A moment later the doctor forgot the occurrence. The road divided, and he turned into the less used one of the two. Rounding a sharp turn in it he came in sight of a tiny, shingled bungalow built upon a spot that had been made level by digging into the side of the mountain. This was the residence of the regular physician at the mine. It was vacant now, and through the uncurtained window he could see the pretty living room, with its low, raftered ceiling and its great fireplace of stone.
“Oh, if this only comes true!” he said aloud. Already he pictured Letty’s face at the window.
At the side porch of the superintendent’s house he dismounted quickly, dropped the bridle reins to the ground and sprang up the steps, unbuckling his case as he went.
A Chinese in spotless white answered his ring and, without a question, went pattering away to a closed door at the end of a long hall, where he paused and knocked softly.
A man opened the door. He was perhaps thirty-five, with the bearing that marks the city-bred. But his dress was dishevelled, his haggard face showed a one-day’s growth of beard, and his eyes were hollow, as if from sickness, and bloodshot. “Is this Doctor Hunter?” he questioned, whispering.
“Yas, sir.”
“My name is Eastman.” He motioned the doctor to enter.
In the darkened room there was discernible only the outlines of a bed, upon which someone was tossing. The patient was moaning, too, and hoarsely repeating a name: “Laurie! Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!” The tone was insistent and full of anguished appeal.
The doctor went to the bedside. The face on the pillow was that of a young woman—a woman of perhaps twenty-five. It was a face that reminded him of Letty’s. There was the same delicate outline of cheek and chin, the same full, sweet mouth and girlish throat. But the dark head was moving from side to side with each repeating of the name, and the dark eyes were staring wildly. As he leaned down she turned them full upon him.
“Laurie! Laurie! Laurie!” she entreated.