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condition was fairly well under control. Hillary knew that individuals with angina could often live full and active lives for years and years, taking the proper precautions and having good medical supervision.
    The stroke that had occurred a few weeks ago had been a relatively minor one. It had not affected her speech or her vision, as is so often the case. Her right side had been weakened, the coordination in her arm and leg had suffered from the attack, and the right side of her face showed the slightest trace of a droop. Her left side had been unaffected except for a lingering tiredness from her body's ordeal.
    She had returned from the hospital only the day before, and had been temporarily cared for by a very nervous Mrs. Raymond.
    Her vital signs were listed as strong, her pulse, blood pressure, and temperature showed that she was doing well. The doctor had prescribed an extensive rehabilitation program for her, containing exercises and activities to gradually increase the overall strength in her body, and to redevelop the coordination lost in her right limbs.
    Hillary thought back over the months she had spent on the wards of the city hospital during her training, months that she had worked with several patients who had suffered similar tragedies. In some severe cases, the stroke victims had never been able to return to any semblance of normal health. Some patients had been very old, some had been amazingly young. And some, like Priscilla Scott, had had the good fortune to have a better than fair chance of regaining all of the ground that they had lost. Given a strong will—there was no doubt that Scotty possessed that—and the determination to do a lot of hard work, she could recuperate. She would walk again and be released from the wheelchair that confined her.
    Stroke patients often remained at the hospital for their physical therapy, working for weeks, even months, on the elaborate equipment that was provided. But Priscilla Scott had returned home. Hillary suppressed a giggle, sure that she knew why. She could just imagine the proud white head bobbing defiantly, berating and terrorizing the nurses and orderlies on the hospital floor, her arrogant voice refusing abruptly to follow their orders, refusing to fit into their daily system. Hillary could just imagine her dealing with the therapists who would try to bend her will.
    Hillary had seen a good many patients in her day, and some had been quite difficult to work with. But none, she knew, could hold a candle to Priscilla Scott! The staff had probably been more than relieved when Dr. Newburg had removed her from their care.
    And now she was Hillary's patient. Hillary smiled to herself. Scotty was going to get better. They would have storms and rages most probably. But she would ultimately do what she had to do to get better, because she had met her match in stubbornness in Hillary Holt. The young nurse hadn't wanted this position, to be sure, but now she was here and she was determined to succeed. And she liked Scotty. She closed the folder firmly and answered the knock on her door.
    The clock on her dresser chimed six times. Mrs. Raymond stood in the doorway and immediately began to rattle off her message.
    "I've come to inform you of the meal arrangements, Nurse Holt. Tonight I will bring you a tray in your room. Breakfast tomorrow will also be served in this way. The family will be arriving throughout the day tomorrow, and from then on, meals will be at eight, twelve, and eight, promptly, in the dining room downstairs. You are expected to join the family for meals, and to give them a report of Miss Scott's condition."
    "And what of Miss Scott? Will she be joining us?"
    Mrs. Raymond looked at her in confusion. It was the first human emotion that Hillary had seen in her.
    "Miss Scott seems to prefer staying in her room, and when I spoke to the family on the telephone, they seemed to think that was best."
    "But that isn't normally what she'd do?"
    "No. She's one