Looking again at the roses, he noticed that the leaves were drooping. He hastily went into the dispensary and brought out two graduates filled with water to put them in; but when he lifted them—he saw, with poignant pain—they were gone past helping—they were frost-bitten.
Then it was that he gathered them in his arms, with sudden passion, and as he sat through the long night, he held them closely to him, for kin of his they surely were—these frosted roses, on whose fragrant young hearts the blight had so prematurely fallen!
CHAPTER IV
TANGLED THREADS
At daybreak, when the light from the eastern sky came in blue at the window blind, and the gasoline lamp grew sickly and pale, the doctor went to bed. He had thought it all out and outlined his course of action.
He did not doubt the old doctor's word; his own knowledge gave corroborative evidence that it was quite true, and he wondered he had not thought of it. Still, there was something left for him to do. He would play up and play the game, even if it were a losing fight. His own house had fallen, but it would be his part now to see that the minimum amount of pain would come to Pearl over it. She was young, and had all the world before her—she would forget. He had a curious shrinking from having her know that he had the disease, for like most doctors, he loathed the thought of disease, and had often quoted to his patients in urging them to obey the laws of physiological righteousness, the words of Elbert Hubbard that "The time would come when people would feel more disgrace at being found in a hospital than in a jail, for jails were for those who broke men's laws, but those in the hospital had broken the laws of God!"
He shuddered now when he thought of it, it all seemed so unnecessary—so wantonly cruel—so so inexplicable.
Above all, Pearl must not know, for instinctively he felt that if she knew he was a sick man, she would marry him straight away—she would be so sweet about it all, and so hopeful and sure he would get well, and such a wonderfully skilful and tender nurse, that he would surely get well. For one blissful but weak moment, which while it thrilled it frightened him still more—he allowed himself to think it would be best to tell her. Just for one weak moment the thought came—to be banished forever from his mind. No! No! No! disaster had come to him, but Pearl would not be made to suffer, she would not be involved in any way.
But just what attitude to take, perplexed him. Those big, soft brown eyes of hers would see through any lie he tried to invent, and he was but a poor liar anyway. What could he tell Pearl? He would temporize—he would stall for time. She was too young—she had seen so little of the world—it would be hard to wait—he believed he could take that line with her—he would try it.
When he awakened, the sun was shining in the room, with a real spring warmth that just for a minute filled him with gladness and a sense of wellbeing. Then he remembered, and a groan burst from his lips.