"No--he relapsed almost instantly. It is impossible to tell now how seriously he is injured. He has bled profusely, from several superficial wounds, but we fear he has been hurt internally. He may also be suffering from concussion. We thought it best, Mrs. Lorraine, to advise you of his condition and that he asked for you," the voice went on, a trifle apologetically. "You did very right," she replied. "I'll come to the Hospital at once." She hung up the receiver and looked at Pendleton. "You heard?" "Everything." "What _could_ I do?" she demanded. "Nothing but what you did." "But I don't want to do it--I don't want to see him--I don't wish him to die, but----" "Never mind," he said tenderly. "You don't have to go--you are quite justified in not seeing him. And his condition is not dependent upon your presence or your absence. Do exactly as you choose, Stephanie." "But _if_ he should die! If he should die, having asked for me, and I having been told and then not hastening to him at once! As a fellow human--not as a wife--is it right that I should deny him what may be his last request?" "A request he has already forgotten in unconsciousness," Pendleton replied. "Under all the circumstances, your duty depends wholly upon your own desires--to go or not to go as you think best. You are not obligated to consider anything else. Hence I approved of your first determination to go to the Hospital; when you changed your mind and said you would not go, I approve of it also." "What do you _advise_ me to do?" she asked tremulously. "I should advise you to go," he said quietly. "And stay?" "That can be determined later." "And will you go with me?" "I'll go anywhere or do anything you want, dear," he replied. IX HOPELESSNESS AND THREATS Throwing a wrap over her evening gown, Stephanie hurried out and into Pendleton's car, which was standing at the curb. He sprang after, opened the throttle and they whirled away. "How long will it take to get to the Hospital?" she asked. "About fifteen minutes--if we are not held up by traffic when we come off the Boulevard." "I suppose I ought not to feel indifferent at such a time," she said presently. "But I do--and I won't hide that I do. I'll try to meet what the occasion demands but nothing more. If he still wants me, I'll go to him. If he is conscious and hasn't asked for me again, I'll come away. It will be a relief to come away. I have no longer any duty to him. At least I feel that I haven't--and so why pretend the one or do the other?" "Would you rather not go?" he asked, slowing down.