Bob himself had gone to Brisbane to import a surgeon, regardless of expense; but it was probably more owing to the tender nursing of Elsie than anything else that Craig was able at length to crawl out and breathe the balmy, flower-scented air in the verandah.
One afternoon, many weeks after this, Craig was lying on a bank, under the shade of a tree, in a beautiful part of the forest, all in whitest bloom, and Elsie was seated near him.
There had been silence for some time, and the girl was quietly reading.
"I wonder," said Craig at last, "if my life is really worth the care that you and all the good people here have lavished on me?"
"How can you speak thus?" said Elsie, letting her book drop in her lap, and looking into his face with those clear, blue eyes of hers.
"If you only knew all my sad, sinful story, you would not wonder that I speak thus."
"Tell me your story: may I not hear it?"
"It is so long and, pardon me, so melancholy."
"Never mind, I will listen attentively."
Then Craig commenced. He told her all the strange history of his early demon-haunted life, about his recklessness, about his struggles and his final victory over self. He told her he verily did believe that his mother's spirit was near him that night in the forest when he made the vow which Providence in His mercy had enabled him to keep.