on the wednesday evening richard took tea at the crabtree, so that he might go down by train to parson's green direct from charing cross. the coffee-room was almost empty of customers; and miss roberts, who appeared to be in attendance there, was reading in the "cosy corner," an angle of the room furnished with painted mirrors and a bark bench of fictitious rusticity.

"what are you doing up here?" he asked, when she brought his meal. "aren't you cashier downstairs any longer?"

"oh, yes," she said, "i should just think i was. but the girl that waits in this room, miss pratt, has her half-holiday on wednesdays, and i come here, and the governor takes my place downstairs. i do it to oblige him. he's a gentleman, he is. that polite! i have my half-holiday on fridays."

"well, if you've nothing else to do, what do you say to pouring out my tea for me?"

"can't you pour it out yourself? poor thing!" she smiled pityingly, and began to pour out the tea.

"sit down," richard suggested.

"no, thank you," she said. "there! if it isn't sweet enough, you can put another lump in yourself;" and she disappeared behind the screen which hid the food-lift.

presently he summoned her to make out his check. he was debating whether to tell her that mr. aked was ill. perhaps if he did so she might request to be informed how the fact concerned herself. he decided to say nothing, and was the more astonished when she began:

"did you know mr. aked was very ill?"

"yes. who told you?"

"why, i live near him, a few doors away—didn't i tell you once?—and their servant told ours."

"told your servant?"

"yes," said miss roberts, reddening a little, and with an inflection which meant, "i suppose you thought my family wouldn't have a servant!"

"oh!" he stopped a moment, and then an idea came to him. "it must have been you who called last night to inquire!" he wondered why adeline had been so curt with her.

"were you there then?"

"oh, yes. i know the akeds pretty well."

"the doctor says he'll not get better. what do you think?"

"i'm afraid it's a bad lookout."

"very sad for poor miss aked, isn't it?" she said, and something in the tone made richard look up at her.

"yes," he agreed.

"of course you like her?"

"i scarcely know her—it's the old man i know," he replied guardedly.

"well, if you ask me, i think she's a bit stand-offish."

"perhaps that's only her manner."

"you've noticed it too, have you?"

"not a bit. i've really seen very little of her."

"going down again to-night?"

"i may do."

nothing had passed between adeline and himself as to his calling that day, but when he got to carteret street she evidently accepted his presence as a matter of course, and he felt glad. there was noting in her demeanour to recall the scene of the previous night. he did not stay long. mr. aked's condition was unchanged. adeline had watched by him all day, while the nurse slept, and now she confessed to an indisposition.

"my bones ache," she said, with an attempt to laugh, "and i feel miserable, though under the circumstances there's nothing strange in that."

he feared she might be sickening towards influenza, caught from her uncle, but said nothing, lest he should alarm her without cause. the next day, however, his apprehension was justified. on his way to the house in the evening he met the doctor at the top of carteret street and stopped him.

"you're a friend of mr. aked's, eh?" the doctor said, examining richard through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "well, go and do what you can. miss aked is down with the influenza now, but i don't think it will be a severe attack if she takes care. the old fellow's state is serious. you see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it comes to double basic pneumonia, with fever, and cardiac complications, pulse 140, respiration 40, temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of chance. i've got a magnificent nurse, though, and she'll have her hands full. we ought really to send for another one, especially as miss aked wants looking after too.... bless you," he went on, in answer to a question from richard, "i can't say. i injected strychnia this morning, and that has given relief, but he may die during the night. on the other hand he may recover. by the way, they seem to have no relations, except a cousin of mr. aked's who lives in the north. i've wired to her. good evening. see what you can do. i'm due in my surgery in two minutes."

richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained that he had seen the doctor, and asked if he could render assistance. she was a slender girl of about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and astonishingly small white ears; her blue uniform, made of the same print as a servant's morning-dress, fitted without a crease, and her immense apron was snowy. on one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed this while talking to richard, and adroitly reversed the wristband under his very gaze.

"i suppose you know the akeds pretty well?" she questioned.

"well, pretty well," he answered.

"do you know any friends of theirs, women, who happen to live near?"

"i feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. i have never met any people here."

"it is very awkward, now that miss aked is taken ill."

the mention of adeline gave him an opportunity to make more particular inquiries as to her condition.

"there is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse said, "only she must stay in bed and keep quite quiet."

"i fancied last night she looked ill," he said sagely.

"you were here last night?"

"yes, and the night before."

"oh! i wasn't aware—" the nurse stopped a moment. "pardon me, if i am indiscreet, but are you engaged to miss aked?"

"no," said richard shortly, uncertain whether or not he was blushing. the nurse's eyes twinkled, but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered no diminishment. "not at all," he added. "i am merely a friend, anxious to do anything i can."

"i will get you to do some marketing for me," she decided suddenly. "the maid is sitting with mr. aked—he's a little easier for the moment—and miss aked, i think, is asleep. if i give you a list, can you discover the shops? i am quite ignorant of this neighbourhood."

richard thought he could discover the shops.

"in the meantime i will have a bath. i have had no rest worth mentioning for twenty-four hours, and i want freshening up. don't come back for twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you in. stay, i will give you the latch-key." it was attached to her chatelaine.

equipped with written orders and a sovereign, he went out. though he was away barely a quarter of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs again when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had just risen. she counted the change, and checked the different purchases with the list. richard had made no mistakes.

"thank you," she said very formally. he had expected a little praise.

"is there anything else i can do?" he asked, determined not to weary in good works, however coldly his efforts were received.

