Part 3 (1/2)

But a moment later, inside the hospital, as the admitting officer began to ask questions of Rhoda Gray, Gypsy Nan had apparently recovered her grip upon herself.

”Ah, let her alone!” she broke in. ”She doesn't know me any more than you do. She found me on the street. But she was good to me, G.o.d bless her!”

”Your name's Charlotte Green? Yes?” The man nodded. ”Where do you live?”

”Wherever I like!” Gypsy Nan was snarling truculently now. ”What's it matter where I live? Don't you ever have any one come here without a letter from the pastor of her church!” She pulled out the package of banknotes. ”You aren't going to get stuck. This'll see you through whatever happens. Give me a--a private room, and”--her voice was weakening rapidly--”and”--there came a bitter, facetious laugh--”the best you've got.” Her voice was weakening rapidly.

They carried her upstairs. She still insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand.

”Don't leave me!” she pleaded again, as they reached the door of a private room, and Rhoda Gray disengaged her hand gently.

”I'll stay outside here,” Rhoda Gray promised. ”I won't go away without seeing you again.”

Rhoda Gray sat down on a settee in the hall. She glanced at her wrist watch. It was five minutes of eleven. Doctors and nurses came and went from the room. Then a great quiet seemed to settle down around her. A half hour pa.s.sed. A doctor went into the room, and presently came out again. She intercepted him as he came along the corridor.

He shook his head.

She did not understand his technical explanation. There was something about a clot and blood stoppage. But as she resumed her seat, she understood very fully that the end was near. The woman was resting quietly now, the doctor had said, but if she, Rhoda Gray, cared to wait, she could see the other before leaving the hospital.

And so she waited. She had promised Gypsy Nan she would.

The minutes dragged along. A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. Still another.

Midnight came. Fifteen minutes more went by, and then a nurse came out of the room, and, standing by the door, beckoned to Rhoda Gray.

”She is asking for you,” the nurse said. ”Please do not stay more than a few minutes. I shall be outside here, and if you notice the slightest change, call me instantly.”

Rhoda Gray nodded.

”I understand,” she said.

The door closed softly behind her. She was smiling cheerily as she crossed the room and bent over Gypsy Nan.

The woman stretched out her hand.

”The White Moll!” she whispered. ”He told the truth, that bull did--straight as they make 'em, and--”

”Don't try to talk,” Rhoda Gray interrupted gently. ”Wait until you are a little stronger.”

”Stronger!” Gypsy Nan shook her head. ”Don't try to kid me! I know. They told me. I'd have known it anyway. I'm going out.”

Rhoda Gray found no answer for a moment. A great lump had risen in her throat. Neither would she have needed to be told; she, too, would have known it anyway--it was stamped in the gray pallor of the woman's face.

She pressed Gypsy Nan's hand.

And then Gypsy Nan spoke again, a queer, yearning hesitancy in her voice:

”Do--do you believe in G.o.d?”

”Yes,” said Rhoda Gray simply.

Gypsy Nan closed her eyes.

”Do--do you think there is a chance--even at the last--if--if, without throwing down one's pals, one tries to make good?”