James McIver called but she would not see him.
When they urged her to retire and rest, she answered always with the
same words: "I must be here when he awakens--I must."
And they, loving her, understood.
It was as if the assassin's hand had torn aside the curtain of material
circumstances and revealed suddenly the realities of their inner lives.
They realized now that this man, who had in their old-house days won
the first woman love of his girl playmate, had held that love against
all the outward changes that had taken her from him. John and his
mother knew, now, why Helen had never said "Yes" to Jim McIver. Peter
Martin and Mary knew why, in Captain Charlie's heart, there had seemed
to be no place for any woman save his sister.
At intervals the man on the bed moved uneasily, muttering low words and
disconnected fragments of speech. Army words--some of them were--as if
his spirit lived for the moment again in the fields of France. At other
times the half-formed phrases were of his work--the strike--his home.
Again he spoke his sister's name or murmured, "Father," or "John." But
not once did Helen catch the word she longed to hear him speak. It was
as if, even in his unconscious mental wanderings, the man still guarded
the name that in secret he had held most dear.
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