It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort. She stared at his pleading face. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. What he wanted desperately was to be alone.
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