“There has been an accident out at the mines,” she answered, trying to steady her voice, “and Jack was badly hurt.  So very badly that mamma didn’t telegraph us, but waited to see how it would terminate.  Oh, he’s better,” she hurried to add, seeing Mary grow faint and white, and sit down weakly on the floor beside the bandbox.  “He is going to live, the doctors say, but they’re afraid—­” Her voice faltered and she began to sob.  “They’re afraid he’ll be a cripple for life!  Never walk again!”

Throwing herself across the couch, she buried her face in the cushions, crying chokingly, “Oh, I can’t bear to think of it!  Oh, Jack! how could such an awful thing happen to you!”

Sick and trembling, Mary sat as if dazed by a blow on the head, her stunned senses trying to grasp the fact that some awful calamity had befallen them; that out of a clear sky had dropped a deadly bolt to shatter all the happiness of their little world.  For an instant the thought came to her that maybe she was only having a dreadful dream, and in a few moments would come the blessed relief of awakening.  But instead came only the sickening realization of the truth, for Joyce, with an imploring gesture, held the letter out to Phil for him to read aloud.

Mrs. Ware had written as bravely as she could, trying not to alarm or distress them unduly, but there could be no disguising or softening one terrible fact.  Jack, strong, sinewy, broad-shouldered Jack, whose strength had been his pride, lay as helpless as a baby, and all the hope the physicians could give was that in a few months he might be able to go about in a wheeled chair.  They had had three surgeons up from Phoenix for a consultation.  A trained nurse was with him at present and they must not worry.  Of course they mustn’t think of coming home.  Joyce could do most good where she was, if later on they should have to depend on her partly, as one of the bread-winners.  And Mary must make the most of the rest of the year at school.  Jack had sent the check for the balance of her expenses only the morning before the accident occurred.

Mary waited to hear no more.  With the tears streaming down her face, and her lips working pitifully, she scrambled up from the floor, and ran into the next room, shutting the door behind her.  The hurt was too deep for her to bear another moment, in any one’s presence.  She must go off with it into the dark alone.

There was a page or two more, giving some details of the accident.  Some heavy timbers had fallen while they were making some extensions, and Jack had been crushed under them.  The blow on the spine had caused paralysis of both limbs.  When Phil finished the last sentence, he sat staring helplessly at the floor, wishing he could think of something to say; something comforting and hopeful, for Joyce’s shoulders still heaved convulsively, and Betty was crying quietly over by the window.  But he could find no grain of comfort in the whole situation.  Mrs. Ware had rejoiced in the fact that his life had been spared, but to Phil, death seemed infinitely preferable to the crippled helpless half-existence which the future held out for poor Jack.