"You haven't talked to Brereton," he said sadly.
"No, and, if necessary, I won't talk to him!" she flashed back. "I won't do anything to lessen my faith that Dick will get well. Doctors have made mistakes before; and you know he said himself that they don't understand spinal trouble yet, John!"—she caught at him fiercely—"don't believe it! God never meant our boy to be a cripple all his life!"
"I haven't your pluck," he said. "Warner tells me Brereton's about the best man in Perth; he should know. But there's nothing to be gained, at any rate, by giving way to despair. We'll do all we can to fight the verdict. Brereton did say there was always a loophole where there was youth and strength."
He took her hands, looking at her.
"Well, thank God for you, anyhow," he said. "I wonder if there are any depths you wouldn't draw a man from. I came out wondering how I could ever tell you; picturing your despair as black as my own; and instead, you've given me—well, if not hope, at least something to fight for. And that is always something. Come home, and we'll see if Dick's awake."
He wondered often, in the long, hard days that followed, if there were secret moments when her splendid faith and courage did indeed waver. If there were, she did not show them. To Dr. Brereton she listened calmly, taking in all he said, trying in vain to gather from him a shred of encouragement. At the end she thanked him for saving the boy's life.
"I wish I could have given him health as well as life," the doctor said pityingly.
"That will come—some day," she told him. "Please don't try to make me believe anything else."
He shook his head.
"It would not be fair to let you hope."