FOR THE THINGS THAT ARE TO BE
While Dr. Allen and William Green were yet discussing the strange disappearance of Abe Lincoln, the door opened and he stood before them.
They turned toward him and beheld what seemed a wreckage, wrought by hunger and longing, unrest and the sorrow of a loss which could never be made good. In his face were lines already too deeply cut for Time's erasure.
No word was spoken. The two men seemed awed by the majesty of his silence and strangely moved by his dumb sorrow, and, strong men though they were, tears wet their cheeks.
"Doc," Lincoln said, "how long will this last—for I cannot, cannot bear to think of—of——"
His voice grew unsteady. He did not finish the sentence; instead he said, "Is there any honorable way I can finish it all?"
"You do not want to finish it. You want to live your life."
"I have lived my life."