"No—he relapsed almost instantly. It is impossible to tell now how seriously he is injured. He has bled profusely, from several superficial wounds, but we fear he has been hurt internally. He may also be suffering from concussion. We thought it best, Mrs. Lorraine, to advise you of his condition and that he asked for you," the voice went on, a trifle apologetically.
"You did very right," she replied. "I'll come to the Hospital at once."
She hung up the receiver and looked at Pendleton.
"You heard?"
"Everything."
"What could I do?" she demanded.
"Nothing but what you did."
"But I don't want to do it—I don't want to see him—I don't wish him to die, but——"
"Never mind," he said tenderly. "You don't have to go—you are quite justified in not seeing him. And his condition is not dependent upon your presence or your absence. Do exactly as you choose, Stephanie."
"But if he should die! If he should die, having asked for me, and I having been told and then not hastening to him at once! As a fellow human—not as a wife—is it right that I should deny him what may be his last request?"