I may not handle a knife, tie
an artery, or stitch up a wound--may do less than I ever did in my life
on such an occasion, yet--I'll be hanged if I'm not feeling as owly about
it as if it were the first time I ever expected to see blood."
Ellen put her hand on his arm, slipped it into the curve, and kept it
there, while he held it pressed close against him. "Red, have you been
working too hard lately?" she asked.
"Not a bit. I'm fit as a fiddler. Don't worry, love. I've no business
to talk riddles to you, of all people. But for a peculiar reason I'm
horribly anxious about the outcome of to-morrow's experiment, and had
to work it off somehow. Just promise me that when you say your prayers
to-night you'll ask the good God not to let me be mistaken in forcing a
situation I may not be able to control."
"I will," Ellen promised, with all her heart, for she saw that, whatever
the crisis might be, it was one to which her usually daring husband was
looking forward with most uncharacteristic dread.
She was conscious that Burns spent a restless night. At daybreak he was
up and out of the house. Before he went, however, he bent over her and
kissed her with great tenderness, murmuring, "A prayer or two more,
darling, won't hurt anything, when you are awake enough. I've particular
faith in your petitions.
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