The Edinburgh doctor could only tell them what they knew before, that though there was very great danger, the case was not hopeless. A few days must decide it. In the meantime he must not talk—he must not see any one who would cause the slightest agitation; and poor Mr Lester, whose self-control had suddenly broken down before the interview, was about to be peremptorily banished; but Cherry put out his hand and caught his father’s, looking up in his face.
“Send for the boys,” he said.
“Yes, but you know you mustn’t see them, my boy—my dear boy.”
“But Cherry will like to know they are here,” said Alvar, in the steady voice that always seemed like a support.
“They shall come. What else—what is it, Cherry?” said Mr Lester, as his son still gazed at him wistfully.
“Nothing—not yet,” whispered Cheriton. “Oh! I want to say so much, father! I am so glad Alvar came home!”
The words and the sort of smile with which they were spoken completely overpowered Mr Lester; but the doctor, who was still present, would not permit another word.
“You destroy his only chance,” he said; and after that nothing would have induced Mr Lester to let Cheriton speak to him. That evening, however, when he was alone with Alvar, Cherry’s confused thoughts cleared themselves a little. He had been told to be hopeful, and he did not feel himself to be dying! while with his whole heart he wished for life—the young bright life that was so full of love and joy, of which no outward trouble, no wearing anxiety, and no cold and selfish discontent had rendered him weary. Home and friends, the long lines of moorland that were shining in the sunset light, the hard work in the world behind and before him, the answering love of the woman whom he had chosen, were all beautiful and good to him; he felt no need of rest, no lack of joy.
He prayed for his life, not because he was afraid to die, but because he wished to live; and when, with a sort of awful, solemn curiosity, he tried to realise that death might be his portion, his thoughts, not quite under his own control, turned forcibly to those near to him. If he was to die, there were things he must say to his father, to Jack, to Alvar, a hundred messages to his friends in the village—they would let him see Mr Ellesmere then—when it did not matter how much he hurt himself by speaking; but one thing could not wait—
“Alvar, I must say something.”