She came out and stood in the doorway, shading a flickering candle with her hand. The delicate face and slender figure were sharply silhouetted on Paul Vespan's fading consciousness. If he had meant to live, here was a woman worth living for. But he had done with possibilities. She went up to him and looked bravely into his white face. "You are very ill," she said, gently. "I shall be better soon." Madge's quick eyes travelled down to his shaking hand. It had closed like a vice over some hidden treasure; but not before his good angel had seen it. Her own face paled as she bent above him. "Give me that bottle," she said, quietly. But, as the dark blue phial with its orange label slipped from Paul Vespan's nerveless fingers to hers, the little upholsteress burst into tears. "Don't cry," said the man, hoarsely. "I am not worth it." "You never meant it. No, my poor boy, no. You were unhappy--tired. It was all a mistake." He fell back, gasping, against the wall. "You had no right----" "It would have been easier than--did you ever see anyone die of--starvation----?" "You are not----" "Yes, I am." "Let me get you something." "Anything--I am so hungry." What should she do? She had spent her daily shilling. But to-morrow she would be sure of a dinner: to-morrow's pittance should go to this starving man. Her poet was starving! That awful cry, going up hourly from the heart of the Great City, had never come home to Madge Barberry before. True, the horror had sometimes seemed imminent in her own life, but her brave hands, made desperate by love, had always kept it at bay. For the sake of her dead mother, who had been spared this martyrdom, she must save Paul Vespan. Quick as thought, she ran downstairs and knocked at the kitchen door. Mrs. Xerxes came out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Deary me, Miss Barberry, whatever's the matter?" "Will you come upstairs, Mrs. Xerxes? Mr. Vespan has fainted outside his door. He looks very ill. Perhaps he's hungry. Would you take this and buy what he wants until--until he gets better?" "I always said you were the lady born, Miss Barberry," observed Mrs. Xerxes, looking down at the silver coin which Madge had pressed into her grimy hand; "but I don't know that I ought to take this from you. What would Mr. Vespan say?" "Please, please don't tell him," cried poor Madge, in an agony of apprehension. "Let him think it's you." III. Madge went to her work next morning at nine, after a sleepless night. Mrs. Xerxes stopped her on the stairs to whisper that Mr. Vespan was much better. He had begged her to say to Miss Barberry that he hoped he had not frightened her, and to thank her for her kindness. "Mrs. Xerxes! You never told him?" "Bless you, my dear; he meant his fainting. I was mum about the money." Madge nodded, much relieved, and resumed her way.