The heavy glass door rang beneath the tap of impatient knuckles. Aroused abruptly from fitful unconsciousness into which she had drifted unawares, Anne sat up in bed and pressed both hands to her pounding heart.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” she cried in muffled terror. Was Alexis perhaps dying?

“Don’t be scared. It’s only me, Miss Wilson,” replied the nurse’s rather uncouth voice. “Mr. Petrovskey is conscious and I thought you’d better come.”

Anne sprang out of bed and donned slippers and dressing gown.

“Is he asking for me?” Her voice was unsteady, as she opened the door and went out into the studio.

“No ma’am, he seems quite rational for the moment. Asked for a drink of water. But I thought——”

“Yes, yes,” whispered Anne. She brushed by the woman impatiently.

“You were quite right to call me.” She stumbled across the shadowy studio and entered the dimly-lit bedroom beyond.

Hair ruffled above the unshaven young face, Alexis’ eyes stared into vacancy.

Gliding forward, Anne slipped on to her knees by the bed.

“Alexis,” she murmured beneath her breath. “Alexis,” she repeated barely louder than the pounding of her own heart.

The sunken eyes turned slowly and met hers in a blur of bewilderment.

“Anne?” he whispered, above his rough breathing. “Anne?”

Blinded by a mist of tears, she nodded at him reassuringly.

“Yes, dear, it is I. It is Anne.”

The sound of her voice seemed to puzzle him. He frowned helplessly. The uneven breathing broke suddenly, then became more clamorous than before.

“Strange, you have never spoken before? And your hair—your hair?” He leaned towards her abruptly, and placed his hand upon the hair which streamed about her shoulders in a golden rain.

“Your hair—I have never dreamed of it like this before to-night!” His fingers plunged into the gleaming tendrils. “It actually feels alive.” He shuddered violently and closed his eyes.

Anne feared he was losing consciousness again. Loosening the clutching fingers from her hair, she placed his hand upon her face.

“This is not a dream, Alexis,” she murmured, lips against his parched palm. “Am I not real? Can you not feel as well as hear me speak to you?”

At the moist pressure of Anne’s lips, a second shudder coursed through Alexis.

“No, no,” he pleaded hoarsely. “I must not awaken. I shall not awaken. I want to go on dreaming—dreaming forever.” His voice trailed into a husky murmur. Then ceased. His head fell back heavily upon the pillow.

Terror tugged at Anne’s heartstrings. She called into the other room for Miss Wilson.

“Oh come, quickly, I’m afraid he has fainted.”

Her sobbing cry brought the nurse in immediately. She bent over the bed, then turned a reassuring smile upon Anne.

“He is asleep,” she whispered, finger upon lips. “The best sleep he has had, poor young man, since I’ve been here. See, his forehead is moist. He will get well now. Aren’t you glad you stayed?” She looked at Anne meaningly.

Anne smiled back at her with quivering lips.

“But had we not better call up the doctor, just to be on the safe side?” she whispered, hesitant in spite of the woman’s evident confidence.

The nurse looked at her with condescension. She pursed her lips.

“Not at all, ma’am. Don’t worry. All Mr. Petrovskey needs now is sleep. No doctor could do as much for him. And it looks as if he’d sleep for hours now. Poor boy, he surely needs it.” Then noting Anne’s pallor and look of fatigue, “You look as if you needed it, too. Come right back to bed now and I’ll tuck you up. Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

Anne shook her head, smiling faintly.

“Oh no, thank you, Miss Wilson. You have enough to do without taking care of me. But don’t you think I ought to stay up in case he should awaken again?”

She shivered slightly as she spoke. And the nurse led her out of the room and closed the door gently.

“You’re catching cold in this icebox,” she said peremptorily. “We have to keep the sick room quite cold, you know. But I’m dressed suitably and you’re not.” She touched the silken nÉgligÉe with a mixture of scorn and longing. “Better get yourself a flannel wrapper like mine.” She smiled grimly. “Not beautiful, but useful, you know.”

With an undefined feeling of shame, Anne trotted obediently back to bed, accepting thankfully a cup of tea and the hot water bag insisted upon by Miss Wilson.

“You can’t afford to take any risk, and pneumonia is contagious, you know.” She tucked the blankets about Anne almost caressingly.

“You make me feel so useless and foolish going back to bed, when you’re preparing to stay up all night!” protested Anne.

Miss Wilson’s smile seemed oddly motherly upon her spinster-like face.

“That’s my business. We all have our duties, you know. And I guess you have more than done yours to-night.”

One more pat to the bedclothes, and she was gone. As the door closed behind her, Anne’s eyelids drooped. In a moment she was drifting on the same uncharted sea as Alexis Petrovskey.

