"What do you mean?" asked Richard De Jarnette, harshly, driven by a great fear. "Why do you torture her so? Say plainly what you mean." The outraged physician turned upon him savagely. "I mean, sir," he said with some stiffness, "that this lady's child, who has unfortunately been allowed to contract scarlet fever, is in great danger of going blind. Do I make myself plain?" His voice was low, but so intense in its indignation that it penetrated to the room beyond. Richard De Jarnette staggered back as from a blow. "_Blind!_... Good God!" He turned abjectly toward the doorway between the two rooms where stood Margaret, white as death but with face transfigured. _This_ was her opportunity.... And what would Philip do without her if--With a swift movement she fell on her knees at his feet and stretched out her hands. "Richard! oh, Richard!" she cried, her heart in her eyes. "Will you give him to me if he is blind?" The old doctor turned to the window with a groan. And Richard De Jarnette-- Have you ever stood before a monarch of the forest marked for the woodman's ax? Have you noted its majestic spread, its trunk of massive girth, its towering branches where "The century-living crow Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died"? Have you stood thus and marveled not that so magnificent a thing could fall by hand of puny man? And have you further noted how it stood at last--majestic still, but with its strength so sapped, and its potentiality so meshed that any child might cause its overthrow? For weeks the mighty oak of this man's pride and obstinacy had been preparing for its fall. Weak hands they were which had given the blows--a woman's and a child's; no one suspected that its strength was gone, he least of all; but when the crucial moment came, it needed but a baby's groping touch to lay it low. He took her hands and raised her to her feet. "Margaret!... Margaret!" he said brokenly. "From this hour--come what may--the child is yours." The door closed behind him and the sound of his heavy tread echoed through the hall,--but she did not hear. The old doctor wiped his eyes, looked cautiously around, and stole from the room,--but she did not perceive. She was on her knees beside her child, sobbing as though her heart would break. CHAPTER XLI UNDER THE WISTARIA It was three whole days before Margaret saw Richard De Jarnette again. She was wounded and outraged beyond the power of words to express at his apparent neglect. Under the circumstances it seemed almost brutal. She did not even have Mrs. Pennybacker with her, for when the doctor went for her he found her so unwell herself that he had not told her about Philip, fearing that she would overtax her strength to go to them. Margaret agreed with him that this was best, but her heart cried out for somebody to lean upon.