"I don’t see why, old chap, but—here goes! Send for this man," he named Law’s lawyer. "There is only one person in God’s world I care to have see me now. Let them send for him." So the lawyer came to the hospital, viewed Norval with outward calm; felt his heart tighten and his eyes dim, then wrote the short, stiff note that reached Anderson Law by Mam’selle’s wood pile. From that moment events moved rapidly. Taken from the still place where death seemed to have crushed everything, Donelle aroused herself slowly. She simply could not realize the wonderful thing that was happening; the marvellous fact that life still persisted and that she was part of it. "He—he will not die?" she asked Law over and over again, apparently forgetting that she had put the question before. "Die? Jim Norval? Certainly _not_," vowed Law with energy born of fear and apprehension. "And," here Donelle’s eyes would glow, "he did his duty to, to the last! I am so glad that he stayed with her, Man-Andy, until she needed him no longer. Then I’m glad he went over there to help. There will be nothing to be sorry for now. It was worth waiting for. And does he know about Tom, my husband?" The word husband seemed to justify the rest. "He does not, Donelle. And see here, child, we’ve got to go slow. Norval is going to come around all right and God knows he needs you, though he may not know it himself." "But why, Man-Andy? And what is the matter with him, exactly? You have not told me." There had been so much to say and do that details had been artistically eliminated. "Well, his legs are wobbly." Law sought for the least objectionable symptoms. "Wobbly? But he _has_ them, hasn’t he?" Donelle thought of the boys of Point of Pines who—had not. "Legs? Jim Norval? Well, I should say so! But they’ve rather gone back on him for the moment. And his eyes——" "His eyes?" Donelle clutched Law. "What about his eyes?" "Now, see here, Donelle. I’m taking you to Norval because I believe you alone can cure him; make him want to live, but you’ve got to behave yourself. My girl, I don’t know much myself, they’ve simply sent for me." The river steamer was nearing New York. It was early morning and the gray mysterious mists were hiding the mighty, silent city. It was like a dream of a distant place. A solemn fear that strengthened and hardened Donelle rose in her at Law’s words. She groped for, found, and held his hand like a good comrade. "Whatever it is, Man-Andy," she whispered, "I’m ready. If—he never walks again, I can fetch and carry. If—if his dear eyes can never see the—the things he loved, he shall use my eyes, always." Law then understood that the girl near him drew her strength and force from hidden sources. He knew that he could depend upon her. He tightened his clasp of the little hand. "And now," he explained, gulping unvoluntarily, "you’ll understand why I cannot take you right to Norval." "Yes, Man-Andy." The white face grew set.