CHAPTER I
AN ANSWER TO MACMECHEM
Such was the message Julianna had sent her husband. I read it and, without speaking, I arose and touched Estabrook on his shoulder.
“Doctor,” said he pathetically.
“Come,” said I.
We went up to her door. It was not locked; it opened. She was there.
She was there with a smile of greeting—a beautiful woman, pale with her suffering, pale as the flower of a night-blooming cactus, but warm with the vitality given to women who love. The pink light of dusk was on her calm face.
She was leaning back against the wall. Her great eyes fixed themselves upon Estabrook without seeing me at all. She did not speak. She seemed in doubt.
Estabrook hesitated a moment with his hand reaching behind him for my sleeve. He pulled at it twice, without turning.