“Mr. J. Cameron, Miss Bell Cameron,” were the names on the cards sent to Dr. Grant late that afternoon, and in a few moments he was with the father and sister who asked so anxiously for Wilford and explained why Katy was not with them.
Wilford was sleeping when they entered his room, his face looking so worn and thin, and his hands folded so helplessly upon his breast, that with a gush of tears Bell knelt beside him, and laying her warm cheek against his bony one, woke him with her sobs. For a moment he seemed bewildered, then recognizing her, he raised his feeble arm and winding it about her neck, kissed her more tenderly than he had ever done before. He had not been demonstrative of his affection for his sisters. But Bell was his favorite, and he held her close to him while his eyes moved past his father, whom he did not see, on to the door as if in quest of someone. It was Katy, and guessing his thoughts, Bell said,
“She is not here. She could not come now. She is sick in New York, but will join us in a few days.”
There was a look of intense disappointment in Wilford’s face, which even his father’s warm greeting could not dissipate, and Morris saw the great tears as they dropped upon the pillow, the proud man trying hard to repress them, and asking no questions concerning any one at home. He was too weak to talk, but he held Bell’s hand in his as if afraid that she would leave him, while his eyes rested alternately upon her face and that of his father, who, wholly unmanned at the fearful change in his son, laid his head upon the bed and cried aloud.
Next morning Bell was very white and her voice trembled as she came from a conference with Dr. Morris, who had told her that her brother would die.
“He may live a week, and he may not,” he said, adding solemnly, “As his sister you will tell him of his danger, while there is time to seek the refuge without which death is terrible.”
“Oh, if I could only pray with and for him!” Bell thought, as she went to her brother, mourning her misspent days, and feeling her courage giving way when at last she stood in his presence and met his kindly smile.
“I dreamed that you were not here after all,” he said, “I am so glad to find it real. How long before I can go home, do you suppose?”
He had stumbled upon the very thing Bell was there to talk about, his question indicating that he had no suspicion of the truth. Nor had he; and it came like a thunderbolt when Bell, forgetting all her prudence, said impetuously,
“Oh, Wilford, maybe you’ll never go home. Maybe you’ll——”