again and moved the hand. Helen took it between hers and the sick girl closed her eyes peacefully. "I heard about—about the beginning, of course; I didn't know you'd had such a hard time. Perhaps the worst is behind, though; that is something to be thankful for."
Her voice was very gentle, as gentle a voice as Taylor had ever heard. He could see her stroking the hand she held and her manner was in such contrast to her former brusqueness and indifference to others that he leaned forward to watch.
The head on the pillow moved weakly in denial of the suggestion.
"It's all over," the thin voice said. "I know. The doctor knows, but he won't say it. Thad knows, but he won't give up hoping." Her husband's hand twitched, but he made no remonstrance. "He has more strength to hope than I had—I haven't any at all—now."
"Oh, that can't be—"
"It's sweet of you to try to be cheery," the thin voice interrupted, "But please don't. I haven't much strength to talk and I want to talk, because it will make me feel easier in my heart."
Color had come into her cheeks and a tell-tale brightness in her eyes. Her legs stirred restlessly.
"Ever since we came here two years ago I've wanted to know you. Ever since I found out what you are doing and what Jim Harris is doing—But I've been a little afraid—You're so busy—you have such a big job—" She coughed and waited for breath. "You're the first woman I heard about. They told me you were crazy, that your father was crazy, and at first I believed it because everybody I knew said so—Then I found
