The day wore on. Miss Walker lingered an hour longer than her accustomed time, and then, secretly attributing her pupil's irresponsiveness and reserve to want of feeling, she took her departure. On the door-steps she met Dr. Russell. "Well, doctor, what news?" she asked. The doctor shook his head. "I cannot tell," he answered. "If his strength holds out twenty-four hours longer he may pull through yet. But--" "Poor Mrs. Desmond!" sighed Miss Walker. "How terrible for her if she is left with that unruly child!" Dr. Russell looked sharply at his companion, and opened his lips to speak, but feeling probably in no mood for conversation, he changed his mind and, lifting his hat, walked into the house. Helen, meanwhile, had learnt that her stepmother was resting, and, pacing up and down outside her door, was waiting until she heard Mrs. Desmond moving within, to enter and make a passionate appeal to be allowed to see her father. Terrible temptations assailed the poor child as she walked up and down the landing, all her senses on the alert to catch every sound. She heard Dr. Russell enter the sick-room and leave it. Surely he would not refuse her permission to creep in and take one look at that dear face. The doctor's footsteps died away, and silence followed. Again she thought how easy it would be to walk in. Once inside the sick-room the rest would be simple enough, for no one would dare to make a disturbance there. But Helen had her own code of honour. She had declared to herself that she would obey her stepmother implicitly during this sad time, and she would not break her word even to herself. At last, just as the long spring twilight was fading into darkness, Helen distinctly heard Mrs. Desmond moving. Impulsive as ever, and forgetting that people when just aroused from sleep are not particularly approachable, she flew to the door, at which she knocked vigorously. "Come in," cried Mrs. Desmond, and Helen entered.