Mrs. Kennedy was busy at her stand, piling up some fruit, when a woman who was a stranger to her approached.

"Is this Mary Kennedy?" the newcomer asked.

"That's me name," answered the old woman. "But I don't know you, ma'am."

"My name is Mrs. Conroy. I'm a nurse. Mrs. Wardell sent me to you."

"Yes, I know Mrs. Wardell. But what is it you want, ma'am? I don't need a nurse now, though I did some time ago, goodness knows."

"I am not looking for a position," smiled Mrs. Conroy. "I am looking for a young lady named Gertrude Horton."

"Gertrude Horton! Who sint you?" questioned Mrs. Kennedy suspiciously.

"Her uncle, Mark Horton, sent me."

At this Mrs. Kennedy was more interested than ever.

"An' what does he want of the darling, Mrs. Conroy?"

"He wants her to return home."

"Heaven be praised fer that!"

"Where can I find Miss Horton?"

Again Mrs. Kennedy grew suspicious.

"I can tell you that quick enough, ma'am—but I must know if it's all right, first."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"There's a villain of a cousin, Homer Bulson, who's been tryin' to git Miss Gertrude in his clutches. You're not doing this work for him?"

"No, indeed, Mrs. Kennedy. Mr. Horton sent me himself. He wants Miss Gertrude to come straight home. He wants her to forgive him for his harshness."

"To hear that now!" ejaculated Mrs. Kennedy joyfully. "What a change must have come over him!"

"I do not know how he was before, but he is now very anxious for her to return. He thinks he might get better if she were with him."

"What a pity Gertrude can't go to him this minit!" said Mrs. Kennedy.

"Will you tell me where I can find her?"

"She is not in New York, Mrs. Conroy. She went to Lakewood early this morning."

"To stay?"

"Oh, no! She'll be back to-night."

"Will you see her then?"

"To be sure—she lives with me."

"Oh!"

"I'll send her home the minit I see her," went on Mrs. Kennedy.

"Then I'll return and tell him that," said the nurse. "Be sure and insist upon her coming. He is so anxious he is almost crazy over it."

"Sure and he ought to be—drivin' her away in that fashion."

"I guess it was his sickness did it, Mrs. Kennedy. The man is not himself; anybody can see that. The case puzzles the doctors very much."

Mrs. Conroy had some necessary shopping to do, but an hour saw her returning to the mansion on Fifth Avenue.

"Well?" questioned Mark Horton anxiously. "Did you see her?"

"She had gone out of town—to Lakewood. But she will be back to-night."

"And will she come to me?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Horton. I told the woman with whom she lives to send her up here."

"Did you say she must come—that I wanted her to come?" persisted the retired merchant eagerly.

"I did, and the woman was quite sure Miss Gertrude would come."

"When was she to get back from Lakewood?"

"By seven or eight o'clock."

"Then she ought to be here by nine or ten."

All that afternoon Mark Horton showed his impatience. Usually he took a nap, but now he could not sleep. He insisted upon getting up and walking around.

"The very thought that she will be back makes me feel stronger," he declared. "It is more of a tonic than Homer's wine."

"Please do not grow impatient," said Mrs. Conroy. "You know there may be some delay."

Slowly the evening came on and the street lamps were lit. Mr. Horton sat at a front window, looking out. He did not want a light in the room.

"I wish to watch for her," he explained. "You may light up when she comes."

He was now feverish, but would not take the soothing draught the nurse prepared. Hour after hour passed, and presently he saw Homer Bulson enter his quarters, and then go out again.

"I do not know how Homer will take the news," he told himself. "But he will have to make the best of it. Of one thing I am resolved—Gertrude shall do as she pleases if only she remains with me, and she shall have half of my fortune when I die."

At last it was nine o'clock, and then the sick man became more nervous than ever. Every time a woman appeared on the dimly lit street he would watch her eagerly until she went past the mansion.

"She will not come!" he groaned. "She will not come!"

At ten o'clock Mrs. Conroy tried to get him to bed, but he was stubborn and would not go. Another hour went by, and then another. As the clock struck twelve Mark Horton fell forward in his chair.

"She has deserted me!" he groaned. "And I deserve it all!" And he sank in a chair in a dead faint.

With an effort the nurse placed him upon the bed and did what she could for him. But the shock had been great, and in haste she sent for a physician.

"He has had them before," explained the doctor. "I will give him something quieting—I can do no more. Each shock brings him closer to the end. It is the most puzzling case on record."

As he was so feeble Mrs. Conroy thought best to send for his nephew, and Homer Bulson was summoned just as he was waking up.

"All right, I'll be over," he said, with a yawn. He did not feel like hurrying, for he was tired, and had been through such an experience before. It was after eight when he at last showed himself.

"You are worse, Uncle Mark," he said, as he took the sufferer's hand.

"Yes, I am worse," was the low answer. "Much worse."

"It is too bad. Hadn't you better try some of that new wine I brought you?"

"Not now, Homer. I feel as if I never cared to eat or drink again." And Mark Horton gave a groan.

"You must not be so downcast, uncle."

"Homer, Gertrude has turned her back upon me!"

"Gertrude!" cried the nephew, very much startled.

"Yes, Gertrude. I—I did not think it possible."

"But I don't understand, Uncle Mark. Did you—er—did you send to her?"

"I will confess I did, Homer. I could stand it no longer. I wanted to see the dear child again."

"And she turned her back on you?" went on Bulson, hardly knowing what to say.

"She did. I sent for her to come at once. She had not gone to Boston, but to Lakewood, and was to be back in the evening. That was yesterday. She is not yet here, and that proves that she has forsaken me and wants nothing more to do with me."

At these words a crafty look came into Homer Bulson's eyes.

"Uncle Mark, I am sorry for you, but I could have told you as much some time ago," he said smoothly.

"You could have told me?"

"Yes. I went to Gertrude when she was thinking of going to Boston and begged her to come back. I even offered to go away, so that she would not be bothered with me. But she would not listen. She said that she was done with you, and that she preferred her theatrical friends to such a home as this, where there was no excitement. She is changed—and changed for the worse."

"Oh, Homer! can this be true? The dear, gentle Gertrude I once so loved and petted! But it is my own fault. I drove her away. I have only myself to blame." And burying his face in his pillow, the sick man sobbed aloud.

Instead of replying, Homer Bulson got out of a medicine closet the bottle of wine he had brought two days before and poured out a glassful.

"Take this, Uncle Mark. I know it will do you good," he said.

"No, I want no wine!" cried Mr. Horton. And suddenly he dashed wine and glass to the floor. "I hate it! It does me no good. I want nothing but Gertrude!" And he buried his face in his pillow again.

"I will do my best to bring her to you," said Bulson hypocritically.

He remained at the mansion a short while, and was then told that there was a man who wished to see him.

He hurried to his own apartments across the way, and here found himself face to face with Sam Pepper.

"You played me a fine trick," growled Pepper. "Give me back the papers you stole from me."

"Let us come to an understanding," said Bulson. "I am willing to pay for what I took, Pepper. Come with me."

"Want to drug me again?"

"No. I want to get where it is quiet. Come."

"All right, I'll go along. Supposing you come to my place?"

"That will suit me. I want to make a new deal with you."

And the pair started for Sam Pepper's resort on the East Side.