“Doctor Barnes says they are as much alike as twins—only Phil is not quite so tall and has blond hair like mine.”
“You will let me see him and thank him the moment he comes?”
“Hurry, Margaret!” cheerily cried Mrs. Cameron, reëntering the parlour. “Get ready; we must go at once to the hospital.”
Margaret turned and with stately grace hurried from the room. The old dress she wore as unconscious of its shabbiness as though it were a royal robe.
“And now, my dear, what must I do to get the passes?” asked the mother eagerly.
Elsie’s warm amber eyes grew misty for a moment, and the fair skin with its gorgeous rose tints of the North paled. She hesitated, tried to speak, and was silent.
The sensitive soul of the Southern woman read the message of sorrow words had not framed.
“Tell me, quickly! The doctor—has—not—concealed—his—true—condition—from—me?”
“No, he is certain to recover.”
“What then?”