The desultory conversation about the breakfast table ceased altogether with the departure into the pantry of Anna, the capable daughter of a neighboring farmer, whom Martha had secured to aid her in caring for the guests at Abbott's Lodge. She had often assisted Martha when Paul Abbott and his father had entertained parties in the hunting season and her familiarity with the household arrangements made her presence invaluable at the moment to the overworked housekeeper, whose duties had multiplied with the alarming illness of Mrs. Nash. Doctor Roberts and Alan Mason had eaten with relish Martha's buckwheat cakes and country sausage, but Alexander Nash scarcely tasted a mouthful of the appetizing breakfast, contenting himself with several cups of black coffee. "Must you return to Washington, Roberts?" he asked, pushing aside his plate. "Yes; I must be at Garfield by noon for an important operation." Roberts paused to light a cigar handed to him by Alan. "There is every reason to believe that Mrs. Nash will continue to improve." Nash looked moodily at the unused knife which he was balancing between his fingers. "Is there any country doctor in the neighborhood, Alan, whom we could call on in an emergency?" he asked. "I suppose so," Alan stopped to knock the ashes from his cigar into his coffee cup. "I'll get in touch with Trenholm and ask him." "Hold on," exclaimed Roberts, as Alan pushed back his chair, preparatory to rising. "I don't know, Nash, how competent the country doctors are, but you can safely trust Miss Ward should another crisis arise." "The nurse?" The question was put by Nash with raised eyebrows, and Roberts frowned. He did not relish the clergyman's tone. "The nurse," he repeated, with dry emphasis. "But for her keeping her wits about her Mrs. Nash would have died yesterday afternoon, before I could get to her." "What was the cause of my wife's critical condition?" asked Nash. "You have never told me." "Heart collapse," tersely. "Miss Ward's prompt use of camphorated oil, administered hypodermically, brought her around, however, and her clever nursing has aided materially in her recovery from the attack. Come, Nash, don't be so downhearted; you can place every confidence in Miss Ward." Nash laid down his napkin. "I'll be more easy in my mind if you will return," he admitted. "Miss Ward is undoubtedly clever, but, at that, only a nurse--" "A damned fine looking one!" ejaculated Alan, emerging from behind a screen of tobacco smoke. "Come, Nash, why have you taken such a prejudice against her?" Nash glanced angrily at the younger man, but refrained from a direct answer. "Suppose we drop the discussion," he said. "I will be greatly obliged, Roberts, if you will promise to get back later to-day."