But Harry Chalender joined the Argonauts. His finances were in need of some heaven-sent bonanza, and he had no scruples against leaving his creditors in the lurch. When he called to pay his farewells RoBards chanced to be at home. He waited with smoldering wrath to resent any effort to salute Patty’s cheek. The returned soldier had perhaps some license, but the outbound gold-seeker could be knocked down or kicked on his way if he presumed. The always unexpectable Chalender stupefied him by fastening his eyes not on Patty, but on Immy, and by daring to say: “You’re just the age, Immy, just the image of your mother when I first asked her to marry me. The first nugget of gold I find in California I’ll bring back for our wedding ring.” This frivolity wrought devastation in RoBards’ soul. It wakened him for the first time to the fact that his little daughter had stealthily become a woman. He blenched to see on her cheek the blush that had returned of late to Patty’s, to see in her eyes a light of enamored maturity. She was formed for love and ready for it, nubile, capable of maternity, tempting, tempted. The shock of discovery filled RoBards with disgust of himself. He felt faint, and averting his gaze from his daughter, turned to her mother to see how the blow struck her. Patty had not been so unaware of Immy’s advance. But her shock was one of jealousy and of terror at the realization that she was on the way to grandmotherhood. RoBards was so hurt for her in her dismay that he could have sprung at Chalender and beaten him to the floor, crying, “How dare you cease to flirt with my beautiful wife?” But this was quite too impossible an impulse to retain for a moment in his revolted soul. He stood inept and smirked with Patty and murmured, “Good-by! Good luck!” They were both pale and distraught when Chalender had gone. But Immy was rosy and intent. CHAPTER XXXI Something more precious than gold came to light in 1846, something of more moment to human history than a dozen Mexican wars—a cure for pain. It came divinely opportune to Patty’s need, for her next child was about to tear its way into the world through her flesh suffering from old lacerations, and she prophesied that she would die of agony and take back with her into oblivion the boy or girl or both or whatever it was or they were that she was helplessly manufacturing. And just then there came to RoBards a letter from a Boston client stating that a dentist named Morton had discovered a gas that enabled him to extract a tooth without distress; another surgeon had removed a tumor from a patient made indifferent with ether; and that the long deferred godsend would make childbirth peaceable. Patty sang hosannas to the new worker of miracles.