"Remember, Ted, that cheerfulness is our most important ally. Whatever you feel, don't let her see you anything but cheerful. By the way--" he paused.

"What?" I asked.

"She ought not to kiss her baby or be too close to it."

He studied the monogram on his cigarette case, then offered me a cigarette. I pushed it away. I could see Helen's face in my imagination, when I should tell her she could not kiss her own baby.

"You know," the doctor went on jerkily, "you ought to be careful yourself. Keep away as much as you can--at least, separate bedrooms."

I looked at him. He shrugged.

"It's my duty to warn you--that's all," he said, holding out his hand.

"And keep her out of crowds--no horseshow--no theatres."

I think I said good-bye; perhaps I thanked him for his kindness, but I have no recollection of anything further until Helen and I stood outside his house, with the June sunshine pouring down on us. I tried to smile at her as I saw her grey eyes fixed on mine. It was rather a ghastly attempt.

"I want to know everything, Ted. Don't keep anything back."

I told her as gently as I could, while we continued to walk along Harley Street without noticing where we were going.

"Ted, I'm going to fight--and fight hard. I won't be beaten! I won't!"

For just a second I thought she was going to break down. I should have known my Helen better.

"We must go home and make plans, dear. Call a hansom."

I looked about. We were just emerging in the Marylebone Road, or was it Euston Road? Things danced a bit before my eyes, but I waved my stick. A hansom drew up beside us.

"Euston," I said, helping Helen in.

At home I propped Helen up in a Madeira chair in the garden while we were waiting for tea. I went into the house to get our bank pa.s.sbook, for there was need to find out where we stood financially. I paused as I saw Helen with wistful eyes watching her baby playing about the garden.

The flowers made bright patches of color; overhead the sun and sky were glorious with an English June. The world seemed such a beautiful place--there sat a beautiful mother watching her baby at play--"Why?

why?" I asked, "why to us?" No answer came, then or since. I went into the house.

Our finances proved to be in fair shape. We had enough laid by to take us overseas if we were not extravagant travellers. The income from the factory and Helen's allowance would keep us comfortable, even granting considerable addition to our living expenses. In any event, there were two generous families to lend help. It is curious, perhaps, that at first we talked only of practical problems. The reason was that we were both so determined to fight, we thought of nothing except immediately planning our campaign. We would let the house furnished. It was the most sensible thing to do, although the first tears came to Helen's eyes when she spoke of strangers using our treasures.

After tea we wrote letters to both families. There remained the question of where to go in September. Again we took an immediate decision, or rather Helen did. She felt uncertain about carrying the baby to Egypt.

Neither of us had been there, and we did not know what a.s.suam might be like. As for California, while it was equally a strange country to us, it was at least America, and we should be, in a measure, at home. We put postscripts to our letters, announcing southern California as our destination in September. We dined in the garden and sat late under the stars, her hand in mine.

Although we spent the whole summer in the garden, or taking short walks along the field-paths near by, Helen began to lose strength. She seemed quite unaware of it herself, for each day her word to me was that she felt much better. And, mindful of the doctor's constant injunctions to me to be always cheerful in her presence, I had to pretend that I, too, thought her steadily improving. The doctor began to speak of the benefit a change of climate would bring, by which I saw that he inwardly admitted there had been no amendment. But he buoyed us up with hope and optimism, telling us marvellous tales of cures that the American desert had wrought. Almost our whole anguish was at the thought of leaving our little home; as yet neither of us had had our confidence at all shaken.

On the contrary, so optimistic is youth, we had in considerable degree recovered from our first grief. We knew we were fighting, perhaps with our backs to the wall, but we did not doubt we should win. It was when I was alone that doubt would sometimes steal in. For example, that walk Helen took easily last week, she could not finish yesterday--what did it mean? But I fought against doubt for her sake, well knowing that she would instantly detect any signs of it in me. I strove not to think at all, but to minister each day to Helen's comfort and happiness, leaving tomorrow out of the account.

Packing up and closing the house was the hardest for Helen to bear. In spite of the fatigue of climbing stairs, she went with me from room to room for one last look. We were saying good-bye to home alone because our letters to my family had been so optimistic they fancied we were merely going away for the winter. They wrote that they would come to visit us in the spring upon our return. My father had sent a check, and Mr. Claybourne had cabled he would meet us in New York. So it came that we left our house as we had entered it, alone.

At the station many kind friends came down to see us off, loading Helen with flowers. The baby was in great form, for the excitement of travel was new to her. I think it was the worst wrench of all for Helen to leave Leonidas, although dog-loving friends were keeping him for us.

Poor Leonidas! the last thing we saw from the train window was the diminishing wags of his tail, as he stood wondering on the platform. For the first time since the doctor's diagnosis, Helen cried, leaning against my shoulder as our train rushed toward Liverpool. But she soon stopped, for little Helen started crying too when she saw "mummy dear"

in tears. Nurse sat up, rather grim, trying to keep the child amused. I wondered how much nurse guessed or knew.

