All through the forenoon Elizabeth kept out of the sickroom except when the medicine was due, and then got away as fast as she could, though it was not easy to do so, for Doctor Morgan had urged her to entertain the invalid and keep him cheered up, letting her see that he was more than usually worried. She meant to live up to her resolutions, but in the afternoon Hugh was so quiet that it seemed ominous and began to worry her. "Oh, Hugh! how can I do right if you take it this way?" she cried in despair, and would have stroked his hair if he had not shrunk from her hand. "Don't, Elizabeth. You have asked for help. I have to give it in my own way. I have done harm enough to your life. Make it as easy for me as you can, for I'm only a man and--well, I've promised to help you--_at any cost_. You've nothing to worry about. I'm no worse than I've been," he ended in a whisper, and closed his eyes, as was his way when he did not want to talk. The girl tiptoed out, and left him to his thoughts. Her own were anything but satisfactory. He was more wan and tragic than ever before, and Doctor Morgan had especially cautioned her. She worked in the kitchen most of the evening, keeping out of his presence, and so the long, hard, unsatisfactory day passed, was recorded in the annals of time, and forever gone from the opportunity to alter or change its record. Luther Hansen came in after dark. Elizabeth answered his knock. "Alone?" he asked in astonishment when he entered the sitting room. "Yes. Mr. Chamberlain wanted John to bring the men over and load hogs for him. It's been too hot to take them to town in the daytime. Hugh's asleep, I think," she said in a low tone. "I didn't take a light in, because he likes to be in the dark, but I spoke to him two or three times and he didn't answer. Are you in a hurry? I hate to waken him." Doctor Morgan came as they talked. He stopped to look Elizabeth over before going to the sickroom, and then took the lamp she handed him and, followed by Luther, left Elizabeth standing in the dining room. She heard the doctor's sharp order, "Take this light, Hansen," and ran to help. The horror, the anguish, the regret of that hour are best left untold. The number of disks gone from the bottle under the pillow gave the doctor his clue. One final effort must have been made by the desperate invalid to secure for himself the drink which would wash them down without the dreaded coughing spell. The old doctor, who loved them both, and Luther Hansen also, witnessed Elizabeth's despair, and listened to her story. As Luther had said a few weeks before, he was a safe person, and her secret remained a secret. Luther led her away into the night and sat silently by while her grief spent itself in tears; it was a necessary stage. When John and the men came, he led her back, and himself met them at the gate to explain.