"That's going to be the shock," said the Colonel. "Well, he'll have to be told! I think Thomson—or the doctor—had better do it. And then he'll have to learn about that will. Altogether, it may delay his convalescence a little. Of course, I'll stay until he's practically recovered—as far as he can recover."
"Do you think that ... perhaps ... he might like to go home—to go home to Gilead Balm?"
"Not," answered the Colonel, "if I know Medway, and I think I do! To come back, crippled, after all these primrose years—to sleep in his old room, and Maria's—to sit on the porch and listen to Bob and Serena—No!"
That night in her own room Hagar placed two candles on the table, took a sheet of paper and a pencil, and sitting down, made a calculation. The night was warm to oppression; through the windows came the indefinite, hot, thick murmur of the evening city. Hagar sat with bare arms and throat and loosened hair. She wrote her name, Hagar Ashendyne, and her age, and then, an inch below, a little table,—
| The Prize Story | $200.00 |
| (Clothes, books, Thomasine. All spent.) | |
| The Story in ——'s Magazine | $50.00 |
| (Clothes, books. All spent.) | |
| "The Lame Duck" | $100.00 |
| (I have most of it yet.) | |
| "The Mortal" | $125.00 |
| ——— | |
| Total $475.00 |
After a pause the pencil moved on. "Many stories in mind, one partly written. The monthly says I can write and will make a name." It paused, then moved again. "To earn a living. To live where life is simple and doesn't cost much. If I go on, and I will go on, I could live at Gilead Balm on what I make, and help keep up the place. If ever I had to live by myself, I could get two or three rooms in a city and live there. Or maybe a small house, and have Thomasine with me. In another year or two years, I can keep myself. I do not want to stay here when grandfather goes. Where there is no love and honour, what is the use? It isn't as though he needed me—he doesn't—or wanted me—"
She laid the pencil down and leaned back in the deep chair. Her eyes grew less troubled; a vague relief and calm came into her face, and she smiled fleetingly. "If he doesn't think he needs me or wants me,—and I don't believe he'll think so,—then there isn't anything surer than that I won't stay." She rose and paced the room. "I shouldn't worry, Hagar!"
Some days after this, she offered one afternoon to relieve the nurse. She had done this before and frequently. Heretofore the service had consisted, since the patient almost always slept through the afternoon, in sitting quietly in the darkened chamber and dreaming her own dreams for an hour or two, when the grateful nurse came back refreshed. To-day she was presently aware that he was awake; that he was lying there with his eyes open, regarding the slow play of light and shadow upon the ceiling. She had found out, on those earlier occasions, that he did not discriminate between her and the usual nurse; when he roused himself to demand water he had looked no farther than the glass held by her hand to his lips. Now, as she felt at once as with a faint electric shock, it was going to be different. He spoke presently. His voice, though halting and much weakened, resembled the Colonel's golden, energetic drawl.
"What time is it?"