The Lion's Mouse

								

for the first time with Beverley. Of all women, she was the one who
ought to think twice before doing a thing to get herself talked about;
but she never thought twice. As he drove homeward, doubts of her crowded
into his mind.
At home, Beverley was in the room which had been turned into a hospital
ward. The nurse had called her, to announce that the "patient" had
returned to consciousness and had begun asking questions.
"I saw it would worry her to be put off," went on Sister Lake, "so I
told her a few things. She remembered throwing herself out of the
window, and the fall, and then waking up, lying in the street. She said
she'd dreamed of an angel-girl bending over her. When she heard what
you'd done, she insisted on speaking to you."
"I'll go at once!" Beverley exclaimed.
"Just for a few minutes," the nurse hinted.
Beverley let herself be led in. The room looked strange to her. The
servants, directed by the doctor, and later by the trained nurse, had
swiftly, noiselessly made the changes before the girl came back to
herself. The curtains had been taken down, and rugs cleared away from
the parquet floor. Most of the furniture had disappeared, and on a glass
table were a number of bottles. The bed faced the door, and as Mrs.
Sands softly entered a pair of eyes looked at her. Beverley's heart
jumped as her eyes met them. She had not known how immense and dark they
were, or that they were beautiful.
The nurse drew Mrs. Sands near to the bed, and issued her orders before
the girl could open her lips.
"Neither of you must talk much," she commanded. "Mrs. Sands has come to
let you see that she exists, and you can thank her if you like, but she
mustn't stay many minutes."
"Sister Lake is right," said Beverley. "You mustn't excite yourself.
You're going to get well; and this is your home."
"I'm not excited," the girl answered, in a low, monotonous voice, hardly
above a whisper. "But I had to see you, and tell you this one thing. I
didn't want to live, because ... I was miserable, and everyone hated me;
still, it seemed awful to die. You saved me. I wish to live now, if only
to show you what gratitude can be. I expect you're awfully rich. I'm
poorer than any church mouse. It doesn't look as if I could do anything
for one like you. But who knows? There was a mouse once helped a lion.
It gnawed a hole in a net. I feel as if the time must come when I can do
as much, because I want to so dreadfully. That's all!"






IV
THE MURMUR OF THE STORM


It seemed that everything were to go wrong with Roger Sands that day. He
had felt for the last few months that a cloud had risen between him and
John Heron, whose cause he had won in California. If ever a business man
owed a debt of gratitude to the brains of another, John Heron owed such
a debt to Roger Sands, who had risked not only his reputation, but even
his life against the powerful enemies of the alleged "California Oil