She had been gone several hours, and it was twilight, when a low tap sounded on Madam Crewe's door.
Without waiting for permission to come in, Dr. Ballard did so. The old woman started up, as if his presence roused her from sleep, but he could see she had been fully awake.
"You look as if you had been through the wars," she observed dryly, examining his face with her searching eyes.
He dropped heavily into the chair she indicated.
"I have," he answered.
"You've saved two souls alive? Mother and child?"
He nodded. "But the war's not over. The fight's still on. I've done all I can. The rest lies with——"
The old woman took him up sharply. "Don't try to talk. Touch that bell."
Then, when Eunice, responding, stood on the threshold: "Bring me the leathern case you'll find standing beside the clothes-press in my dressing-room. Yes ... that's the one. Bring it here to me! Now, go downstairs and fetch a plateful of hard biscuits. Hurry! ... Stop! ... Before you go, hand me that glass from my table."
When the girl was gone, Madam Crewe unlocked the case before her, took from it a flask, and with surprisingly steady hands, poured a share of its contents into the glass Eunice had placed on the wide arm of her chair.