The girl shuddered and turned to him with a sudden helpless yielding.
"I can hardly bear it," she said, almost in a whisper. "You don't know what she is to me, how I've loved her and loved her and loved her. And yet I've accepted her as a matter of course, a thing that couldn't be taken from me, like the world itself. How could I think she might be like—like those others? Oh, I never dreamed I could lose my dearest—my dearest!"
He waited a moment, and at last said gently, "You won't lose your dearest—we won't lose her."
"Oh, but she's going, before our eyes."
"Listen to me, listen now! She's going to get well. She'll be strong again—I know it. I say she can't die; but you must be sure of it—as sure as I am—do you hear?—as sure as I am."
"Yes, yes—I will be sure." She tried to look at him through her tear-wet lashes. He smiled at her confidently.
"If we're both sure, we can have your sister crying in a month because Ben won't let her work in the garden."
"Oh, if you only—" She broke off to look at him in wondering gratitude.
"And I'll go in and tell her so now," he added, rising.
"Yes, yes, make her feel sure, too," she implored. She turned quickly to the car window, where twilight was blurring the fields to a far, dreamy horizon, level and vast. He stood a moment, tracing with mental point the line of her profile under the boyish cap pinned to her yellow hair.