I moved towards the door, slowly, expecting the others to follow me, but
they never stirred. It was as if by some common consent they had
acknowledged some right of mine to enter alone. Suddenly my limbs began
to drag under me, as if I had been a tottering, old woman. I wondered
what his first look would say to me, what the first word from his lips
would portend? It seemed as if I were going in there like one who sought
some hidden treasure, knowing which door it lay behind but stricken with
fear lest some unseen Cerberus might be crouching in wait for the rash
seeker after happiness. Oh! Aunt Jennie! The tenseness of that moment!
The feeling that, like the _Snowbird_ a few days ago, I was moving
through a fog-hidden world of peril!

My nails were dug into the palms of my hands as I entered the shack, and
his head turned slowly as I came in, and in his eyes I saw the confession
his babbling had revealed to me. But then an expression of pain came
also, that made me involuntarily look at Frenchy's little crucifix on the
wall.

So I just kneeled down by him, and once more took that poor thin hand
within my own. I spoke very low, and in such a shaky voice, but very
quick, for fear I might not be able to continue.

"Don't give up hope," I said. "We despaired for so many long days, and
now you are getting well again, and the dear sun is rising from the
mists, and the world is very beautiful, and I long to make it more
beautiful for you."

I saw two big tears gathering in the corners of the poor sunken eyes, and
the long white hand pressed mine, weakly, and that mark of the pangs of
the crucified passed away.