“It’s the loss of his supply of tablets, of course,” murmured the widow. “Why didn’t you leave him a sufficient supply?”
“He has as much as he ever carries when I am with him,” said the doctor. “I usually carry the main stock when we are out in the wilderness together. I have always thought it safer to keep the greater part of it myself. I don’t go into so many difficult places as Andy does. I don’t take the risks that he does. Then if something happened to his supply, I’d still have enough for him. Perhaps it was foolish for me to bring along any at all on the trip from the cañon, but I have become so accustomed to keeping it in my medicine case that I followed the usual procedure. I knew that Andy would not be content to stay with Mary all the time. He’ll be scouring the hills and cañons in search of things to interest him. And he always takes his tablets. If he had all of them, he might lose them, as I did. You see, that’s the way I reasoned. I’m Andy’s guardian—a poor one, I confess now. And the difficulty is that I’m never free to talk over his malady with him or others. To be a little more frank still, it is a secret, even to Andy himself. This time I reasoned wrong—if I reasoned at all—and simply didn’t do as I did from force of habit. And Andy must have more medicine just as soon as I can get it to him, for I don’t know how long he’ll last without it when his present supply is gone.
“So there’s the nut-shell truth of the situation. Mary can’t come here; Andy doesn’t dare to try to make it out. You must stay here in the valley and take care of Andy. I must get Mary out and hurry to a point where I can send a wire for more tablets. There’s no other alternative. I’ve thought it all out; looked at the matter from every angle.”
“But—but what shall I do?” she puzzled. “What can I do to help Andy? What am I to expect?”
“You can do nothing,” replied the doctor. “I mean, I can’t give you any instructions. Neither can Andy. When—if anything happens, you will soon know what to do. I really can’t tell you any more, Charmian. It wouldn’t be fair to him. For it may transpire that nothing at all will happen—and that’s what I’m hoping for. I must trust to Fate, for I myself am ignorant of what will be the result if Andy’s supply of tablets runs out before I can get back with more. Neither do I know how soon the result will begin to show. And, as I said, in fairness to him I must not prepare you for anything simply because nothing at all may happen. For more reasons than one I don’t want you to marry Andy Jerome; but I’ll not be the one to tell you anything that might keep you from doing so.”
“Why, Doctor!” she cried. “You’ve done nothing but bewilder me. I can’t imagine what you’re talking about at all. It’s all riddles.”
“I realize that,” he confessed, “but I consider myself helpless to make the thing clearer.”
“I don’t believe Andy has heart trouble at all!” she said half angrily. “It’s something about the glands, I know. That accounts for your repeated refusals to tell me much about your work. Isn’t that right?”
He nodded in agreement.
Another period of staring into the flames on her part; then she cried passionately: