by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER XVII
THE OPAL GATES
The doctor was waiting at the hotel, his keen eyes very serious. He hadguessed the sinister meaning of the summons. He was an unusually brusqueman--almost rude in his words. He greeted Norton with friendly sympathy andsmiled at the radiant face of the wife.
"Well, little mother," he said with grave humor, "we have more trouble. Butyou're brave and patient. It's a joy to work for you."
"And now," she responded gayly, "you've got to finish this thing, doctor. Idon't want any more half-way operations. I'm going to get well this time.I'm happy and I'm going to be strong again."
"Good, we'll get at it right away. I knew you'd feel that way and so Ibrought with me a great surgeon, the most skillful man I know in New York.I've told him of your case, a very unusual one, and he is going to helpme."
The little mouth smiled bravely:
"I'll be ready for the examination in half an hour----"
When the doctors emerged from her room the sun had set behind the dark bluehills and Norton was waiting on the balcony for their report.
The specialist walked slowly to where he was standing. He couldn't movefrom his tracks. His throat was dry and he had somehow lost the power ofspeech. He looked into the face of the man of science, read the story oftragedy and a mist closed his eyes.
The doctor took his arm gently:
"I've bad news for you----"
"Yes, I know," was the low answer.
"The truth is best----"
"I want to know it."
"She can't live!"
The tall figure stiffened, there was a moment of silence and when he spokehis words fell slowly with measured intensity:
"There's not a single chance, doctor?"
"Not worth your cherishing. You'd as well know this now and be prepared. Weopened and drained the old wound, and both agreed that it is too late foran operation. The flesh that guards the wall of the great vein is a mereshred. She would die under the operation. I can't undertake it."
"And it will not heal again?"
The doctor was silent for a long while and his eyes wandered to thedarkening sky where the stars were coming out one by one:
"Who knows but God? And who am I to set bounds to his power?"
"Then there may be a slender chance?" he asked eagerly.
"To the eye of Science--no--yet while life lingers we always hope. But Iwouldn't advise you to leave her side for the next ten days. The end, if itcomes, will be very sudden, and it will be too late for speech."
A groan interrupted his words and Norton leaned heavily against thebalcony rail. The doctor's voice was full of feeling as he continued:
"If you have anything to say to her you'd better say it quickly to be surethat it does not remain unsaid."
"Thank you----"
"I have told her nothing more can be done now until the wound from thisdraining heals--that when it does she can come to New York for a finaldecision on the operation."
"I understand."
"We leave to-night on the midnight express----"
"You can do nothing more?"
"Nothing."
A warm pressure of the hand in the gathering twilight and he was gone. Thedazed man looked toward the fading sky-line of the southwest at Mt.Pisgah's towering black form pushing his way into the track of the starsand a feeling of loneliness crushed his soul.
He turned abruptly, braced himself for the ordeal and hurried to her room.She was unusually bright and cheerful.
"Why, it didn't hurt a bit, dear!" she exclaimed joyfully. "It was nothing.And when it heals you're to take me to New York for the operation----"
He took her hot hand and kissed it through blinding tears which he tried invain to fight back.
"They didn't even have to pack that nasty old gauze in it again--were youvery much scared waiting out there, Dan?"
"Very much."
She started at the queer note in his voice, caught her hand in his brownlocks and pressed his head back in view:
"Why, you're crying--you big foolish boy! You mustn't do that. I'm allright now--I feel much better--there's not a trace of pain or uneasiness.Don't be silly--it's all right, remember."
He stroked the little hand:
"Yes, I'll remember, dearest."
"It should all be healed in three weeks and then we'll go to New York.It'll just be fun! I've always been crazy to go. I won't mind theoperation--you'll be with me every minute now till I'm well again."
"Yes, dear, every moment now until--you--are--well."
The last words came slowly, but by a supreme effort of will the voice washeld even.
He found mammy, told her the solemn truth, and sent her to hire a nurse forthe baby.
"Either you or I must be by her side every minute now, mammy--day andnight."
"Yessir, I understand," the dear old voice answered.
Every morning early the nurse brought the baby in for a romp as soon as hewaked and mammy came to relieve the tired watcher.
Ten days passed before the end came. Many long, sweet hours he had with herhand in his as the great shadow deepened, while he talked to her of lifeand death, and immortality.
A strange peace had slowly stolen into his heart. He had always hated andfeared death before. Now his fears had gone. And the face of the dim whitemessenger seemed to smile at him from the friendly shadows.
The change came quietly one night as they sat in the moonlight of herwindow.
"Oh, what a beautiful world, Dan!" she said softly, and then the littlehand suddenly grasped her throat! She turned a blanched face on him andcouldn't speak.
He lifted her tenderly and laid her on the bed, rang for the doctor andsent mammy for the baby.
She motioned for a piece of paper--and slowly wrote in a queer, tremblinghand:
"I understand, dearest, I am going--it's all right. I am happy--remember that I love you and have forgiven--rear our boy free from the curse--you know what I mean. I had rather a thousand times that he should die than this--my brooding spirit will watch and guard."
The baby kissed her sweetly and lisped:
"Good night, mamma!"
From the doorway he waved his chubby little arm and cried again:
"Night, night, mamma!"
The sun was slowly climbing the eastern hills when the end came. Its firstrays streamed through the window and fell on his haggard face as he bentand pressed a kiss on the silent lips of the dead.
