By the glow of the match Lorraine saw how sober Jim looked, how his chin was trembling under the drooping, sandy mustache.

She stared at him, hating to read the emotion in his heavy face that she had always thought so utterly void of feeling.
"It isn't--he isn't----" she began, and turned upon Swan, who was beside the bunk, looking down at Frank's upturned face.

"Swan, if it's serious enough for a doctor, can't you send another thought message to your mother ?" she asked.

"He looks--oh, Lone! He isn't _dead_, is he ?" Swan turned his head and stared down at her, and from her face his glance went sharply to Lone's downcast face.

He looked again at Lorraine.
"To-night I can't talk with my mind," Swan told her bluntly.