Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. The young man looked at her. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. My son went down after his death. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know.
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