To all but Don and Annis. He refused to believe it, and she, with the hopefulness of childhood, was always "sure dear darling Fan would soon be better."
For many weeks the mother shrank from having her fears confirmed; often, as she noted the gravity and sadness of the doctor's face, the question trembled upon her tongue, but she could not bring herself to speak it; but one day, seeing, as she thought, a deeper shade of anxiety upon his face than ever before, she followed him from the room.
"Charlie," she said, in faltering accents, "I must know the truth though my heart break. Tell me, must my child die?"
"Dear mother," he said, taking her hand in his and speaking with strong emotion, "I wish I could give you hope, but there is none; she may linger a month or two, but not longer."
"Oh, how shall I ever tell her!" sobbed the mother; "her, my timid little Fan, who has always been afraid to venture among strangers, always clung so tenaciously to home and mother!"
"I think she knows it," he said, deeply moved. "I have seen it again and again in the look she has given me. And I doubt not God is fulfilling to her the promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'"
"May the Lord forgive my unbelief!" she said. "I know that He is ever faithful to His promises."
Returning to the sick-room she found Fan lying with closed eyes, a very sweet and peaceful expression on her face.
Bending over her she kissed the sweet lips, and a hot tear fell on the child's cheek.