“Listen, sir, and try to believe me.” Mr. Cabot raised his glance to the dark face and saw truth and an open heart in the eyes fixed solemnly upon his own; and he recognized a being transformed by a passion immeasurably stronger than himself.
“When I found she loved me I could think of nothing else. Why should I not be happy for the short time I had to live? Her love was more to me than any earthly thing, than any possible hereafter. Better one summer with her than to live forever and not have known her. Oh! I thought of her side of it, often and often; many a night I have done nothing else, but I could no more give her up than I could lift this hill.” He paused, drew a long breath, as if at the hopelessness of words to convey his meaning, then added, very calmly:
“Now I am soberer, as the end approaches, and I love her more than ever: but I will do whatever you say; anything that will make her happier. No sacrifice can be too great, and I promise you I will make it. I have often wished the bull had killed me that day, then I should have her love and respect forever; and yours too, perhaps.”
“You have both now, Amos. But tell me why you think you are to die by November fourth?”
Amos resumed his seat upon the rock and answered: “Because I have seen myself lying dead on that day.”
“I have sometimes wondered,” said Mr. Cabot, “if that temptation would not prove too strong for you.”
“No, sir, it was not too strong for me under ordinary circumstances, but it happened when I was not myself, when I came out of that fever last October, and as I lay in bed, weak and half-conscious, I felt sure my day had come. I thought the doctor was not telling me the truth, so, by looking ahead for myself, I learned more than I cared to know, and saw myself lying on a sofa in a strange room, a place I had never been into; a public building, I should think.”
“But why do you think it is to be the fourth of November, and this year?”
“Because I looked about and saw near a window a little day calendar, and that was the date it bore. Then on a table lay a daily paper of the day before, and two magazines of the same month, all of this year.”
“But is it not possible the room is unoccupied and that these things have been lying there indefinitely?”