What he expected to see he did not know, but his heart pounded as he opened the bedroom door. The room was bright with lamplight, and in spotless order. At her small writing-table sat Mary, in a loose white dressing gown, her hair in smooth braids around her head, writing. What was she doing? Was she leaving some last message for him, in case--? He felt himself grow cold again. "Mary!" he exclaimed hoarsely.
She looked round, and called joyfully to him.
"Oh, darling, there you are. I'm getting everything ready. It's coming, Stefan dearest. I'm so happy!" Her face was excited, radiant.
He ran to her with a groan of relief, and, kneeling, caught her face to his. "Oh, Beautiful, you're all right then? She told me--I was afraid--" he stumbled, inarticulate.
She stroked his cheek comfortingly. "Dearest, isn't it wonderful--just think--by to-morrow our baby will be here." She kissed him, between happy tears and laughter.
"You are not in pain, darling? You're all right? What were you writing when I came in?" he stammered, anxiously.
"I'm putting all the accounts straight, and paying all the bills to date, so that Lily won't have any trouble while I'm laid up," she beamed.
Stefan stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then burst into half-hysterical laughter.
"Oh, you marvel," he gasped, "goddess of efficiency, unshakable Olympian! Bills! And I thought you were writing me a farewell message."
"Silly boy," she replied. "The bills have got to be paid; a nice muddle you would be in if you had them to do yourself. But, dearest--" her face grew suddenly grave and she took his hand--"listen. I _have_ written you something--it's there--" her fingers touched an elastic bound pile of papers. "I'm perfectly well, but if anything _should_ happen, I want my sister to have the baby. Because I think, dear--" she stroked his hand with a look of compassionate understanding--"that without me you would not want it very much. Miss Mason would take it to England for you, and you could make my sister an allowance. I've left you her address, and all that I can think of to suggest."
He gazed at her dumbly. Her face glowed with life and beauty, her voice was sweet and steady. There she sat, utterly mistress of herself, in the shadow of life and death. Was it that her imagination was transcendent, or that she had none? He did not know, he did not understand her, but in that moment he could have said his prayers at her feet.