THE OPAL GATES
The doctor was waiting at the hotel, his keen eyes very serious. He had guessed the sinister meaning of the summons. He was an unusually brusque man—almost rude in his words. He greeted Norton with friendly sympathy and smiled at the radiant face of the wife.
"Well, little mother," he said with grave humor, "we have more trouble. But you're brave and patient. It's a joy to work for you."
"And now," she responded gayly, "you've got to finish this thing, doctor. I don't want any more half-way operations. I'm going to get well this time. I'm happy and I'm going to be strong again."
"Good, we'll get at it right away. I knew you'd feel that way and so I brought with me a great surgeon, the most skillful man I know in New York. I've told him of your case, a very unusual one, and he is going to help me."
The little mouth smiled bravely:
"I'll be ready for the examination in half an hour——"
When the doctors emerged from her room the sun had set behind the dark blue hills and Norton was waiting on the balcony for their report.
The specialist walked slowly to where he was standing. He couldn't move from his tracks. His throat was dry and he had somehow lost the power of speech. He looked into the face of the man of science, read the story of tragedy and a mist closed his eyes.
The doctor took his arm gently:
"I've bad news for you——"
"Yes, I know," was the low answer.
"The truth is best——"
"I want to know it."
"She can't live!"
The tall figure stiffened, there was a moment of silence and when he spoke his words fell slowly with measured intensity:
"There's not a single chance, doctor?"
"Not worth your cherishing. You'd as well know this now and be prepared. We opened and drained the old wound, and both agreed that it is too late for an operation. The flesh that guards the wall of the great vein is a mere shred. She would die under the operation. I can't undertake it."
"And it will not heal again?"
The doctor was silent for a long while and his eyes wandered to the darkening sky where the stars were coming out one by one:
"Who knows but God? And who am I to set bounds to his power?"
"Then there may be a slender chance?" he asked eagerly.
"To the eye of Science—no—yet while life lingers we always hope. But I wouldn't advise you to leave her side for the next ten days. The end, if it comes, will be very sudden, and it will be too late for speech."
A groan interrupted his words and Norton leaned heavily against the balcony rail. The doctor's voice was full of feeling as he continued:
"If you have anything to say to her you'd better say it quickly to be sure that it does not remain unsaid."
"Thank you——"
"I have told her nothing more can be done now until the wound from this draining heals—that when it does she can come to New York for a final decision on the operation."
"I understand."
"We leave to-night on the midnight express——"
"You can do nothing more?"
"Nothing."
A warm pressure of the hand in the gathering twilight and he was gone. The dazed man looked toward the fading sky-line of the southwest at Mt. Pisgah's towering black form pushing his way into the track of the stars and a feeling of loneliness crushed his soul.
He turned abruptly, braced himself for the ordeal and hurried to her room. She was unusually bright and cheerful.
"Why, it didn't hurt a bit, dear!" she exclaimed joyfully. "It was nothing. And when it heals you're to take me to New York for the operation——"
He took her hot hand and kissed it through blinding tears which he tried in vain to fight back.
"They didn't even have to pack that nasty old gauze in it again—were you very much scared waiting out there, Dan?"
"Very much."
She started at the queer note in his voice, caught her hand in his brown locks and pressed his head back in view:
"Why, you're crying—you big foolish boy! You mustn't do that. I'm all right now—I feel much better—there's not a trace of pain or uneasiness. Don't be silly—it's all right, remember."
He stroked the little hand:
"Yes, I'll remember, dearest."
"It should all be healed in three weeks and then we'll go to New York. It'll just be fun! I've always been crazy to go. I won't mind the operation—you'll be with me every minute now till I'm well again."
"Yes, dear, every moment now until—you—are—well."
The last words came slowly, but by a supreme effort of will the voice was held even.
He found mammy, told her the solemn truth, and sent her to hire a nurse for the baby.
"Either you or I must be by her side every minute now, mammy—day and night."
"Yessir, I understand," the dear old voice answered.
Every morning early the nurse brought the baby in for a romp as soon as he waked and mammy came to relieve the tired watcher.
Ten days passed before the end came. Many long, sweet hours he had with her hand in his as the great shadow deepened, while he talked to her of life and death, and immortality.
A strange peace had slowly stolen into his heart. He had always hated and feared death before. Now his fears had gone. And the face of the dim white messenger seemed to smile at him from the friendly shadows.
The change came quietly one night as they sat in the moonlight of her window.
"Oh, what a beautiful world, Dan!" she said softly, and then the little hand suddenly grasped her throat! She turned a blanched face on him and couldn't speak.
He lifted her tenderly and laid her on the bed, rang for the doctor and sent mammy for the baby.
She motioned for a piece of paper—and slowly wrote in a queer, trembling hand:
"I understand, dearest, I am going—it's all right. I am happy—remember that I love you and have forgiven—rear our boy free from the curse—you know what I mean. I had rather a thousand times that he should die than this—my brooding spirit will watch and guard."
The baby kissed her sweetly and lisped:
"Good night, mamma!"
From the doorway he waved his chubby little arm and cried again:
"Night, night, mamma!"
The sun was slowly climbing the eastern hills when the end came. Its first rays streamed through the window and fell on his haggard face as he bent and pressed a kiss on the silent lips of the dead.