Gordon seemed to divine his thoughts.  “God grant that you may never have to undergo what I am undergoing, boy,” he said.  Then he added, “It was in poor Clara’s blood, her mother before her died the same way.  Clemency comes, on her mother’s side at least, of a healthy race, morally and physically, although the nervous system is oversensitive.  If my poor sister had been happy, she would have been alive to-day.  And as far as I know of the other side, there was perfect physical health, although he had that abnormal lack of moral sense that led one to dream of possession.  Did you notice how much less evil he looked when he was dead, even with that frightfully disfigured face?”

“Yes.”

“There are strange things in this world,” said Gordon with gloomy reflection, “or else simple things which we are strange not to believe.  Sometimes I think people will have to take to the Bible again in that literal sense in which so many are now inclined to disregard it.  Well, Elliot, I honestly feel that you have nothing to fear in taking poor little Clemency.  I should tell you if I thought otherwise.  She will make you happy, and I can think of no reason to warn you concerning any possible lapses, in either her physical or her moral health, and I have had her in my charge since she first drew the breath of life.  Come, my son, it is late, and we have a great deal to do to-morrow.  This awful business has made me neglect patients.  I have to see Clara again, and get what rest I can.”  Gordon looked older and wearier than James had ever seen him, as he bade him good-night, old and weary as he had often seen him look.  A sudden alarm for Gordon himself came over him.  He wondered, after he had entered, his room, if he were not strained past endurance.  He recalled his own father’s healthy, ruddy face, and Gordon was no older.

He lay awake a while thinking anxiously of Gordon, then his own happy future blazoned itself before him, and he dreamed awake, and dreamed asleep, of himself and Clemency, in that future, whose golden vistas had no end, so far as his young eyes could see.  The sense of relief from anxiety over the girl was so intense that it was in itself a delight.  Clemency herself felt it.  The next morning at breakfast she looked radiant.  Gordon had assured her the sick woman had rested quietly, and told her that Mrs. Blair was coming.

“To-day I can go where I choose,” Clemency exclaimed gayly.

“Not until afternoon,” replied Gordon, then he relented at her look of disappointment, and suggested that she go with Elliot to make his calls, while he went with Aaron and the team.  It was a beautiful morning; spring seemed to have arrived.  Everywhere was the plash of running water, now and then came distant flutings of birds.  “I know that was a bluebird,” Clemency said happily.  “I feel sure mother will get well now.  It seems wicked to be glad that the man is dead, especially on such a morning, but I wonder if it is, when he would have spoiled the morning.”