She sighed in the world-old manner of women and said:
"And I—I have done nothing worth telling. I ruined my health by careless living at school, and here I am, a cumberer of the earth."
Some men would have hastened to be complimentary, but Clement remained silent. He was trying to understand her mood that he might meet it in a helpful way.
"But if I am permitted to live I shall be different. I will do something."
"First of all, get well," he said, and his words had the force of a command. "Give me your hand."
She complied, and he took it in a firm clasp. "Now I want you to promise me you'll turn your mind from darkness to the light, from the cañons to the peaks—that you will determine to live. Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Very well. I shall see that you keep that promise."