The nurse turned off the light and the room was again in a half obscurity, the deep, steady voice of the rain coming in through the open windows, the sweet summer-night smells mingling with the acrid odor of chemicals, Lydia lying straight and stark under the sheet--but now her eyes were open, shining, fixed on Rankin. Their light was the last he saw as he closed the door behind him. After a time the doctor came out and joined Rankin waiting at the head of the stairs. He looked very old and tired, but the ghastly expression of strain was replaced with a flickering restlessness. He came up to Rankin, blinking rapidly, and touched him on the arm. "Look here!" he whispered. "Her pulse has gone down from a hundred and fifty to a hundred and thirty." He sat down on the top step, clasped his hands about his knees, and leaned his white head against the balustrade. He looked like some small, weary, excited old child. "Lord, Rankin! Sit down when you get a chance!" he whispered. "If you'd been through what I have! And you needn't try to get me to add another word to what I've just told you. I don't dare! It may mean nothing, you know. It may very likely mean nothing. Good Heavens! The mental sensitiveness of women at this time! It's beyond belief. I never get used to the miracle of it. Everything turns on it--everything! If the pulse should go down ten more now, I should--Oh, Heaven bless that crazy Celt for getting you here! Good Lord! If you hadn't come when you did! I don't see what could have become of the messenger I sent--why, hours ago--I knew that nothing could go right if you weren't--is that the door?" He sprang up and sank back again--"I told the nurse to report as soon as there was any change--I was afraid if I stayed in the room she would feel the twitching of my damned nerves--yes, really--it's so--she's in a state when a feather's weight--suppose 'Stashie hadn't brought you! I couldn't have kept Madeleine off much longer--God! if _Madeleine_ had gone into that room, I--Lydia--but nobody told 'Stashie to go! It must have been an inspiration. I thought of course my messenger--I was expecting you every instant. She's been crouching out here in the hall all night, not venturing even to ask a question, until I caught sight of her eyes--she loves Lydia too! I told her then the baby had come and that her mistress had no chance unless you were here. She must have--when did she--" Rankin gave a sound like a sob, and leaned against the wall. He had not stirred before since the doctor's first words. "You don't mean there's _hope_?" he whispered, "any hope at all?" The doctor sprang at him and clapped his hand over his mouth. "I didn't say it! I didn't say it!"