The Blood Red Dawn

e you been? And your mother in such a bad w

up. Mrs. Finnegan had swung open the door to the Robson fla

re's voice rose with a no

doctor says it would have happened, anyway. But I say it was wor

phere of tragedy and gloom in spite of the morning light pouring in unscreened at every window. Mrs. Robson's room was the only exception to this unu

at the ceiling; she could not move, she could not speak, and her spirit showed through the veiled light in her eyes like a mysterious spot of sunshine in a shaded well. Above a swooning se

o sorry! I asked Miss Munch to let you know. Didn't she?... I went over to Mr. Flint's to take dictation. The storm washed out the

eak. Claire turned helplessly to Mrs. Finnegan

"It's about Stillman," she explained.

n to Claire that nobody understood, and she felt a dreary fu

other time, when ... wh

ed shaped suddenly with a suspicion that died almost as quickly as it began. There was a

hrough the usual forms of a professional visit that was obviously futile. She followed h

live twenty years. She'll scarcely get any better, though. No, a nurse isn't essential, unless you can afford one. B

early so brutal as his assurance that she had an equal chance for existing twenty

and unnecessary steps. She tried to work calmly, to bring an acquired philosophy to her tasks, but she went through her paces with a feverish, though stolid, anxiety. The long n

from an overturned cup was trickling in a warm, thick stream to the floor. But the paroxysm did her good. She rose to the kindly caresses of her neighbor like a flower beaten to earth but refreshed by a relentless torrent. After this, custom and habit began to re

trophied survival of clan-spirit that persisted beyond any real faith in its significance. Perhaps she had a feeling that her mother wished it; cert

ymbol of the r?le of Lady Bountiful which she had for the moment assumed. Claire could almost fancy how conspicuously she had cont

g serious, I hope! Just my sister.... Mrs. Ffinch-Brown? Oh, dear no! A younger sister. I don't thin

nch-Brown. She asked Claire no questions concerning her life or her prospects; she did not even pry very deeply into the chances that her sister had for an ultimate recovery. Her philosophy seemed to be founded on the knowledge that uncovered cesspools were bound to be unpleasant, and, since she had no desire

there is anything I ca

exciting. She had not the suavity of her indifferences. Mrs. Robson's untim

session with Claire before venturing upon the unwelcome sight of her stricken sister. "I don't know why it is, but she seems to

arrangement of the bed, the manner in which the covers s

hair, too. And why don't you pul

bjects. But when Mrs. Ffinch-Brown's ill-natured ministrations brought a dumb but protesti

er is really too sick now to

ance for escape without any strain upon her conscience. She did

room table. She opened the gilt-edged copy of Tennyson that, together with a calf edition of Ouida's Moths, had stood for years as guard over the literary pretensions of the household, and thrust the money midway

r of a woman who discovers suddenly a moth hole in the long undisturbed folds of a treasured cashmere shawl. Her precisely timed visits had not the slightest suspicion of attentiveness back of them, and Claire guessed almost at once that they were more in the

u can't go on like this. I'd like to be able to do more, but of course I can't spare much ti

e save a thinly veiled threat. She came in with a more genial manner than she was accustomed to waste upon the

t seems she's one of the directors of The King's Daughters' Home for Incurables!" Claire was sitting opposite her aunt, nervously fingering a paper-cutter. Mrs. Ffinch-Brown eyed her niece sharply, and with an obvious determination to drive her thrusts home befor

nt Julia!... Mother ha

-day is one thousand dollars. Think of it! Care for life in a ward with only three others! Now I can't ask your uncle fo

mal. She had never seen anything more disagreeable than her aunt's s

plan like this if I'm convinced it's necessary. But somehow.... Oh, I know what you're thinking-you're thinking that be

of the situation with eager satisfaction. "Oh, indeed! I'm glad you can say that now. But you weren't a

g her emotions dry. "Yes, Aunt Julia," she said, with an air of cool defi

"It's plain that I'm wastin

ith her aunt

d when on the following day Claire saw the figure of Mrs. Thomas Wynne out

d been a vague hope that this crisis might germinate some stray seeds of kinship, shriveled by the drought of uneventful years. But the poisonous nettles of

l insistently. Knowing her mother's instinctive craving for recognition, it struck Claire that it was the height of irony to see this belated crowd come swarming in on the heels of calamity at the moment when Mrs

e stroke of three; immediately the air began to move out of adversity's tragic current. It was

ut, you know, she never misses a trick at spilling out the calamity stuff, especially if it isn't on her.... 'Oh, Miss Whitehead,' she called out before I had a chance to beat it, 'have you heard about Miss Robson's mother?' ...When she got through I fixed her with that trusty old eye of mine and I said, 'I suppose you see her quite often.' And what do you think the old stiff said? 'Oh, I'd like to, Miss Whitehead, but I real

e's reply, but plunged at o

hree piece suit last summer. But I say, All is fair in war and the high cost of living. Maybe you think I haven't had a time scraping the wherewithal for that coat together. But I brought the total up to seventy the other day by getting Billy Holmes to slip me a ten in advance for Christmas. I never trust a man to invest in anything for me if I can help it. They usually run to manicure sets in satin-lined cases or cut-glass cologne-bottles. Billy Holmes?... Oh, you know him! He ran the reinsurance desk at the Royal for years. They put

ont door upon her friend's departure the letter-man thrust an envel

hat's wrong now?

et me out ... Mis