He hurried noiselessly across the room and through the door. Katherine, picking up the precious paper she had worked so many months to gain, followed him. Miss Sherman saw them come in, but remained silent. Doctor West was bending over Elsie and did not hear their entrance.
Doctor Sherman tiptoed to the bedside, and stood gazing down, his breath held, hardly less pale than the soft-sleeping Elsie herself. Presently Doctor West straightened up and perceived the young minister. He started, then held out his hand.
“Why, Doctor Sherman!” he whispered eagerly. “I’m so glad you’ve come at last!”
The younger man drew back.
“You won’t be willing to shake hands with me—when you know.” Then he took a quick half step forward. “But tell me,” he breathed, “is there—is there any hope?”
“I dare not speak definitely yet—but I think she is going to live.”
“Thank God!” cried the young man.
Suddenly he collapsed upon the floor and embraced Doctor West about the knees, and knelt there sobbing out broken bits of sentences.
“Why—why,” stammered Doctor West in amazement, “what does this mean?”