is, and how damnably I'm suffering, and she won't help me to get out of this cursed hole. _You_ won't either," he added, defiantly, and yet with a gleam of hope, almost lunatic in its cunning and its greed. "I won't what?" said Gano. "Get me some morphine, or fetch me a pistol, or light some charcoal." "Lord, no! You'll be better yet, old man." "Rot! and you know it; and so does she. But _she_ pretends to care, and yet she won't help me. Damned selfish--damned selfish!" He turned over in bed, and went on cursing under the bedclothes.