something to dwell on that was holy, that was beautiful—what doctor need hope to compete with such a combination, such an exhibition of Nature’s powers for healing? Perhaps it was the clean pad he had removed, the evidence that there was a skin coating over his breast, firm enough to hold through the work of the day, the feeling of coolness and satisfaction in the pit of his stomach, the absence of heat and burning in his blood, probably it was a combination of all these things that had made Jamie, standing facing the glass that morning, voice the joyful conviction: “I’m going to make it! As sure as there is a good God in the Heavens, I’m going to be a well man again!”
Right there was where Jamie received his blow, an awful blow, a blow from which he shrank and which whitened his face and set his hands to shaking. His voice sounded strained in his own ears because he said it aloud: “And by all that’s holy, I contracted to die! It was part of my agreement to be through with life in six months at the most! I said there wasn’t a chance that I’d live, and probably the girl who married me would not have done it if she had not thought that I was practically a dead man.”
Jamie stood still holding the pad and staring at it. He could feel the girl’s exploring fingers across his chest. He could feel the shudder, perhaps of pity, that had gone through her as he guided her fingers across the outline of the bandages and braces that he was then wearing. He had given her evidence to prove his words. She had accepted the evidence, she had trusted his word, and now
