In the Valley of the Shadow by Josephine Daskam

TO Belden, pacing the library doggedly, the waiting seemed interminable, the strain unnecessarily prolonged. A half-hour ago quick feet had echoed through the upper halls, windows had opened, doors all but slammed, vague whisperings and drawn breaths had hovered impalpably about the whole place; but now all was utterly quiet. His own regular footfall alone disturbed the unnatural stillness of a large house. Outside, the delicious October sun poured down through an atmosphere of faultless blue. The foliage was thick yet, and the red-and-yellow leaves danced heartlessly in the wind. A year ago they had gone on a nutting-party, and Clarice had raced with the children and picked up more than anybody else. Now—even to think of her brought that faint odor of salts-of-lavender and beef-tea that disheartened him so, somehow, when he sat by her bed coaxing her into sipping the stuff. Some one was coming down the stairs. It was Peters step—his new one since last Friday, when they had all, it seemed, begun to walk and talk and breathe a little differently. Belden hurried across the room and caught him at the foot of the steps. Well, old man, how goes it? he demanded, with a determined cheerfulness. His brother-in-law stared at him emptily. Its to-morrow, he said, gripping the newel-post, to-morrow afternoon. Jameson is coming—theyll do it here. Jameson brings his special nurse for the—the operation, but the other one is due at five, and you get her just the same. I told Henry to put up the dog-cart. I dont know, though—maybe the runabout—no, the tires loose. Still, it might do— For heavens sake, Peter, dont bother about it! Ill find a rig. What else does he say? He says theres a good fighting chance—a very good one. He says her grit alone—Oh, Belden, what shall we do? What shall we do? Peter sat down heavily on the lowest stair. Only last week she was so well—and yet she really wasnt. I suppose he knows. But it doesnt seem possible—I cant get it through my head. Poor little Caddy! She never had a sick day in her life. No headaches, like most Women, even—no nonsense—Oh, Belden, what shall we do? Brace up, Peter; think what a good fighting chance means, think of that! Its not as if Caddy were old; she has that on her side. Shes seven years behind me, you know. Peter scowled. Youre fifty, arent you?