"More scared than hurt, probably." David smiled wanly. "But, just the same, I think you'd better call up a doctor." CHAPTER XII WHICH HOUSE? The doctor did not share David's opinion. He shook his head gravely, looked important and said, "It's lucky I got here so soon." Then he brightened a little. "But it's a lovely clean cut and we'll do what we can." So, he stopped the flow of blood, washed out the wound with an antiseptic solution and took several stitches; which hurt much worse than Smith's knife had. Then he ordered David to the hospital. But by that time some one had got Jonathan by telephone and he said, "No, bring him here." And David protesting in vain, an ambulance took him to Jonathan's house and gentle hands laid him on the bed of the special guest-room. A nurse was installed and in time David fell asleep. Through the night Jonathan watched, stealing every few minutes to David's bedside. It was not at all necessary; the nurse slept, no fears disturbing her slumbers. But Jonathan wanted to watch. He kept thinking that David might have died. He shuddered and went pale at the thought. For Jonathan had loved David; he loved him even now. The bitterness of that day was gone; so much could a little letting of blood accomplish. But the thought of one tragedy, so narrowly escaped, did not help Jonathan to forget another impending--if it was to be tragedy. His heart ached for his friends; it was only of them he thought now. They faced each other across a chasm too wide to be leaped or bridged; only by a descent into chill dark depths could their outstretched hands meet. He did not blame them for having strayed to that brink; not in the impulses of the heart do we sin, only in the yielding. But such chasms need not be tragic. There grow the sweetest flowers for those having the will to see and gather. All his life Jonathan had been schooled in that lesson, and he had learned to pluck happiness as he turned his back on desire. He had even been happy in an unrequited love, he had not sought to cast it out of his heart, he had loved his love--at least until it had seemed helpless to save her from a hurt. He could be happy in it still, if instead of tragedy they could find strength and courage and the greater triumph growing on the brink of their chasm. It seemed very simple and easy, what he wanted them to learn. He did not understand that only the Greathearts find it simple and easy. He never suspected that he was a Greatheart. An odd fish, this Jonathan! But it was a knowledge that he could not give them. They must win it, if at all, for themselves. In the morning the doctor came again, inspected the wound, discovered no evidence of infection and was mightily pleased with himself. "Don't look so sad," he adjured David. "You got off lucky. If that knife--" "I suppose so," David said querulously. "If you've finished, would you mind going? I'd like to sleep some more."