A Cold Shadow
The world teemed with life, and yet a cold shadow, as of approaching death, darkened the souls of two who walked together in the dusty road that led from the hills to the sea. The old man leaned heavily upon the arm of the younger, and his footsteps faltered. The young man's face was white and he saw dimly, as through a mist, but he tried to keep his voice even.
From the open windows of the little grey house came the deadly sweet smell of anæsthetics, heavy with prescience and pain. It dominated, instantly, all the blended Summer fragrances and brought terror to them both.
"I cannot bear it," said Ambrose North, miserably. "I cannot bear to have my baby hurt."
"She isn't being hurt now," answered Roger, with dry lips. "She's asleep."
"It may be the sleep that knows no waking. If you loved Barbara, you would understand."
The boy's senses, exquisitely alive and quivering, merged suddenly into one unspeakable hurt. If he loved Barbara! Ah, did he not love her? What of last night, when he walked up and down in that selfsame road until dawn, alone with the wonder and fear and joy of it, and unutterably dreading the to-morrow that had so swiftly become to-day.
"I was a fool," muttered Ambrose North. "I was a fool to give my consent."
"It was her choice," the boy reminded him, "and when she walks——"
"When she walks, it may be in the City Not Made With Hands. If I had said 'no,' we should not be out here now, while she—" The tears streamed over his wrinkled cheeks and his bowed shoulders shook.