Twelve

I
Conway Jefferson stirred in his sleep and stretched. His arms were flungout, long, powerful arms into which all the strength of his body seemed tobe concentrated since his accident.

Through the curtains the morning light glowed softly.

Conway Jefferson smiled to himself. Always, after a night of rest, hewoke like this, happy, refreshed, his deep vitality renewed. Another day!

So for a minute he lay. Then he pressed the special bell by his hand. Andsuddenly a wave of remembrance swept over him.

Even as Edwards, deft and quiet-footed, entered the room, a groan waswrung from his master.

Edwards paused with his hand on the curtains. He said: “You’re not inpain, sir?”

Conway Jefferson said harshly:

“No. Go on, pull ’em.”

The clear light flooded the room. Edwards, understanding, did notglance at his master.

His face grim, Conway Jefferson lay remembering and thinking. Beforehis eyes he saw again the pretty, vapid face of Ruby. Only in his mind hedid not use the adjective vapid. Last night he would have said innocent. Ana?ve, innocent child! And now?

A great weariness came over Conway Jefferson. He closed his eyes. Hemurmured below his breath:

“Margaret….”

It was the name of his dead wife….