To the German doctor she had not mentioned that Giles was not her child; indeed, she recalled speaking of him as "my little boy." As to names, no difficulty existed. She had grown into the way of calling them "Mop" and "Top," seldom by their true names, and she could soon teach Colin to know himself as "Giles." It was all too fatally facile. She did not look ahead, did not realise what the burden on her own conscience would be, but simply faced the present emergency, simply saw "wealth" and "poverty" thrown into the balance. For an hour she wavered, and on the doctor's return she had not consciously made up her mind. But she had been playing with evil possibilities, and when he asked in German whether the two were twins, she found herself claiming the sick boy as her own, talking of the other as "her charge." Terror then seized her. She had committed herself to a course of deceit, and no man could foretell whither it might lead. Yet, when the doctor called a third time, she made no sign, took no step to undo what she had done. All night the child seemed to be dying, but with morning there were tokens of a rally, and as hours passed this strengthened. The doctor would not believe himself mistaken, and still foretold a collapse, but he proved to be wrong. A young English doctor, Wallace by name, passing through the place, was called in to give a second opinion, and his was hopeful. He insisted upon a trained nurse, and telegraphed for one known to him. Mrs. Keith would have given much to avoid both doctor and nurse; but two or three English residents, hearing of a countrywoman in trouble, had called, and they arranged the whole, giving her no choice. Of course doctor, nurse, and new acquaintances all believed Giles to be Colin, Colin to be Giles. The lie once told had to be repeated, and would have to be repeated, times without number. At length the boy was pronounced out of danger, and Mrs. Keith found herself in a terrible position. It might be weeks before the little fellow could be moved. Moreover, soon after first arrival, she had written to Mr. Penrhyn, mentioning the severe illness of—not Giles but "Colin." She had woven a web around her own feet, and one way only of escape lay open, the way of confession. To a proud nature, like hers, confession of such a deed seemed to lie beyond possibility. She decided to wait, to see later what could be done. If the child grew well and strong, he must have his rights. In a few weeks she would get away from everybody, and would reverse her own work. Meanwhile, all she could do was to let things drift—a fatal policy!