"And I don't want you, Don. Understand?" he said, firmly. "You can't be of any assistance, and you'd much better stay where you are. I'll 'phone you the instant I want you, but it won't be until five o'clock, anyway. I promise to let you know then, or soon after. And, Don," he concluded, with a queer note in his voice, "there is hope, boy. More than hope for you, I firmly believe. Be patient--and trust me." In a whirlwind of anxiety and emotion Donald spent that afternoon, pacing back and forth, back and forth, the length of the great house. Listening for the telephone's insistent ring, wondering, hoping, doubting, and hoping again. At last he felt that he could bear the period of enforced inaction no longer. He would go up to the sanitarium, he decided, and spend that last, agonizing half hour before five o'clock on the spot. There could be no harm, he argued, in waiting downstairs in the reception room. And if there was news--good news---- He summoned a cab in haste, and drove rapidly to the sanitarium, which was on West Seventy-sixth Street. An extraordinarily neat maid answered his ring. "Doctor Stevens is in the house somewhere," she told him, "with one of the patients upstairs. I don't think he can be disturbed just now," apologetically. "No, no," said Donald, quickly. "I wouldn't bother him on any account. I'll just wait here, in the reception room, if I may, till he comes down." Accordingly, he passed into the pleasantly furnished room, to the right of the hall--and waited--waited with every tautened nerve stretched, it seemed, to the breaking point. Though there were many books lying about, he could not read, he could not even remain seated for more than a moment at a time. Restlessly, he paced about, touching various things on the mantelpiece and table, not knowing why he picked them up, or noticing when he put them down. And all the while he was listening--listening for he knew not what. The big, broad, sunny house was very still. Once or twice a soft footfall on one of the floors above brought his heart into his mouth, but the sound passed away into silence, and no one went up or down the stairs. Again, for the twentieth time, he looked at his watch--five minutes of five--and John had promised---- Suddenly he heard a slight commotion at the top of the house, and he turned swiftly toward the door, his clenched hands pressed tightly together. Mary was on that floor he knew, and he took a step forward. Now he could faintly hear voices, several voices, speaking very low, and once he imagined he heard a woman's sob--then steps upon the stairs. He waited, breathless, keeping himself in hand with an iron grip, making no sound.