“Acute disease of the heart.”
“I wish you would tell Dick so. His mind is in a strange state of confusion. If you were to see him and repeat the words you have just told me it might give him untold relief.”
“My word alone would not do that. When Dr. Tarbot signed the death certificate he spoke of the cause of death as aortic disease—that means disease of the aortic valve of the heart, a species of heart disease which invariably ends suddenly. Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears were of the same opinion. My word goes for nothing. Let your husband see the great specialists who examined the boy’s heart within twenty-four hours of his death.”
“I am greatly obliged to you,” said Barbara. She rose to go as she spoke. “I will tell Dick what you say. Yes, he must see the doctors. Their verdict will set his mind at rest.”
Barbara held out her hand.
“I am glad you came to see me,” said Mrs. Tarbot, “and if in the future I can help you, pray command me.”
“But how can you help me?”
“I mean this. From what you say, your husband is suffering from nerve depression. Nothing else can account for the curious state you have half described. The doctors whom he consults may set his mind at rest, but if after seeing them his troubles return, his complaint ought to be treated as something physical, an ailment of the body which requires cure.”
“But how can such a thing be cured? How can a thought, a dominant thought, be banished?”
“It can, and—I can do it.”