In the morning Alexis was rational for the first time in days and his fever had gone down several degrees. Anne heard the joyful news from Miss Wilson just as the day-nurse was preparing to take the other’s place.

“All the same, you had better not go in to see him until after you have asked the doctor’s advice. Last night was the psychological moment, and it would be a shame for you to undo all your good work,” whispered Miss Wilson, her hand on the front door. “You haven’t long to wait, the doctor will be here any minute now. Bye-by until to-night.”

Anne stationed herself at the window, and looked down into Gramercy Park. A mantle of snow overlay everything. And in the carefully dug-out paths children were playing. They had erected a snow fort, over which the statue of Edwin Booth brooded like an austere and arctic angel. A hail of snowballs from which arose shrill cries and laughter showered about the statue furiously. Anne smiled. What a picture the children made, with their rosy faces and brilliant-colored sweaters, against the blue-shadowed snow! She saw a nurse-girl approach and open the iron gate with a large key. How small the paradise! How carefully guarded! How long before these very children would be thrust forth from the gates into the sordid business of living?

As if to reassure her, the big clock in the Madison Square tower boomed goldenly. Nine o’clock, and the doctor had not arrived yet. Anne sighed impatiently. She was not looking forward to her interview with the doctor. The situation was awkward. The more she thought about it, the more ill at ease she became. The febrile excitement of the past night, under control, she faced the situation dispassionately. Where was she drifting, and into what? In coming to Alexis’ rescue, was she perhaps jeopardizing against the rocks her own hitherto well-steered little bark? Perhaps! She shrugged fatalistically, and going to the table, was about to take up a book when the door-bell rang. It was the doctor. The day-nurse, a plump and pleasant little person, let him in. Casting one penetrating glance at Anne, he passed through the studio hurriedly and entered the bedroom.

With a feeling of relief, Anne reopened her book and tried not to listen. But Alexis’ voice, though hoarse and weak, reached her plainly. It somehow conveyed a message of peace, as if its owner had attained some unhoped-for refuge.

He is really better. He is going to live, she thought, exultantly. Oh, I only hope it keeps up. She clasped her hands in her lap feverishly, letting the three voices in the next room sweep over her.

The dreaded interview proved absurdly simple after all. Brusquely uninterested in Anne, except for the effect he hoped she would have on his patient, the little doctor barked his orders without ceremony.

The patient was decidedly better, but not yet out of danger. All unhappy excitement must be avoided. His mother and wife were not to see him until further orders, and, Anne herself, only for five minutes at a time. And at that as seldom as possible. However, she was to remain within call, as her presence was obviously of benefit to the case.

Anne listened in acquiescent silence, her manner dry as the doctor’s own. When the door closed upon his plump assurance, she smiled rather wryly. So she was to remain virtually a prisoner for days! What would people think? What could she say to put them off the track? She would have to invent some tale of having been called out of town, down to Virginia perhaps, to see her ailing, old aunt? She did not like it at all, this having to lie! With a helpless little shake of the head she walked over to the oval mirror and gazed rather cynically at her own reflection.

She was glad Regina had sent the green jersey dress. It was becoming and informal, and brought out the russet tints in her hair. What a pity she was so pale this morning! It would have pleased her to look her most beautiful for Alexis’ sake, but perhaps he wouldn’t even notice? She patted her hair into order, a new and searching humility in her eyes. The door opened and the nurse stood upon the threshold.

“Mr. Petrovskey is ready to see you,” she said, her admiring gaze upon Anne’s hair. “You don’t mind if I time you? The doctor’s orders were for five minutes only.”

Anne turned and faced the girl, outwardly serene, but her heart was knocking against her side.

“Of course not. Please consider me absolutely under your orders, nurse. Shall I go in?” With a regal inclination of the head and shaky knees she swept by into the sick-room.

Alexis greeted her from amidst freshened pillows.

“I had a dream last night,” he whispered huskily. His eyes leapt to hers like wind-blown flames. “They tell me it was true?”

She approached the bed and stood looking down upon him.

“If your dream was of me, I was here,” she said simply, almost shyly. They continued to look at each other in silence. He put forth a thin hand and fingered her dress.

“Anne—Anne?” he queried weakly. “Can I believe my eyes?”

“Is it so difficult?” she replied. “My dear, they told me you were ill, and so I came.”

Sinking down into the chair next the bed, she took his groping fingers and stroked them gently. “Poor dear, poor dear.”

The fingers crept about her slender wrist and clung feebly. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” he muttered.

The gentle stroke continued.

“That was foolish, Alexis.” Her voice was barely audible.

“You sent me from you in anger,” he insisted mournfully.

