"Keep her as quiet as possible. I shall return about ten. The nurse has my instructions. Great lack of vitality is indicated. Needless to say, there is no question of her nursing the child. You are a strong, sensible woman, Mrs. Yellam, and able to hide any anxiety you may feel from the patient." The poor heart, just beginning to thaw, felt an icy hand closing about it. "I know how to behave," she muttered. "I must prepare you for a possible change--not for the better." "Yes." She spoke so calmly, that the doctor glanced at her keenly. Was she indifferent? It might be so. Relations, as he well knew, were often strained between elderly women of strong character and their sons' wives. He knew that Alfred had been reported missing. The monthly nurse might be regarded as a professional, like himself, willing and able to do her duty. More than this might be required. He reflected swiftly that he must make the situation even plainer to this somewhat hard-faced, hard-eyed woman. "She might sink from anæmia, Mrs. Yellam." "I understand, sir." He slipped on his heavy coat, picked up hat and gloves and turned to leave the room. His motor was gently purring outside. Mrs. Yellam prided herself upon her manners. But she never moved to open the door, till the doctor had his hand upon it. "Sir----?" "Yes?" She approached him. Her face remained calm, but he saw that her strong, capable hands were twitching. Her voice, too, quavered a little. "She be very dear to me, so dear that I be ready to fight for her life harder than I would for my own. That's all." The doctor, ashamed of too hasty conclusions, took both her hands in his. "That is much," he said gravely; "and it may make all the difference. Good-night, Mrs. Yellam." "Good-morning, sir," she admonished him. Left alone, she sat down, palsied by despair. And this was Christmas Day! Upon the table, near the window, the big Bible caught her eye. She stared at it, thinking of the page upon which, soon, she might be called upon to make three entries--two deaths and one birth. Heavy antimacassars embellished the horsehair-covered sofa and the armchairs. Mrs. Yellam rose up, snatched three antimacassars from their abiding-place and covered the Bible with them. Then she sat down again, looking about her, glaring at the familiar objects, so eloquent of the past. Upon each side of a large mirror, with its gilt frame protected by muslin from flies that had never dared to enter the room, hung two enlarged photographs of herself and her husband, taken some five-and-twenty years ago. They seemed to stare unblushingly and aggressively at her, as if they were rude strangers overbrimming with self-importance, smug with prosperity. "Fools," said Mrs. Yellam, scornfully. She looked at the other photographs, each in turn, portraits of the children who lay in the churchyard. "You be the lucky ones," she said, in the same derisive tone.