“‘Local physician?’” mocked Caleb. “Here, Hawarden! Sit down there an’ tel’graph to Dr. Hawes an’ Dr. Clay at Granite. Tell ’em to come here in a rush an’ bring along the best nurses they can find. Tel’graph my office in my name to give ’em a Special an’ to clear the tracks for ’em. Tel’graph to Noo York, too, for the best specialists they’ve got. An--” “I’m afraid, sir” interposed the clergyman, “there is no use in sending to New York. No doctor there could reach Magdeburg--in time.” “You do’s I say!” Caleb ordered the lad. Then turning fiercely on Mr. Grant he demanded: “What d’you mean by sayin’ he won’t get here on time? She’s goin’ to get well, if a couple of million dollars worth of med’cal ’tention can cure her. If not--” “If not, sir,” said the clergyman, speaking tenderly as a father, “we must bear God’s will. For such as she there is no fear. She has the white soul of a child. She will go out of this lesser life of ours borne on the strong arm of Christ. She--” “No ‘fear’ for her?” yelled Conover, catching but a single phrase in the other’s attempt at comfort, “Who the hell is fearin’ for _her_? That girl’s fit to look on God’s own face an’ live. It’s for _me_ that I’m afraid. For _me_ that I’m afraid. For _me_ that she’d leave to live on without her through all the damned dreariness of the years. What’d there be in it for _me_ to know she was in heaven? I want _her_. I want her _here_. With _me_! An’ she’d rather be with me. I know she would. I’d make her happier’n all the angels that ever--” “You don’t mean to blaspheme,” said the clergyman, “You are not yourself. She is brave. She knows no dread. Can’t you be as brave as she is,--for _her_ sake? She is learning that Death is no longer terrible when one is close enough to see the kind eyes behind the mask. I know how black an hour this is for you. But God will help you if only you will carry your grief to Him. When man can endure no more, He sends Peace. If--” The door of the inner room opened, and a bearded man emerged. He paused on the threshold at sight of Caleb. The Fighter thrust him bodily aside, without ceremony; entered the room the doctor had just quitted and closed the door behind him. The light burned low. In the centre of the big white bed,--a pathetically tiny figure,--lay Desirée. Her wonderful hair flowed loose over the pillow. The little face, white, pain-drawn, yet smiling joyous welcome from its great eyes, turned eagerly toward her lover. With an effort whose anguish left her lips gray she stretched forth her arms to him.