Anne shook her head, smiling at him with reproach.

“Oh no, you were mistaken. I never sent you away. It was you who never came to see me again, or called me up! What was I to think or do? In a case like that a woman cannot, does not, want to take the initiative. Besides, I didn’t even have your address.”

The searching eyes had not left her face for a moment, and as she concluded, they kindled hungrily.

“Did you really want me to come back?” The question was an entreaty.

“Of course, foolish one. I was awfully worried about you.” She laughed softly. “But now I must go. Your nurse will be dragging me out in another minute. And we must obey orders.”

“Oh, don’t go, don’t go!” He flushed deeply. “Promise me you will stay?” Sitting up in bed, he clasped both arms about her shoulders and buried his burning face in her neck.

Anne disentangled herself.

“I shall be in the next room, within call,” she said rather breathlessly. “You must be good and do as the doctor says, or you won’t get well.”

He fell back upon the pillow and looked up at her.

“Is it as bad as that?” he whispered with a wry smile. “Six weeks ago I would have welcomed the tidings, but now, that you are here, that you have forgiven me, I am afraid. Promise, promise you will not leave me?”

A lump in Anne’s throat, she nodded. “I will not leave the apartment until you are entirely out of danger, Alexis,” she whispered, her hand on his tumbled hair.

He heaved a sigh of satisfaction, and drawing her fingers to his fever-smitten lips, kissed them pleadingly.

“Now you may go. If it is only into the other room? But first prove that you were really here last night.”

She knitted her brows.

“But how can I, Alexis, if you won’t take my word?”

“Take down your hair,” was his whispered command. “Let me see if it looks the same as in my dream.”

She blushed.

“No, no, I cannot. What would the nurse think?” She hesitated a moment with puzzled brows. “But yes, I’ll tell you what I will do.” Her eyes laughed down at him reassuringly.

“What?” he whispered joyously.

“I can show you the dressing-gown I had on. Do you remember what it looked like?”

“Golden as honey,” he murmured, his eyes upon her hair. “Yes, ‘seeing is believing.’”

She laughed, and running out of the room, returned with the nÉgligÉe on her arm. At the sight his smouldering eyes flared anew.

“Yes, that is it,” he whispered. “Will you put it on for me to-night, dear Anne?”

The flush still upon her cheeks, Anne nodded weakly. After all, had not the doctor said he must be humored?

“And now good-bye for the present, Alexis. See, here’s your nurse waiting to drag me out by the hair.” She tried to laugh.

The nurse appeared on the threshold, coughing apologetically. “I do hope you’ll excuse me for disturbing you, but you see it has really been seven minutes, instead of five.” The ghost of a twinkle in her eye, she approached them gingerly.

“All right, Anne, go if you must,” Alexis sighed mournfully. “But please, please, won’t you kiss me first, just to prove you’re really here?”

Anne stooped over him, laughing unsteadily. “I, don’t usually have to answer to roll-call like this.” She pressed her lips lightly upon the hot forehead, beneath the towseled, fair hair. “There, will you be good now!”

The touch of her lips flamed through Alexis’s body. He closed his eyes in sheer ecstasy. When he opened them Anne had disappeared.

The remainder of the day passed in rapid monotony, fevered, unreal as a dream, which though sweet, borders upon the edge of nightmare. After having watched Alexis sip at a little warm milk, (he was not permitted to talk this time, only to look into her face and hold her hand), she went to a nearby tea-room for lunch. Then strolled briskly about the enclosed park, before returning to the studio, quite like a professional nurse, as she told herself.

Alexis was asleep when she came in. She threw herself upon the couch with a book and a cigarette. Gradually, the white-gold noon of December faded into violet. Dusk crept through the curtained windows, stole up the walls, swathing the room in heavy, somber folds until it became a dim cavern.

The book slipped from Anne’s fingers. She dozed.

It was not until after six o’clock that she remembered having invited the Marchese to tea that very afternoon.

Conscience-smitten, she rose, and stumbling across the shadowy studio, took up the telephone and called up her house. Regina answered volubly, Yes, the Signor Marchese had been there and left. She had told him the Signora had been called away to see a sick friend and had not returned as yet. Had she, Regina, done right? Yes, Anne supposed she had (with a little private grimace). Had the Marchese seemed hurt? Regina’s respectful voice became lugubrious. Yes, he had! He had gone away with an air of great sorrow!

Anne sighed. “Please call him up and say that I am writing, Regina, that’s a dear!”

“Benissimo, all shall be as the Signora declares,” came in relieved tones over the wire.

Anne hung up the receiver with a fatalistic shrug. Poor Vittorio, he was faring rather badly. Was he not? She would have to make it up to him in the future!