XXXV
Nan did not remain at the hospital more than fifteen minutes. She was ill at ease there; it was no comfort to her to gaze upon the pallid, wasted face of the man she loved when she realized that, by her presence here, she was constituting herself a party to a heart-breaking swindle, and must deny herself the joy of gazing upon that same beloved countenance when, later, it should be glowing with health and youth and high hopes. He was too weak to speak more than a few words to her. The faintest imaginable pressure of his hand answered the pressure of hers. It appeared to be a tremendous effort for him to open his eyes and look up at her. When, however, he had satisfied his swimming senses that she was really there in the flesh, he murmured:
"You'll not—run away—again? Promise?"
"I promise, dear. The next time I leave Port Agnew, I'll say good-by."
"You must not—leave—again. Promise?"
She knew his life might be the reward of a kindly lie; so she told it, bravely and without hesitation. Was she not there for that purpose?
"Good—news! If I get—well, will you—marry me, Nan?" She choked up then; nevertheless, she nodded.
"More good—news! Wait for me—Sawdust Pile—sweetheart."
She interpreted this as a dismissal, and gratefully made her exit. From the hospital office she telephoned orders to the butcher, the baker, the grocer, and the milkman, forcibly separated little Don from the nurse, and walked down through Port Agnew to the Sawdust Pile.