“I hardly know,” James replied in a whisper.

“I know,” said Georgie K. By the light from the office window James could see that the man was actually weeping.  His great ruddy face was streaming with tears.  “Don’t I know?” he sobbed.

James remembered the stuffed canary and the wax flowers, and the story Gordon had told him of Georgie K.’s grief over his wife’s death.

“I dare say you are right,” he returned.

“He’s breakin’ his heart, that’s what he’s doin’,” said Georgie K.  “Can’t you get him to go away for a change or somethin’?”

“I have tried.”

“He’ll die of it,” Georgie K. said with a great gulp as he went out of the yard.

When James reentered the office Gordon looked up at him.  “That poor old fellow called you out to talk about me,” he said quietly.  “I know I’m going downhill.”

“For heaven’s sake, can’t you go up, doctor?”

“No, I am done for.  I could get over losing her, but I can’t get over what—­you know what.”

“But her death was inevitable, and greater agony was inevitable.”

Gordon turned upon him fiercely.  “When you have been as long in this cursed profession as I have,” he said, “you will realize that nothing is inevitable.  She might have recovered for all I know.  That woman, at Turner Hill, who I thought was dying six months ago, being up and around again, is an instance.  I tell you mortal man has no right to thrust his hand between the Almighty and fate.  You know nothing, and I know nothing.”

“I do know.”

“You don’t know, and you don’t even know that you don’t know.  There is no use talking about this any longer.  When I am gone you must marry Clemency, and keep on with my practice.”

James considered when he was in his own room that the event of his succeeding to the practice might not be so very remote, but as to his marrying Clemency he doubted.  He dared not hint of the matter to Gordon, for he knew it would disturb him, but Clemency, as the days went on, became more and more variable.  At times she was loving, at times it was quite evident that she shrank from him with a sort of involuntary horror.  James began to wonder if they ever could marry.  He was fully resolved not to clear himself at the expense of Doctor Gordon; in fact, such a course never occurred to him.  He had a very simple straightforwardness in matters of honor, and this seemed to him a matter of honor.  No question with regard to it arose in his mind.  Obviously it was better that he should bear the brunt than Gordon, but he did ask himself if it would ever be possible for Clemency to dissociate him from the thought of the tragedy entirely, and if she could not, would it be possible for her to be happy as his wife?  That very day Clemency had avoided him, and once when he had approached she had visibly shrunk and paled.  Evidently the child could not help it.  She looked miserably unhappy.  She had grown thin lately, and had lost almost entirely her sense of fun, which had always been so ready.