"Here--here, this way!" she gasped, and saw vaguely outlined a woman's terrified face in front of her while the sound of a heavy tread coming down the staircase echoed in her ears. "Mr. Abbott--I--" Voice and strength failed her simultaneously, and before any one could reach her she lay in a crumpled heap on the landing, unconscious of the loud ringing of the gong over the front door. It was approaching noon when a timid knock at her bedroom door brought Miriam Ward into the corridor and face to face with the caretaker's wife. "If you please, Miss, the doctor says do you feel better?" The question came in a gasp, characteristic of Martha Corbin. A gray ghost of a woman, timid to the verge of cowardice, she seldom spoke unless addressed. "Much better," replied the trained nurse. "Where is Doctor Roberts?" "In there," with a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder. "He wants to see ye." "Very well." Miriam Ward closed her bedroom door with a firm hand. She had regained some hold upon her composure as her attacks of nausea ceased and the throbbing in her head lessened. Doctor Roberts had left her two hours before with the admonition to remain in bed until he saw her again, but her anxiety of mind had prevented her following his directions. She paused involuntarily outside of Paul Abbott's bedroom, then, gathering courage, she stepped inside. Doctor Roberts turned at the sound of her approach and put down the telephone instrument. "So you are up," he said gruffly. "Well, how are you? Feeling stronger?" "Yes; thank you, Doctor." In spite of her determined effort to keep her voice expressionless, Miriam was conscious that it was not quite steady. "I--oh, Doctor, I don't know what to say." Her pent-up emotion was gaining the upper hand. "How to tell you--" "What?" as she paused. "That--that--I slept on duty." Doctor Roberts eyed her steadily for what seemed an interminable minute. "So that was it," he remarked dryly. "Well, what then?" The nurse's pallor was intensified, but her eyes did not falter in their direct gaze. "I was asleep when Mr. Abbott died," she admitted, her hands clenching themselves in the pockets of her uniform. Doctor Roberts' stare grew prolonged. "And this was your first case in Washington?" he asked, with marked emphasis. "Yes." Miriam Ward moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. "Hardly a successful début," commented Roberts. His glance strayed beyond the nurse to a man standing in the shadow of a window curtain. "Give Miss Ward a chair, Alan." Somewhat startled by the presence of a third person, Miriam accepted the proffered seat with relief; she was weaker than she had at first realized. "Miss Ward," continued Doctor Roberts, "this is Mr. Alan Mason, of the Washington _Post_. He arrived here in time to carry you to your bedroom and then summoned me." Miriam glanced upward and encountered the gaze of a pair of deep blue eyes fixed upon her in concern.