"How is she now, doctor?" I whispered, disregarding the command. "Up and down, up and down. She is making a brave fight of it, poor lassie, but we can do little at present except stand by and give relief when the bad fits come." "May I go in and see her?" "No, no! You could do no good, and she might be frightened if she caught sight of a large dim figure in the dark. Leave it to the women, and thank God for them. Hark!" Phillis was back in Elysium again. "Who's been eating my porridge?" said a gruff little voice. Then came a rapturous shriek. Evidently the Little Bear had caught Curly Locks in his bed. We sat listening, while the game ended and another followed in its place. Suddenly she began to sing again-- "Then three times round went that gallant ship, And three times round went she; Then three times round went that gallant ship, And--sank--to the--bottom of the sea--ea--ee--" There was a little wailing _rallentando_, and silence. "Philly, Philly, _don't_!" It was the only time that night that Kitty gave any sign of breaking down. The doctor hurried back into the room. The clock struck five. * * * * * After that there was a very long silence. It must have lasted nearly an hour. Then Dolly tiptoed out to us. "She's asleep," she whispered. "He says she's a shade better. I want another coal-packet." She took what Robin gave her, and faded away. After that I think we dozed in our chairs. The next thing I remember was a knock at the outer door. I opened my heavy eyes and stirred my stiff joints. The Boots put his head in, and I realised it was daylight. "Half-past eight, sir. Mr Cash is waiting downstairs. Poll's been open half an hour, he says." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. TWO BATTLES. Before I left the hotel I struck a bargain with Cash. I would go anywhere and do anything, but he was to give me a written itinerary of my movements for the day, clearly stating where I should be at various times. This document I left in the hands of Dolly, who promised faithfully to send for me, if--if necessary. Then, putting my paternal instincts into my pocket, I braced myself up and plunged into the vortex of polling-day. Truly, if Time is the healer, Work is the anesthetic. In the turmoil of the crowded streets and polling-booths, I found myself almost as enthusiastic and whole-hearted as if no little girl of mine were fighting for life in a darkened room not many streets away. I shook hands with countless folk, I addressed meetings of the unwashed at street corners, and received the plaudits or execrations of the multitude with equal serenity.