"Yes," she replied suddenly, as her head was lifted; "yes, I'd give him every chance."
Just then, in one of those marvellous flashes of regained consciousness, the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, then at Priscilla. Again his gaze shifted, gaining strength and meaning. From the far place where he had fared for days his mind, lighted by reason, was abnormally clear and almost painfully reinforced by memory. Then he laughed—laughed a long, shuddering laugh that drew the thin lips back from the white, fang-like teeth. Before the sound was finished the light faded from the black eyes and the grim silence shut in close upon the last quivering note.
[Illustration:"In one of those marvellous flashes of regained consciousness, the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, then at Priscilla">[
"We'll take the chance," said Travers. And late that very afternoon they took it.
A week later Priscilla sat beside the man's bed, her right hand upon his pulse, her watch in her left. So intent was she upon the weak movement under her slim fingers that she had forgotten all else until a voice from a far, far distance seemingly, whispered hoarsely:
"So—so this is—you? I'm not dreaming? I wasn't dreaming before when—when he and you came?"
They had all been expecting this. The operation had been very successful, though it was not to give the patient back to life. They all knew that, too.
"Yes, Jerry-Jo, it's I."
There was no tremor in the low voice, only a determination to keep the world from knowing. Jerry-Jo was past hurting any one.