"Because I do not wish to be a burden to any one. I've been a failure from beginning to end, and I am weary of the race. Even if I were not, I know my fate is settled, and it would be useless to try to change it."
"How do you know your fate is settled, as you express it?"
He held up a trembling, transparent hand.
"I have no blood; I have no strength, no courage, nothing to look forward to," he said, in a hopeless tone.
"Don't you think it would be more brave if, instead of yielding to such gloomy thoughts, you made an effort to get well?" Helen gently suggested.
"What for? What have I to live for?" he cried, lifting agonized eyes to her.
"For the sake of trying to live—right for a while," she gravely but very kindly replied.
A wave of scarlet shot over his wan face, and his head fell upon his breast.
"By Heaven, I wish I could!" he exclaimed, looking up, after a moment, a ring of sincerity in his voice that Helen had never heard before.
"Then, John, why not make an honest effort for it?" And Helen's tone was full of strength and encouragement.