Immediately William Jordan, for the first time in that place, was attacked by a violent frenzy of coughing. A spray of bright red blood was cast upon his lips. He spat it upon the floor.
His fellow-worker recoiled from the sight of it with a cry of dismay.
“Arterial blood,” he gasped.
“Nature’s mandate,” said the young man, with his secret and beautiful smile.
His fellow-worker in the noble prime of his manhood, gave a low cry and sank back against the wall of the room.
“Oh,” he cried wildly, pressing his hands across his heart, “I wish now you had never come among us at all!”
XLI
Outside the mission-hall in the gently-raining April night, James Dodson, with his coat collar turned up over his ears and his hat pulled down over his eyes, lay in waiting for his friend. Upon beholding this woe-begone figure William Jordan gave a start of surprise.
“Why, Jimmy,” he said, “why do you come here now?”
“As I was half-way through the performance at the Alcazar,” said Jimmy Dodson apprehensively, “I had a sort of presentiment. Something seemed to tell me, Luney, that after to-night I might never see you again. Something seemed to tell me that you were going away.”