"I only wish," said the father, "that I could take him away. I must try, though I don't see at present how I am to do it."
He turned away to the window to hide the emotion that would rise to choke him when he met the large, weary blue eyes of his boy bent on him, as if in appeal that he might not be allowed to fade and wither and die, like a flower before it has fairly bloomed.
"Can't you at least send the boy away with his mother?" asked the doctor.
"I must try," said the father without turning round. "I must see what can be done."
"In the meantime," said the doctor, rising, "go on with the cod-liver oil and malt extract."
The doctor went, and still the Rev. James Murray stood by the window, striving to keep down the emotion that demanded to have its way. The wife rose with the child in her arms and went close to her husband.
"James, my dear," said she in a low voice (and she took his hand), "don't, my dear!"
James turned with the impulse of all his passionate love for his wife and child, and drew them together to his breast and bent his head over them. And one great sob of anguish broke from him, and one tear of bitter agony sprang in his eye, and fell hot upon his wife's hand.
"Oh, James, my darling!" she cried, clinging to him. "Don't! God will be good to us!"