"i think you might sit with mr. aked for a while," she said; "i must positively give some attention to miss aked, and half an hour's rest would not harm me. see, there are some slippers; would you mind taking off your boots and putting those on instead? thank you. you may talk to mr. aked if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand—he'll probably want to. let him have just a sip of the brandy and milk i will give you, whenever he asks for it. don't mind if he grumbles at everything you do. try to soothe him. remember he is very seriously ill. shall i take you upstairs?"

she looked at richard and then at the door; and richard, hesitating for a fraction of a second, stepped past her to open it. he managed it awkwardly because he had never done such a thing for a lady in his life, nor could he quite understand what mysterious prompting had led him to be so punctilious now. the nurse bowed acknowledgment and preceded him to the sick-room. he felt as a student feels just before the examination papers are handed round.

a smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as the nurse pushed open the door.

"stay outside a moment," she said to richard. he could see the grate, on which a kettle was singing over a small fire. in front of the fire was a board, with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of linen. then he was conscious of nothing but a loud sound of rapid, painful breathing, accompanied by moans and a strange rattling which came to his ears with perturbing distinctness. he knew nothing of sickness beyond what people had told him, and these phenomena inspired him with physical dread. he wished to run away.

"a friend of yours is coming to sit with you, mr. aked—you know mr. larch," he heard the nurse say; she was evidently busy about the bed. "you can go now, lottie," she went on to the servant. "wash up the things i have put in the sink, and then off to bed."

richard waited with painful expectancy for the voice of mr. aked.

"larch—did you say—why—didn't he come—before?" the tones were less unnatural than he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by the exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker interject the fragments of a sentence here and there between his hurrying gasps.

then the servant went downstairs.

"come in, mr. larch," the nurse called pleasantly.

the patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright in bed, and as richard entered he looked towards the door with the expression of an unarmed man on the watch for an assassin. his face was drawn and duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a red flush; at every cruel inspiration the nostrils dilated widely, and the shoulders were raised in a frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs.

"well, mr. aked," richard greeted him, "here i am, you see."

he made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed to the nurse for the feeding-cup of brandy and milk, which she held to his mouth. richard was afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and marvelled that the nurse could be unmoved and cheerful in the midst of this piteous altercation with death. was she blind to the terror in the man's eyes?

"you had better sit here, mr. larch," she said quietly, pointing to a chair by the bedside. "here is the drink; hold the cup—so. ring this bell if you want me for anything." then she noiselessly disappeared.

no sooner had he sat down than mr. aked seized his shoulder for support, and each movement of the struggling frame communicated itself to richard's body. richard suddenly conceived a boundless respect for the nurse, who had watched whole nights by this tortured organism on the bed. somehow existence began to assume for him a new and larger aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going through the world with his eyes closed; life was sublimer, more terrible, than he had thought. he abased himself before all doctors and nurses and soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour of life.

art was a very little thing.

presently mr. aked breathed with slightly less exertion, and he appeared to doze for a few moments now and then, though richard could scarcely believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a man in his condition.

"adeline?" he questioned once.

"she's getting on fine," richard said soothingly. "would you like a sip?"

he put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the cup, drank, and then pushed the vessel away with a gesture of irritation.

the windows were open, but the air was perfectly still, and the gas burnt without a tremor between the windows and the door.

"i'm stifled," the patient gasped. "are they—doing—all they can—for me?"—richard tried to reassure him.

"it's all over—with me—larch—i can't—keep it up long—i'm going—going—they'll have to try—something else."

his lustrous eyes were fastened on richard with an appealing gaze. richard turned away.

"i'm frightened—i thought i shouldn't be—but i am. doctor suggested parson—it's not that—i said no.... do you think—i'm dying?"

"not a bit," said richard.

"that's a lie—i'm off.... it's a big thing,—death—everyone's afraid—of it—at last.... instinct!... shows there's something—awful behind it."

if richard had been murdering the man, he could not have had a sharper sense of guilt than at that moment oppressed him.

mr. aked continued to talk, but with a growing incoherence which gradually passed into delirium. richard looked at his watch. only thirty minutes had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the beginning of time! again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of emotional horizons suddenly widened.

people were walking down the street; they talked and laughed. how incongruously mirthful and careless their voices sounded! perhaps they had never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the agonised breathing of a pneumonia patient. that incessant frantic intake of air! it exasperated him. if it did not stop soon, he should go mad. he stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew larger, larger, till he could see nothing else.... then, after a long while, surely the breathing was more difficult! there was a reverberating turmoil in the man's chest which shook the bed. could richard have been asleep, or what? he started up; but mr. aked clung desperately to him, raising his shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, and leaning forward till he was bent almost double. richard hesitated, and then struck the bell. it seemed as if the nurse would never come. the door opened softly.

"i'm afraid he is much worse," richard said to the nurse, striving to cover his agitation. she looked at mr. aked.

"perhaps you had better fetch the doctor."

when he returned, mr. aked was lying back unconscious.

"of course the doctor can do nothing now," said the nurse, calmly answering the question in his eyes. "he'll never speak any more."

"but miss aked?"

"it can't be helped. i shall say nothing to her till morning."

"then she won't see him?"

"certainly not. it would be madness for her to leave her bed."

the doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly together about the alarming prevalence of influenza at that time of the year, and the fatal results of carelessness.

"i tell you honestly," the doctor said, "i'm so overworked that i should be quite satisfied to step into my coffin and not wake again. i've had three 3 a. m. midwifery cases this week—forceps, chloroform, and the whole bag of tricks—on the top of all this influenza, and i'm about sick of it. that's the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. what do you say, nurse?"