“Olaf says that she still lives,” he answered; “but I fear that Olaf is not to be relied upon this time. He has a strange gift; but he does not understand it himself, and while I know he would not deceive me, I feel that the doctor must know best.”
“Well, I’ll not give up until Olaf does!” I blurted.
He smiled again and put his hand back on my shoulder. “Come in and look at her,” he said, “she is very beautiful. The strange mask has fallen from her face, and she is once more as she was in those old, happy days when we walked together through our own Garden of Eden. Come in, I want you to see her.”
I went in with him, though I didn’t want to. I knew what love did to a man, and that I hadn’t seen the same woman he had; but the’ was another face allus before my eyes, and no one else was beautiful to me. I didn’t want to do any pertendin’ to the Friar, even at such a time as this.
I follered him inside, feelin’ out o’ place and embarrassed; but when I looked down at the quiet face in the bed, I was glad I had come. She didn’t look like the same woman, not at all. All the weary, puzzled expression had left her face, and in spite of its whiteness, it looked like the face of a girl. I looked at her a long time and the thought that came to me over and over was, what a shame she couldn’t have had just a few words with the Friar before she was called on; just a few words, now that her right mind was back.
After a time I looked up. Kit sat near the head of the bed, leanin’ over and holdin’ a handkerchief to her eyes, Olaf sat near her, a strange, grim set to his lips. His head was bandaged and he looked less like a human than usual, as he kept his eyes fixed on the white face o’ the woman. The’ was a lamp on the stand and I could see his eyes. Blue they were, deep blue, like the flowers on the benches in June, and they didn’t move; but kept a steady gaze upon the white, still face. The doctor sat in a corner, his eyes on the floor. At first I thought he was asleep, and goodness knows, he was entitled to it; but just as I looked at him he rubbed his fingers together a moment and stood up.
He walked over and put his hand on the Friar’s shoulder. “You might as well all go to sleep, now,” he said, gently. “There is nothing more to do.”
“Are you positive?” asked the Friar.
“Positive,” said the doctor. “There is no heart action, and when I held a mirror to her lips no vapor was formed.”
“She is still alive,” said the deep voice of Olaf, and we all gave a little start.