do you think will happen to me? I never planned for this. I planned for a good time. I thought maybe that when we were old—one of us might go. But it wouldn't be fair to take her now—and leave me."
"I have given her—everything——" he went on. "I—I think I've been a good husband. I have always loved her a lot, George, you know that."
He was a plain little man, but at this moment he gained something of dignity. And there was this to say for him, that what he felt for Flora was a deeper emotion than George had ever known.
"The doctor says the crisis comes to-night. I am not going to bed. I couldn't sleep. George—I've been wondering if I oughtn't to call in—some kind of clergyman—to see her."
"People don't, nowadays, do they?" George asked rather uncomfortably.
"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't. There ought to be somebody to pray for Flora."
There was, it developed upon inquiry, a little old rector who lived not far away. George went for him in his big car.
The little man, praying beside Flora's gorgeous bed, felt that this was the hundredth sheep who had wandered and was found. The other ninety and nine were safely in the fold. He had looked after the spiritual condition of the county for fifty years.
There had been much to discourage him, but in the main if they strayed they came back.
He prayed with fervor, the fine old prayers of his church.