WHILE Gaston and the men were carrying Flora and Tom to the house, another searching party was formed. There were no women and children among them, only grim-visaged silent men, and a pair of little mild-eyed sharp-nosed blood-hounds. All the morning men were coming in from the country and joining this silent army of searchers.
Doctor Graham came, looked long and gravely at Flora and turned a sad face toward Tom.
The ole soldier grasped his arm before he spoke.
"Now, doctor wait—don't say a word yet. I don't want to know the truth, if it's the worst. Don't kill me in a minute. Let me live as long as there's breath in her body—after that! well, that's the end—there's nothin' after that!"
The doctor started to speak.
"Wait," pleaded Tom, "let me tell you something. I've been praying all night. I've seen God face to face. She can't die. He told me so—"
He paused and his grip on the doctor's arm relaxed as though he were about to faint, but he rallied.
The kindly old doctor said gently, "Sit down Tom."
He tried to lead Tom away from the bed, but he held on like a bull dog.
The child breathed heavily and moaned.
