Her voice, though low, was very resolute. Captain Harper glanced at her half-wistfully.
'I wish you didn't all see things that way,' he said. 'You see it's this, Camilla. If I go up to London to be under Maclean for three months, it may set me up again to a certain point, but unless it be followed by the "kur" at the baths, and then by that other "massage" business within a year or so, it would be just the old story, just what it was before, only that I am three or four years older than I was, and—certainly not stronger. So this is the question—is it worth while? It will be at such a cost—stopping Bessie and Mag's schooling, wearing out your mother and you—for what will be more trying than letting this house for the spring, as must be done, and moving you girls into poky lodgings. That, at least, we have hitherto managed not to do. And then the strain on your poor mother being up alone with me in London—so dreary for her too. And at best to think that a partial, temporary cure is all we can hope for. No, my child, I cannot see that it is worth it. I am happy at home, and more than content to bear what must be, after all not so very bad. And I may not get worse. Do, darling, try to make your mother see it my way.'
It was not often—very, very seldom indeed—that Captain Harper talked so much or so long of himself. Now he lay back half-exhausted, his face, which had been somewhat flushed, growing paler than before.
Camilla wound her arms round him and hid her face on his shoulder.
'Father dearest,' she whispered, doing her best to hide any sign of tears in her voice, 'don't be vexed or disappointed, but I can't see it that way. It seems presumptuous for me to argue with you, but don't you see?—the first duty seems so clear, to do what we can. Surely there can be no doubt at all about that? And who knows—something may happen to make the rest of what is prescribed for you possible. And even if not, and if the three months in London only do a little good, at least we should all feel we had tried everything. Father dearest, if we didn't do it, do you think mother and Bessie and I—and the boys when they hear of it, and even the two little ones—do you think we should ever again feel one moment's peace of mind? Every time you looked paler or feebler, every time we saw you give the least little wince of pain—why, I think we should go out of our minds. It would be unendurable.'
Captain Harper stroked her fair soft hair fondly.
'But, dear, suppose it doesn't do any good, or much? Suppose'—and his voice grew very low and tender—'suppose all this increased suffering and weakness is only the beginning of the end—and sometimes I cannot help thinking it would be best so—my darling, it would have to be endured.'
Camilla raised her tear-stained face and looked at her father bravely.
'I know,' she said quietly. 'It may be. Mother and I don't deceive ourselves, though it is no use dwelling upon terrible possibilities. But even then, don't you see the difference? We should feel that we had done our best, and—and that more was not God's will.'
'Yes,' said her father, 'I see how you mean. I suppose I should feel the same if it were about your mother or one of you.'