"It doesn't seem possible, Ted, that our happy life is over," Helen whispered, looking out of the carriage window. "The home we had fixed up for ourselves and were going to live in always--why should it happen to us, Ted? Why?"

It was the same question I had asked myself in the garden.

"We'll come back in June," I said. G.o.d knows whether I thought it a lie or not.

"In June, Ted. We must. It's--it's hard to be--brave, Ted, isn't it? But I won't give in! I won't!"

We reached New York after a gloomy, foggy September pa.s.sage. Mr.

Claybourne met us at the dock, accompanied by a Miss Brock, a trained nurse, who was to travel with us to California. We paused in New York only long enough to consult another tuberculosis specialist. This man also expressed hope, sending us on our way rejoicing. Another halt of twenty-four hours was made at Deep Harbor, to see Helen's mother.

It was a strange sensation to step off the limited at the familiar old station which we had left under such different circ.u.mstances. Before us lay State Street, with its trolley cars and soft coal smoke, not much altered. Yet the mere sight of Deep Harbor lowered my spirits as nothing else had done. I don't know why this was so. In spite of all I could do, deep depression seized me as we drove to the Claybourne residence on Myrtle Boulevard. I think Helen felt it, too, for her hand rested on mine the whole way. Mr. Claybourne was busy with his new granddaughter, whom he had deliberately spoiled from the time he first saw her on the dock at New York. She was chattering away to him, as we drove along, in a p.r.o.nounced English nurse-girl accent, a habit that gave Mr. Claybourne unending delight. I think the trace of English in Helen troubled him a little. After over four years it was not surprising that Helen had acquired a few English mannerisms and tricks of speech. Her slang, indeed, was quite up to date. I had seen him look at his daughter more than once as if he felt that she had drifted far away during the four years and over of her married life. I wonder myself how it would seem if Helen had been away a long time from me and returned with strange speech and ways. I wanted to tell him she was a more splendid and wonderful woman than she had ever been.

I dreaded the meeting with Mrs. Claybourne. I feared her tears and wailings would have a depressing effect on Helen. Mrs. Claybourne was const.i.tutionally unable to look upon any but the gloomiest side of things. What would happen now she had good cause for sorrow? I had already warned Mr. Claybourne that only cheerfulness was to be about Helen, hoping he would shield her from Mrs. Claybourne's worst. As I expected, we were met with tears, to which, however, Mr. Claybourne put a sudden and decided stop. It was possible to bully Mrs. Claybourne, I observed with satisfaction.

After luncheon Miss Brock took Helen upstairs for a rest. Mr. Claybourne and I faced one another, each equipped with one of the oily black cigars I remembered so well.

"Ted, I haven't tried to ask many questions with Helen around. What are our chances in this thing?"

"G.o.d! I wish I knew," I answered.

He smoked his cigar a while, staring out the window at the pa.s.sersby on Myrtle Boulevard, much as he had done the first time I told him I loved his daughter.

"I don't need to ask if you and Helen have been happy," he went on, still gazing at the street. "I saw that in her eyes when you brought her off the boat."

"No two people could have been--happier," I murmured, my voice losing a little of its steadiness in spite of me.

"I know, Ted. Yes, I think I know--you see, she's all I have, too."

I could not reply; he was looking fixedly out the window.

"I can't come with you, Ted; my business ties me here. And I won't let Mrs. Claybourne go with you--I guess you know why. Don't spare expense--no matter what it is. Get the best specialist and the best of everything for her. If you run short, simply call on me." He fumbled in a pocket book. "Here is a draft on a Los Angeles Bank. Deposit it as a reserve fund."

I was surprised to see that his eyes, like mine, were wet when he handed me the draft. Then he smiled: "We mustn't lose our nerve, Ted. Go out there and fight for that girl," and he gripped my hand.

The next day we began our long journey across the Continent We had several hours to wait in Chicago before the Santa Fe limited left in the evening. We hired an open cab and drove for an hour along the lake front of that amazing city. Helen took her old, eager childish delight in seeing something new. Her eyes danced as I had not seen them dance for weeks. We astonished pa.s.sersby by halting our cab to stare upward at sky-sc.r.a.pers or to peer from alongside the curb at luxurious shop windows.

"They wonder what curious brand of country folks we are," I laughed with her.

"Ted!" Helen exclaimed, clutching my arm, "there's one of those wonderful American candy shops--do buy me some chocolates."

Again I laughed at the blend of the two countries in her remark. The cab was stopped once more and a box of chocolates added to our luggage. In our delight over sight-seeing together, we forgot for a time the shadow hanging over us. It was Miss Brock who brought us to ourselves. Helen was getting dangerously excited. The cabman drove us to our hotel. There we sat in a room looking out over the lake until time to go to our train.