But now he saw Effie. Upstairs, in his mother’s room, as he watched, he saw Effie. Effie—the sweet face, and the sweet hands moving. He heard Effie’s voice in the rooms, Effie’s feet on the stairs. That was how it would be if Effie was his wife. That was how it would be if his mother died. He would have an income of his own, and a house of his own; he would be his own master in his house. If his mother died, Effie and he would sleep together. Perhaps in that bed, on those pillows. He shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands, pressing in on his eyelids as if that way he could keep out the sight of Effie. III That evening the doctor came again. He left a little before nine o’clock, the hour when Nurse Eden would begin her night watch. He refused to hold out any hope. She was sinking fast. As Hollyer turned from the front-door he met Nurse Eden coming downstairs. She signed to him to follow her into the drawing-room, moving before him without a sound. She shut the door. [Illustration] He was afraid of Nurse Eden; there was something—he didn’t know what it was, but—there was something unbearable in her small, pure face; in the thrust of her chin tilted by the stiff cap-strings; in her brave, slender mouth, straightening itself against the droop of its compassion; and in the stillness of her dense, grey eyes. Her eyes made him feel uneasy, somehow, and unsafe. He was going to sit up with her to-night; but he would rather have shared his night-watch with old Martha. “Well?” she said. “He says this is the end.” “It may be,” said Nurse Eden. “But it needn’t.” “You’ve seen her.” “Yes.” “_Well—?_” “She hasn’t gone yet, Mr. Hollyer— She’s on the edge. She’s in that state when a breath would tip her one way or the other.” “A breath?” “Yes, Mr. Hollyer. Or a thought.” “A thought?” “A thought. If I had Mrs. Hollyer to myself, I believe I could bring her round even now.” “Oh, Nurse—” “I _have_ brought her round. Night after night I’ve brought her.” “What do you do?” “I don’t know what I do. But it works. Haven’t you noticed she gets better in the night when I’ve had her; and that she slips back in the day?” “Yes, I have.” “You see, Mr. Hollyer, Dr. Ransome’s made up his mind. And when the doctor makes up his mind that the patient’s going to die, ten to one the patient does die. It lowers their resistance. It isn’t every one that would feel it; but your mother would.” “If,” she went on, “I had her day _and_ night, I might save her.” “You really think that?” “I think there’s a chance.” He didn’t know whether he believed her or not. Dr. Ransome shrugged his shoulders and said Nurse Eden could try it if she liked. She had a wonderful way with her; but he wouldn’t advise Hollyer to count on it. Nothing but a miracle, he said, could save his mother.