see you through whatever happens. Give me a—a private room, and”—her voice was weakening rapidly—“and”—there came a bitter, facetious laugh—“the best you've got.” Her voice was weakening rapidly.     

       They carried her upstairs. She still insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand.     

       “Don't leave me!” she pleaded again, as they reached the door of a private room, and Rhoda Gray disengaged her hand gently.     

       “I'll stay outside here,” Rhoda Gray promised. “I won't go away without seeing you again.”      

       Rhoda Gray sat down on a settee in the hall. She glanced at her wrist watch. It was five minutes of eleven. Doctors and nurses came and went from the room. Then a great quiet seemed to settle down around her. A half hour passed. A doctor went into the room, and presently came out again. She intercepted him as he came along the corridor.     

       He shook his head.     

       She did not understand his technical explanation. There was something about a clot and blood stoppage. But as she resumed her seat, she understood very fully that the end was near. The woman was resting quietly now, the doctor had said, but if she, Rhoda Gray, cared to wait, she could see the other before leaving the hospital.     

       And so she waited. She had promised Gypsy Nan she would.     

       The minutes dragged along. A quarter of an hour passed. Still another. Midnight came. Fifteen minutes more went by, and then a nurse came out of the room, and, standing by the door, beckoned to Rhoda Gray.     

       “She is asking for you,” the nurse said. “Please do not stay more than a few minutes. I shall be outside here, and if you notice the slightest change, call me instantly.”      

       Rhoda Gray nodded.     

       “I understand,” she said.     

       The door closed softly behind her. She was smiling cheerily as she crossed the room and bent over Gypsy Nan.     

       The woman stretched out her hand.     

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