Roscoe
to know that she was still here."
I assured her that I understood, and then she added mournfully: "I cannot
help you now, monsieur, as I did on board the 'Fulvia'. But he will be
better cared for in Miss Devlin's hands, the poor lady! . . . Do you
think that he will live?"
"I hope so. I am not sure."
Her eyes went to tears; and then I tried to speak more encouragingly.
All day people came to inquire, chief among them Mr. Devlin, whose big
heart split itself in humanity and compassion. "The price of the big mill
for the guarantee of his life!" he said over and over again. "We can't
afford to let him go."
Although I should have been on my way back to Toronto, I determined to
stay until Roscoe was entirely out of danger. It was singular, but in
this illness, though the fever was high, he never was delirious. It would
almost seem as if, having paid his penalty, the brain was at rest.
While Roscoe hovered between life and death, Mr. Devlin, who persisted
that he would not die, was planning for a new hospital and a new church,
of which Roscoe should be president and padre respectively.
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