His Family - Ernest Poole [105]
"What's the matter?" he asked. She started.
"Nothing's the matter! How is Bruce?"
"I don't know. Who went out a few minutes ago?"
"Allan Baird," she answered.
"Oh. You explained to him, of course, about Lake--"
"Yes, he understands," she said. "He won't come here after this--"
Roger looked at her sharply, wondering just what she meant. He hesitated. No, he would wait.
"Good-night," he said, and went upstairs.
CHAPTER XXXVI
On the morrow Bruce did not grow better. If anything, the child grew worse. But by the next morning the crisis had passed. In the house the tension relaxed, and Roger suddenly felt so weak that he went to see his own physician. They had a long and serious talk. Later he went to his office, but he gave little heed to his work. Sitting there at his desk, he stared through the window far out over the city. A plan was forming in his mind.
At home that night, at dinner, he kept watching Deborah, who looked tired and pale and rather relaxed. And as soon as she was out of the house he telephoned Allan to come at once.
"It's something which can't wait," he urged.
"Very well, I'll come right up."
When Baird arrived a little later, Roger opened the door himself, and they went back into his study.
"Sit down," he said. "Smoke, Allan?"
"No, thanks." Baird looked doubly tall and lean, his face had a gaunt appearance; and as he sat down, his lithe supple right hand slowly closed on the arm of his chair.
"Now then," began Roger, "there are two things we want to get clear on. The first is about yourself and Deborah. There has been trouble, hasn't there?"
"Yes."
"She has made up her mind not to marry you."
"Yes."
"I guessed as much." And Roger paused. "Do you mind my asking questions?
"No--"
"Are you still in love with her, Allan?"
"I am."
"And she with you?"
"I think so."
"Then it's the same old trouble."
"Yes." And he told a part of what she had said. As he talked in clear, terse, even tones, Baird's steady eyes had a tortured light, the look of a man who has almost reached the end of his endurance. Roger smoked in silence.
"What do you propose to do?"
"Wait," said Allan, "a few days more. Then try again. If I fail I'm through." Roger shot a quick look at him.
"I don't think you'll fail, my boy--and what's more I think I can help you. This is a large house, Allan--there's more in it than you know. My second point concerns myself. I'm going to die within a year."
As Baird turned on him suddenly, Roger grimly smiled and said, "We won't go into the details, but I've been examined lately and I have quite positive knowledge of what I've suspected for some time. So far, I have told no one but you. And I'm telling you only because of the bearing it has on Deborah." Roger leaned forward heavily. "She's the one of my daughters who means the most, now that I'm so near the end. When I die next year that may be all--I may simply end--a blank, a grave--I am not sure. But I've made up my mind above everything else to see Deborah happy before I go. And I mean to do it by setting her free--so free I think it will frighten her."
Roger went on to explain his plan, and they talked together for some time.
* * * * *
Another week had soon gone by. Bruce still recovered rapidly, and the other sick children were up and about. Deborah, in the meantime, had barely been in the house at all. But late on Saturday evening Roger found her in her room. She was working. He came behind her.
"What is it, dad?"
"Busy, eh?" He hesitated, and laid his hand on her shoulder with a little affectionate pressure. "You've kept so busy lately," he said, "I haven't had time to see anything of you. How's your work going?"
"Much better, thanks--now that the winter is over."
He questioned her about her schools. And then after a brief pause,
"Well, daughter," he said, "it has been a great fight, and I'm proud of you