“You hurt me, John,” he said.
Ruth whispered, “I’ll telephone the doctor.”
Evered turned his head a little on the pillow, and looked toward her. “No,” he said, “no need.”
“Oh, there must be!” she cried. “There must be! He can——”
Evered interrupted her. “Don’t go, Ruthie. I want to talk to you.”
She was crying; she came slowly back to the bedside. The sun was ready to dip behind the hills. Its last rays coming through the window fell across her face. She was somehow glorified. She put her hand on Evered’s head, and he—the native strength still alive within him—reached up and caught it in his and held it firmly thereafter for a space.
“You’re crying,” he said.
“I can’t help it,” she told him.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
“Because I’m so sorry for you.”