I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. There it is. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. "I warn you, if you do not send for a doctor immediately, you will have cause to regret it," Ruth declared vigorously. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Then she moved towards the door. .
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