Rose-Marie nodded, and she spoke, very softly. “Then you think that I’ll be able—to help?” she questioned.
The Young Doctor was remembering—or forgetting—many things.
“I know that you will!” he said, and he spoke as softly as she had done. “I know that you will!”
They went, together, with Lily, into the inner room. And as the Young Doctor closed the door, Rose-Marie knew a very real throb of triumph. For he had admitted that her help was to be desired—that she could really do something!
But, the moment that the door closed, she forgot her feeling of victory, for, of a sudden, she saw Dr. Blanchard in a new light. She saw him lay the little figure upon the bed—she saw him pull off his coat. And then, while she held the basin of water, she saw him get to work. And as she watched him her last feeling of doubt was swept away.
“He may say that he’s not interested in people,” she told herself joyously, “but he is. He may think that he doesn’t care for religion—but he does. There’s love of people in every move of his hands! There’s something religious in the very way his fingers touch Lily!”
Yes, she was seeing the Young Doctor in a new light. As she watched him she knew that he had quite forgotten her presence—had quite forgotten the little quarrels that had all but ruined their chance at friendship. She knew that his mind was only on the child who lay so still under his hands—she knew that all the intensity of his nature was concentrated upon Lily. As she watched him, deftly obeying His simple directions, she gloried in his skill—in his surety.
And then, at last, Lily opened her eyes. She might have been waking from a deep slumber as she opened them—she might have been dreaming a pleasant dream as she smiled faintly. Rose-Marie had a sudden feeling—a feeling that she had experienced before—that the child was seeing visions, with her great sightless eyes, that other, normal folk could not see. All at once a great dread clutched at her soul.
“She’s not dying—?” she whispered, gaspingly. “Her smile is so very—wonderful. She’s not dying?”
The Young Doctor turned swiftly from the bed. All at once he looked like a knight to Rose-Marie—an armourless, modern knight who fought an endless fight against the dragons of disease and pain.
“Bless your heart, no!” he answered. “She isn’t dying! We’ll bring her around in a few minutes. And now”—a great tenderness shone out of his eyes, “tell me all about it. You were very sketchy,” his gesture indicated the other room, “out there! How did the child really get hurt—and how did you come to be here? How—Why, Rose-Marie.... Sweetheart!”
For Rose-Marie had fainted very quietly—and for the first time in all of her strong young life.
AND THE HAPPY ENDING