He suddenly remembered that she had probably come away from home without her breakfast, and that she would find not so much as a crust of bread in his mother's kitchen, and the thought made him flush with shame. "What a selfish fool I am," he said, and seized the speaking-tube with intent to order the chauffeur to turn, but, reflecting that it would take only a few minutes longer to go on, he dropped the mouth-piece and the machine whirled steadily forward. As he ran up the wide steps Leonora opened the door for him, looking very alert and capable, her face full of wonder and question. "How is your mother?" she quickly, tenderly, asked. He choked in his reply. "The doctors say she is--dead, but your aunt insists that it is only a trance." He turned away to hide his tears. "I am hoping she's right, but I'm afraid that the doctors--" "Is there anything I can do?" she asked, her voice tremulous with sympathy. "Yes, if you will please send Mrs. Post, the seamstress, over with me. We have no one in the house, and Mrs. Joyce needs help." "I will go, too," she responded, quickly. "Please be seated while I call Mrs. Post. Have you had breakfast?" "Yes; but Mrs. Joyce has not, and I'm afraid there isn't a thing in our house to eat." "I'll take something over," she replied, and hastened away. He did not sit, he could not even compose himself to stand, but walked up and down the hall like a leopard in its cage. Now and again a liveried servant passed, glancing at him curiously, but he did not mind. Mingled with other whirling emotions was a feeling of gratitude toward Leonora, whose air of conscious superiority had given place, for the moment, to exquisite gentleness and pity. She soon had the seamstress and some lunch bestowed in the car. "We are ready, Mr. Ollnee," she called. She said very little during their ride. Occasionally she made some remark of general significance, or spoke to Mrs. Post upon the duties which she might expect to meet, and for this reserve Victor was grateful. She understood him through all his worry. Though he did not directly study her, he was acutely conscious of her every movement. Her unruffled precision of action, her calmness, her consideration for his grief appealed to him as something very womanly and sweet. His mother's neighbors had been aroused to a staring heat of interest, and from almost every window curious faces peered. Victor perceived and resented their scrutiny, but Leonora seemed not to mind. She alighted calmly and carried the basket of lunch in her own hands to the stairway, though she permitted Victor to lead the way. Mrs. Joyce met them with a grave smile. "You are prompt. I am glad to see you, Leo, and you, too, Mrs. Post. We have a long watch before us." * * * * *