before her and her face was twisted with fear.
As he sprang forward she fell, pitching stiffly head foremost, as he
had seen men fall in the ring, her arms hanging at her sides; and he
caught her.
He carried her to the couch and laid her down. He hung for an instant
in doubt whether to go for water or telephone for the doctor. He
decided on the telephone.
He hung up the receiver and went back to Ruth. She stirred and gave a
little moan. He flew upstairs and returned with a pitcher of water.
When he got back Ruth was sitting up. The look of terror was gone from
her face. She smiled at him, a faint, curiously happy smile. He flung
himself on his knees beside her, his arm round her waist, and burst
into a babble of self-reproach.
He cursed himself for being such a brute, such a beast as to let her
stand there, tiring herself to death. She must never do it again. He
was a devil. He ought to have known she could not stand it. He was not
fit to be married. He was not fit to live.
Ruth ruffled his hair.
"Stop abusing my husband," she said. "I'm fond of him. Did you catch
me, Kirk?"
"Yes, thank God. I got to you just in time."
"That's the last thing I remember, wondering if you would. You seemed
such miles and miles away. It was like looking at something in a mist
through the wrong end of a telescope. Oh, Kirk!"
"Yes, honey?"
"It came again, that awful feeling as if something dreadful was going
to happen. And then I felt myself going." She paused. "Kirk, I think I
know now. I understand; and oh, I'm so happy!"
She buried her face on his shoulder, and they stayed there silent, till
there came a ring at the bell. Kirk got up. George Pennicut ushered in
the doctor. It was the same little old doctor who had ministered to
George in his hour of need.
"Feeling better, Mrs. Winfield?" he said, as he caught sight of Ruth.
"Your husband told me over the 'phone that you were unconscious."
"She fainted," cried Kirk. "It was all through me. I......-"
The doctor took him by the shoulders. He had to stretch to do it.
"You go away, young man," he said. "Take a walk round the block. You
aren't on in this scene."
* * * * *
Kirk was waiting in the hall when he left a few minutes later.
"Well?" he said anxiously.
"Well?" said the little doctor.
"Is she all right? There's nothing wrong, is there?"
The doctor grinned a friendly grin.
"On the contrary," he said. "You ought to be very pleased."
"What do you mean?"
"It's quite a commonplace occurrence, though I suppose it will seem
like a miracle to you. But, believe me, it has happened before. If it
hadn't, you and I wouldn't be here now."
Kirk looked at him in utter astonishment. His words seemed meaningless.
And then, suddenly, he understood, and his heart seemed to stand still.
"You don't mean......-" he said huskily.
"Yes, I do," said the doctor. "Good-bye, my boy. I've got to hurry off.
You caught me just as I was starting for the hospital."
* * * * *
Kirk went back to the studio, his mind in a whirl. Ruth was lying on
the couch. She looked up as the door opened. He came quickly to her
side.
"Ruth!" he muttered.
Her eyes were shining with a wonderful light of joy. She drew his head
down and kissed him.
"Oh, Kirk," she whispered. "I'm happy. I'm happy. I've wanted this so."
He could not speak. He sat on the edge of the couch and looked at her.
She had been wonderful to him before. She was a thousand times more
wonderful now.
Chapter VIII Suspense
It seemed to Kirk, as the days went by, that a mist of unreality fell
like a curtain between him and the things of this world. Commonplace
objects lost their character and became things to marvel at. There was
a new bond of sympathy between the world and himself.
A citizen walking in the park with his children became a kind of
miracle. Here was a man who had travelled the road which he was
travelling now, who had had the same hopes and fear and wonder. Once he
encountered a prosperous looking individual moving, like a liner among
tugs, in the midst of no fewer than six offspring. Kirk fixed him with
such a concentrated stare of emotion and excitement that the other was
alarmed and went on his way alertly, as one in the presence of danger.
It is probable that, if Kirk had happened to ask him the time at that
moment, or indeed addressed him at all, he would have screamed for the
police.
The mystery of childbirth and the wonder of it obsessed Kirk as time
crept on. And still more was he conscious of the horrible dread that
was gathering within him. Ruth's unvarying cheerfulness was to him
almost uncanny. None of the doubts and fears which blackened his life
appeared to touch her. Once he confided these to his friend, the little
doctor, and was thoroughly bullied by him for his foolishness. But in
spite of ridicule the fear crept back, cringingly, like a whipped dog.
And then, time moving on its leisurely but businesslike fashion, the
day arrived, and for the first time in his life Kirk knew what fear
really meant. All that he had experienced till now had, he saw, been a
mild apprehension, not worthy of a stronger name. His flesh crawled
with the thoughts which rose in his mind like black bubbles in a pond.
There were moments when the temptation to stupefy himself with drink
was almost irresistible.
It was his utter uselessness that paralysed him. He seemed destined to
be of no help to Ruth at just those crises when she needed him most.
When she was facing her father with the news of the marriage he had not
been at her side. And now, when she was fighting for her life, he could
do nothing but pace the empty, quiet studio and think.
The doctor had arrived at eight o'clock, cheery as ever, and had come
downstairs after seeing Ruth to ask him to telephone to Mrs. Porter. In
his overwrought state, this had jarred upon Kirk. Here, he felt, was
somebody who could help where he was useless.
Mrs. Porter had appeared in a cab and had had the cold brutality to ask
for a glass of sherry and a sandwich before going upstairs. She put
forward the lame excuse that she had not dined. Kirk gave her the
sherry and sandwich and resumed his patrol in a glow of indignation.
The idea of any one requiring food at this moment struck him as gross
and revolting.
His wrath did not last. In a short while fear came back into its own.
The hands of the clock pointed to ten before he stooped to following
Mrs. Porter's example. George Pennicut had been sent out, so he went
into the little kitchen, where he found eggs, which he mixed with milk
and swallowed. After this he was aware of a momentary excess of
optimism. The future looked a little brighter. But not for long.
Presently he was prowling the studio as restlessly as ever.
Men of Kirk's type are not given to deep thought. Until now he had
probably never spent more than a couple of minutes consecutively in
self-examination. This vigil forced him upon himself and caused him to
pass his character under review, with strange and unsatisfactory
results. He had never realised before what a curiously contemptible and
useless person he was. It seemed to him that this was all he was fit
for , to hang about doing nothing while everybody else was busy and