“We must help him,” he said to Margaret as they stood together waiting till he should waken. “We must forget our side just now.”
But he need not have feared for her, nor for Barney. Through the night they watched him grow weaker, watched not in growing gloom, but, as it were, in an atmosphere bright with the light of hope and warm with strong and tender love. At times Barney would wander in his delirium, but a word would call him back to them. As the end drew near, by Nature's kindly ministry the pain departed.
“This is not too bad, Dick,” he said. “How much worse it might have been. He brought us two together again—us three,” he corrected, glancing at Margaret.
“Yes, Barney,” replied Dick, “nothing matters much beside that.”
“And then,” continued his brother, “He let me do a little work for the boys, for 'Mexico.' Poor 'Mexico'! But he'll stick, I think. Help him, Dick. He is my friend.”
“Mine, too, Barney,” said Dick; “mine forever.”
“Poor chaps, they need me. What a chance for some man!—for a doctor, I mean!”
“We'll get someone, Barney. Never fear.”
“What a chance!” he murmured again, wearily, as he fell asleep.
Day dawned clear and still. The storm was gone, the whole world was at peace. The mountains and the wide valleys lay beautiful in their unsullied robes of purest white, and, over all, the rising sun cast a rosy sheen. As Margaret rolled up the blinds and drew back the curtains, letting in the glory of the morning, Barney opened his eyes and turned his face toward the window, moving his lips in a whisper.