He himself lost heart suddenly.
"I shall never walk again," he said, one afternoon, as they sat together
in the big room.
The days were very short, for it was mid-December, and the lamps had
been brought. They had been out in the carriage, and when Taquisara had
lifted him from his seat, he had made a desperate attempt to move his
legs, a sudden effort into which he had thrown all the concentrated
hope and will that were still in him. But there had been neither motion
nor sensation, and all at once he had felt that it was all over,
forever.
Veronica looked at him quickly, and he was watching her face. He saw no
contradiction there of what he had said, but only a little surprise that
he should have said it.
"You may not be able to walk as soon as we thought," she answered
gently. "But that is no reason why you should never walk at all."
"I am afraid it is," he said.
She stroked his hand, as she often did, and her eyes wandered from his
face to the other side of the room, and back again.
"I have been trying very hard to get well," he continued presently.
"Harder than any one knows."
"I know," Veronica answered. "You are so brave!"
"Brave? No. I am desperate. Do you think I do not know what it must be
to you, to be tied to a hopeless cripple like me?"
"Tied? I?" She spoke bravely, for it would have been a deadly cruelty
not to contradict him. "It is for you," she went on. "You must not think
of me as tied to you, dear, as you call it! I did it gladly, of my own
free will, and I knew what I was doing.
Pages:
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529