Her face was set with suppressed feeling. She held out her hand to him impulsively, and was about to speak, but suddenly caught the hand away again from his thrilling grasp and, turning hurriedly, left the room. In the hall she met Father Bourassa.
“Go with him to the hospital,” she whispered, and disappeared through the doorway.
Immediately after she had gone, a man came driving hard to bring Father Bourassa to visit a dying Catholic in the prairie, and it was Finden who accompanied Varley to the hospital, waited for him till his examination of the “casual” was concluded, and met him outside.
“Can it be done?” he asked of Varley. “I’ll take word to Father Bourassa.”
“It can be done—it will be done,” answered Varley absently. “I do not understand the man. He has been in a different sphere of life. He tried to hide it, but the speech—occasionally! I wonder.”
“You wonder if he’s worth saving?”
Varley shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
Finden smiled to himself. “Is it a difficult case?” he asked.
“Critical and delicate; but it has been my specialty.”
“One of the local doctors couldn’t do it, I suppose?”