“Just as you came to the door of your father’s room.”
She drew a slow breath, as she looked up at his face, white, but resolute still.
“And already it seems ages old. You are sure?”
“He is. It has been coming on for a month now. Three weeks ago, I went to your father and told him that I feared there was trouble. He bade me wait, to live out of doors and to work as little as possible. I kept the hope. My profession means so much to me now, that I could not give it up.”
“Yes, I know. Your profession is your very life,” Nancy answered gently.
Swiftly he turned and faced her. In that one glance, Nancy saw all the fiery, repressed nature of the man, read his secret and, with a sinking heart, acknowledged to herself the fatal keenness of the blow which she must one day in honor deal.
But the answer of St. Jacques was already in her ears.
“It means far more than life.”
She tried to stem the tide of his words.
“When do you go?” she asked hurriedly.