In the afternoon he put in an application and suggested that, as a matter of business convenience, he would like to be examined at once. Two days later he was politely informed that the company, on the advice of its physician, felt constrained to decline the risk. But the man who is condemned to death does not give up hope: he appeals to a higher court, holding to the last that an error of law or of fact will be discovered. Wentworth appealed his case, but the verdict of the specialist he consulted was the same: he might live many years, but he might die at any moment. “I would advise you,” said the physician, “to give up active business and to get your financial affairs in the best possible shape. If you are to live, you must take unusual precautions to avoid excitement and worry.” Avoid worry! What a mockery, when he was deprived of the opportunities to make proper provision for the little woman and the baby! He was well-to-do, but only so long as he continued to live and make money. Some investments he had, but they were neither numerous nor large, and not of a character that would be considered absolutely safe. He had invested to make money rather than to save it in most instances, so the amount that he had in really first-class securities was comparatively trifling. “If I continue in business, how long can I expect to live, Doctor?” he asked. “It is problematical,” was the reply. “Frankly, I don’t think I would give you more than two or three years of active business life, with the possibility of death at any moment during that time. Still, if you are careful, you ought to last two years.” Wentworth shuddered. He had told the physician to speak frankly, but it was horrible to have the limit of life set in this way. “Retire from business,” the doctor added, “go to some quiet place, and you _may_ live as long as any other.” “But I can’t!” cried Wentworth. “I haven’t the money, and I must provide for the little woman and the baby. My God! how helpless they would be without me!” Wentworth went from the doctor’s office to the safe-deposit vaults where he kept his securities. He was a desperate man now—a man who had deliberately decided to sacrifice his life for those he loved. He would continue in business another year—two years, if necessary and the Lord permitted—and he would bend every energy to making provision for his little family. It might—nay, probably would—kill him, but what matter? To buy life at the expense of their future would be supremely selfish. And he might succeed before the fatal summons came: he might get his affairs in such shape in a year that he could retire with almost as good a chance of life as he had now—if he could stand the strain so long. But in his heart he felt he was pronouncing his own doom. He might put the optimistic view of the situation in words, but he did not believe the words. A great fear—a fear that was almost a certainty—gripped hard at his heart.