She gave a sobbing little laugh. “The Plague! Why that’s where I’ve been—with it all the time. I—” her head dropped—“watched them die.”
His gray lips twitched. “Yes, we watch them die. Every doctor and every nurse on double duty. Chad and I took care of Barry. Then Rosalie took it, and Chad had to go to her. She’s gone already.” He paused.
“Barry’s case has been different. Usually they go out like lightning—but he wouldn’t die! And he wouldn’t go to San Lazarus. He kept saying he was going to get over it quick. Said he had to be alive in these times. I never saw a man fight so hard; he has fought with the last artery and capillary. Doctor though I am, I really believed that he would win over sheer matter. And I wanted to see him triumph—it would have seemed like a victory for the race.
“He believed you would come back.” The Doctor looked at her hard for several moments of deep silence, then he said: “The East has made you strong.”
He sank heavily into a chair. “If you wish, you may watch. It is good that you have come. I believe I could not have kept my eyes open to-night—even for him! No sleep for nights—and nights!” he murmured.
“He’s unconscious now—nothing more to do. Watch a while—and call me—” Even as he spoke, the Doctor sank sleeping in his chair.
She turned down the hall, groping ahead of her as through gulfs of darkness, her last plank shaking beneath her, scorching agony tearing at her heart.
His door stood open. There was a very dim light in the room. From the threshold, she could see the rumpled head, the quenched conquered face. She stumbled to the bed; and, dropping down beside it, flung her arms about him, as if to hold off with main desperate human strength that last blow.
“You said you’d come back—wherever you were—if I called you!” she cried in anguished despair.
She lifted her head, and looked about her in wild entreaty. Where was He—in nights like these—who had walked human paths of despair? Somewhere here He must still be fighting the battle of death!