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 voice, as his wife and daughter came through the door.

"Of course you did, poor old dear," Hilda told him soothingly, seating herself on the corner of his desk and patting him encouragingly on his shoulder. "But Mother can't rest. How can she? And if she isn't scouring the island—she must know every inch of it by now—she is hunting on the mainland with Ah Wong."

"Oh! I know, I know," Florence Gregory said wearily, subsiding indifferently into the chair Holman placed for her.

"You'll wear yourself out," her husband said roughly, but not unkindly.

The mother smiled, contemptuous of the fatigue from which she was wan and trembling. "It's no use saying anything to me. I can't rest. Have you heard anything? That's all I've come for."

"Not yet, dear. I've seen the Governor again. He was most kind—really very kind. Everything is being done—everything—and will be—and it is foolish to go on wearing yourself out like this."

"I am not wearing myself out," his wife returned petulantly. "The suspense is wearing my heart out—and no one seems to care—no one!"

"Yes, I know how you feel, dear," her husband answered her gently, "and what you must be suffering. But try to spare yourself just a little, for my sake. And believe me—you can—all that is possible is being done—and this—this is man's work."

"Is it?" the mother said dully. "I'm not so sure, I'm not so sure." She closed her eyes and leaned back in the big office chair, burning and shivering with excitement, and terribly, terribly tired.

Ah Wong looked about the office desperately. She wanted cushions, but there were no cushions there, and