All that a human being could do for her, in those days of her life's tragedy, that one had done.

Then--because he understood--he had gone away.

Her own son did not know--could not, in his young manhood, have understood, if he had known--would not understand when he came.

Perhaps, some day, he would understand--perhaps.
When the physician turned again toward the bed, to touch with gentle fingers the wrist of his patient, his eyes were wet.
At his touch, her eyes opened to regard him with affectionate trust and gratitude.
"Well Mary," he said almost bruskly.
The lips fashioned the ghost of a smile; into her eyes came the gleam of that old time challenging spirit.

"Well--Doctor George," she answered.
Then,--"I--told you--I would not--go--until he came.