He seized the receiver and could hear no voice. Apparently some one was fumbling at the other end and he felt the impression of a woman's sleeve or dress brushing the instrument. "Well, well," he cried in quick, impatient tones, "what is it? What's the matter?" "Is that you?" came the faint echo of a woman's voice. "Who is this, please?" "Jim, don't you know my voice! It's Nan!" "I didn't recognize it. You spoke so queerly. What is it, Nan?" "For heaven's sake come at once. Cal was taken dangerously ill at two o'clock. The doctors have been with him every moment. He doesn't get any better. He keeps calling for you. He insisted on my telephoning. I'm frightened. I want to see you. Please come?" "At once, of course, I'll be there in half an hour--three quarters at the most." "Thank you," she gasped, and hung up her receiver. Stuart's cab whirled up town through rivers of humanity pouring down to begin again the round of another day. At Fourteenth, Forty-second, Fifty-ninth, Sixty-sixth and Seventy-second the crash and roar of the subterraneous rivers caught his ear as the black torrents of men and women swirled and eddied and poured into the depths below. In all the hurrying thousands not one knew or cared a straw whether the man of millions in his silent palace on the Drive lived or died. To-morrow morning it would be the same, no matter what his fate, and the next day and the next. "A strange old world!" he mused as his cab swung into the Drive and dashed up to the great house. A liveried servant opened the iron gates wide. He was evidently expected. The chauffeur threw the little cab up the steep turn with a rush. He sprang out and entered the hall with quick silent tread. The house was evidently in hopeless confusion. Servants wandered in every direction without order. Doctor after doctor passed in and out and the sickening odour of medicines filled the air. A group of newspaper reporters stood at the foot of the grand stairway, discussing in subdued whispers his chances of life and the probable effect of his death on the market. The last barrier was down and through the confusion and panic Stuart could feel the chill of the silently approaching presence. Slowly, remorselessly, the white messenger of Eternity was drawing near. Nan stood shivering at the head of the stairs, pale, dishevelled, her dark eyes wide and staring with a new expression of terror in their depths. "How is he, Nan?" She stared at him a moment without seeming to understand until Stuart repeated his question. "Worse," she stammered through chattering teeth. "The doctors say he can't possibly live. He has been calling for me for the last hour. I--can't--go!" "Why?" "I'm afraid!" He took her hand. It was cold and he felt a tremour run through her body at his touch. "Come, come, Nan, you're not a silly child, but a woman who has passed through scenes in life that held tragedies darker than death!"