"I? Oh, it's rest just to see Dick out of pain, and to know that he'll be all right soon," she said happily.
He tried to answer, and could not. Suddenly she turned, looking keenly at his face.
"John, there is something wrong!" She went white. "Is it Dick? Tell me quickly!"
"Dick is doing well," he said hastily. For she trembled so that he was afraid she would faint. "But there is something. Sit down on this log." He put her down gently, and stood looking at her, and then in broken words he told her of the doctor's sentence.
She heard him almost in silence, uttering now and then a quick question. The colour died even from her lips, but she took the blow without flinching.
"Are we to tell him?"
"No—not until we must."
"He was asking the nurse this afternoon when he could get up," she said with a pitiful little smile. "I—I do not know how one could ever tell him. Dick—my Dick—a cripple! It doesn't seem the sort of thing that could possibly happen."
Suddenly she stood erect, facing him.
"I don't believe it," she said fiercely. "It may seem so now, and I suppose Dr. Brereton knows as much as most men; but, beloved, we'll never give up hope. He's so young, so strong, so perfect! I don't believe that science won't find the way to cure him. We'll make him as well and strong as we can, and take him to Melbourne—to England, to America, to Germany, if necessary. Thank God, there's money enough! You mustn't believe it, either. We've got to keep happy thoughts all round him; to be certain in our own minds that he'll get well. If we let ourselves despair we make ourselves less able to help him."