34 « 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
born to it T suppose it would not have 
mattered. It’s the awful change. 1 didn’t 
marry you for this. I was better off when l 
was typing for a living ” She caught 
herself up just in time — on the edge of 
hysteria. 
She rose quickly. 
“ 1 wasn’t meant to marry a poor man — 
and Doreen hasn't been trained to be a poor 
man’s child. I'm willing to chance your 
losing your berth if you are. Think it over; ’ 
she said, her voice suddenly hard and cold, 
lie blenched, but stuck to his guns. 
“ I can’t— 1 ” 
The door closed behind her and Osmond 
dropped his hands, palm upwards, on the 
chair, his face upon his palms. 
Should he tell her ? He was tempted 
almost beyond endurance. The past year 
had been well-nigh intolerable to her, as to 
him. He had not known an instant of 
happiness since he came down Dr. Warr’s 
steps — not one instant. But he had done his 
duty — he was sure of that — already, counting 
insurance, there was a little over two thousand 
pounds saved. Should he let it stand at that 
— invest what he could — and then go back to 
the old standard of living — the old happiness? 
He shivered as he realized that the old 
happiness was impossible, that Isabel could 
only exchange the role of reluctant economist 
for that of nurse — of one who fought with 
feeble, futile hands against death. What was 
the use of telling her ? She was unhappy 
enough now. 
No, he would fight it out to the finish. 
They would know some day. That must be 
enough for him. His mind flashed back to 
the beginning of it all, and he laughed 
drearily as he recalled the phrase which had 
been so helpful to him then. What was it— 
“ Nobility of Character.” He winced as he 
thought of the things he had done to sustain 
the role that phrase had inspired him to take 
up — the petty sleights and shifts by which he 
had helped swell his hoard. 
Then he set his teeth. 
“ 1 don’t care,” he muttered. “ The end 
is noble, whatever the means. I shall die 
leaving them provided for. And 1 shall have 
paid for it — paid for it 1 ” 
He stood up, staring at himself in the glass. 
He saw that he had altered — saw the wolf- 
look — but slowly another thought occurred 
to him. He looked reasonably well — not 
healthy, but by no means like a man who 
might die at any moment. For months past 
his mind had clung only to money, how to 
make it, how to keep it — he had not thought 
of himself. Now, suddenly, he concentrated 
his perceptions on himself, his physical • 
appearance. 
He turned up the gas, which economy had I 
kept low, and faced again to the mirror over 
the mantelpiece, staring hard at himself. 
And he could see no sign of physical 1 
deterioration from what he had been. 
He thrust out his tongue. It. was clean 
and red, unusually so for a man. 
His heart jumped suddenly and his eyes 
flared. Was it possible that Warr had been 
mistaken ? 
He dared not think it — dared not. He 
sat down and was amazed to find that his 
hands were trembling like leaves. He gripped 
the wooden arms of the chair to steady 
himself, his brain aflame with hope. Hope ! 
He could not master it, could not even check 
it. It swamped him, overwhelmed him, 
flooded him body and soul. 
He sat perfectly still, staring, like a man 
listening intently to some small, far-off 
sound. 
Presently he felt his pulse ; it was beating 
fast, strongly. 
It had never occurred to him to doubt what 
Warr had said. Warr was a very expensive, 
very good man, with a reputation. 
But to-morrow he would visit him again, 
and after him, no matter what he said, 
another doctor. He began at last to think 
of what was in store for them all if only Warr 
had been mistaken — if only he, Paul Osmond, 
was sound, moderately sound, like other 
men. 
He began a carousal of dreams, an orgy of 
hope. The naked gas-flame whined over- 
head expensively, unnoticed, unheeded. 
Isabel did not come in again that night, 
and when in the small hours he crept, half- 
dazed, up to bed, and peeped into Doreen’s 
room, he saw with a shock that Isabel was 
sleeping with the child. He realized then 
that he was to be quite alone. 
He looked down at them — the fair, beau- 
tiful head of the child resting on her mother’s 
arm, both fast asleep. Suddenly they became 
blurred as though someone had drawn a 
scalding, blinding veil across his eyes. 
He stole quietly out. 
The words of the phrenologist, came back 
to him suddenly. He remembered it all 
with a precision that stabbed him with keen 
and exquisite pain. What was it ? Stand- 
ing desolately in the bedroom, he muttered 
the glib, practised phrases to himself. 
“ You possess courage, talent, and great 
nobility of character. You are often mis 
