"But you mustn't worry," cried Eloise. "Nothing can go wrong. Why, Allan is there."
Insensibly her confidence in Allan and the clear ring of her voice relieved the unbearable tension. Surely, Barbara could not die if Allan were there.
"It's hard, I know," Eloise went on, in her cool, even tones, "but there is no doubt about the ending. Allan is one of the few really great surgeons—he has done wonderful things. He has done things that everyone else said were impossible. Barbara will walk and be as straight and strong as any of us. Think what it will mean to her after twenty years of helplessness. How fine it will be to see her without the crutches."
"I have never minded the crutches," said Roger. "I do not want her changed."
"I cannot see her," sighed Ambrose North. "I have never seen my baby."
"But you're going to," Eloise assured him, "for Allan says so, and whatever Allan says is true."
At length, she managed to lead them farther away, though not out of sight of the house, and they all sat down on the grass. She talked continually and cheerfully, but the atmosphere was tense with waiting. Ambrose North bowed his grey head in his hands, and Roger, still pale, did not once take his eyes from the door of the little grey house.
After what seemed an eternity, someone came out. It was one of Allan's assistants. A nurse followed, and put a black bag into the buggy which was waiting outside. Roger was on his feet instantly, watching.
"Sit down," commanded Eloise, coolly. "Allan can see us from here, and he will come and tell us."
Ambrose North lifted his grey head. "Have they—finished—with her?"