"Yes, Doctor! I just came home to-day. How are you?" She ran over to shake hands with him. "Is Mr. King very sick?"
"He's dying."
"Oh, Doctor Deering!"
"Yes. No mistake about it this time. Wants to see you. Old nigger woman told him you were home. Will you come now?"
"Of course." She followed him into the house and up the long, shabbily carpeted stairs. She had never seen a dying person and she began to shiver.
As if he read her thought the doctor spoke. "Isn't going to die while you're here. Not for a week—perhaps two weeks. But he'll never be up again." His voice was gruff and his brow was furrowed. He had been with Jeanie King when Jimsy was born and when she died, and he had cherished and scorned James King for long years.
There was a chair beside the bed and Honor seated herself there in silence. Presently the sick man opened his eyes and his worn and ravaged look of his son caught at her heart.
"So," he said somberly, "you came home."
"Yes, Mr. King. I came because Jimsy was in trouble, and to-morrow I'm going to him."
His eyes widened and slow, difficult color came into his sharply boned face. "You're going ... to Mexico?"