Success. Samuel Hopkins Adams

took the silver-framed portrait and placed it in the flaccid hand. The fingers closed over it. The filmiest wraith of a smile played about the blue lips.

      An hour later, Io came out to Banneker waiting fearfully in the big room.

      “She won’t have a doctor. I’ve given her the strychnia and she insists she’ll be all right.”

      “Don’t you think I ought to go for the doctor, anyway?”

      “She wouldn’t see him. She’s very strong-willed. … That’s a wonderful woman, Ban.” Io’s voice shook a little.

      “Yes.”

      “How did you know about the picture?”

      “I saw it on the dresser. And when I saw her eyes, I guessed.”

      “Yes; there’s only one thing a woman wants like that, when she’s dying. You’re rather a wonderful person, yourself, to have known. That’s her other secret, Ban. The one I said I couldn’t tell you.”

      “I’ve forgotten it,” replied Banneker gravely.