The Winslow mail., 1900-07-05

watch. DIR. Craig was with them
night and day, pulling grimly with
death for his victim. He noted, with
frowning earnestness, how the high
tension and lack of rest was telling
on her. The brown eyes grew hollow,
the cheek a shade less round, and
colorless and dry. But she was the
same Eleanor still. How easy it is to
be mistaken in people, DR.. Craig re-
fected i1acKenzie was a good fell
low, and he liked him, only-well,
perhaps it was a notion, but he had
imagined that the style of woman
John Mackenzie would marry would
be quite different from the one who
Stood strong and accomplishing, by
his side.
Careful, CAREFUL" DR.. Craig
warned her anxiously, but she shook
her head at him and smiled.
Always from time to time, but at
longer intervals now, and in weaker
tones, the voice called from the bed:
Eleanor, Eleanor!"
1t seemed the one thought left him,
the one link between him and life.
Then there came a final day OF
strenuous tension on these three who
fought for John MacKenzie's life. DR..
Craig, faithful and anxious, watched
with them from noon well nigh into
the night, and Eleanor Marshall's eyes
scarcely wavered from the sunken
face on the pillow. For the flame OF
his life was Pickering low, and even
the insistent call was stilled. To-
night would decide it. And so they
waited and watched.
Then, when the rest of the world
had put out it's lights for rest, DR..
Craig raised his hand from the sick
mans pulse and heaved a big sigh OF
relief and professional pride.
This is Sleep" he whispered, tri-
umphantly. Feel how moist and hu-
man his skin is now. We've pulled
him through, you and l."
He looked abruptly the other way,
and found himself nervously tracing
an aimless finger along the head
board of the bed, fiNlsy excuse for
an occupation, for she had suddenly
dropped her head on her arms and
her shoulders were shaking. He had
no right to look at her then, and, now
that the strain was over, he felt rath-
er awkward This mixing of friend
and physician-well,h he didn't approve
of it.
The wandering finger, abstractedly
To,.nli,,or Of ,,0+hin~ cfr of h n q
with thin edge, and he looked indif-
ferently to see what it was. Some
thing had slipped down between head.
board and mattress and escaped their
previous notice., something which
probably had been under the pillow
at one time, and which, from the tiny
protruding corner, looked suspiciously
like photograph.
Craig smiled a little, venturing a
guess whose it was, and as he pulled
it out he looked over at Eleanor, erect
and calm again. She leaned over to
see, coloring slightly under the quiz
zical twinkle of his eyes, and they
looked at it together.
1t wasa pretty face, chic and very
modern Pandora, with saucily tilted
head and modish fluff of blonde hair
atop. They neither had seen it be-
fore. DIR. Craig turned it face down
ward with nervous jerk as though it
had turned suddenly hot, and from the
back of it an inscription stared up at
them. "For dear old Jack. Eleanor
Ives Atherton." There was date, too,
and it was just one week before John
Mackenzie had been stricken down
with the epidemic.
How DR.. Craig got out of the room
he never could remember. He only
knew that he was horribly uncomfort-
able and very angry at some one, he
did not exactly know whom, and that
Eleanor Marshall had stood without
word or sign, looking slowly from
the photograph to the sleeping face
on the bed. "By heavens! L sent for
the wrong woman!" he muttered des-
perately to the silent streets. "It must
be some out of town girl. 1 don't be-
-savagely-"she' ever risk her
complexion nursing anybody. Oh,
George Craig, you fool, how are you
ever going to straighten this out?"
Through the rest of the long night
Eleanor Marshall knelt by the bedside,
battling with herself. She had sent
the nurse into the next room for much
needed rest, refusing it herself. Any
thing to be alone.
MacKenzie's hand, always flung out
side, lay very close to her cheek as
she fought her silent battle, bitter and
| self-scornful, reviewing minutely the
pleasant calmness of two years
friendship, too calm, perhaps, for
great warmth, yet so pleasant that
little by little she had grown more
and more attached to his frank and
sunny nature, until attachment had de-
veloped into a thing to be held down
with firm hand. She recalled here a
look, here teasing remark, here-and
these were frequent-an hour or more
of closer and more intimate inter
course, always cordial, always com
radely, nothing more. He liked her
and he probably always would, but
that was different. How could she ever
have believed that he called for her:
/ They were so widely unlike.
Outside the starlit darkness dulled
4 to gray, the gray to rose and gold
| The world was going on, just as it had
before, while she knelt, shrinking, hurt
and ashamed, beside him who lay deer
in the slumber of blessed GONZALES
cence.- He must never know the whole