that nothing is
inevitable. She might have recovered for all I know. That woman, at
Turner Hill, who I thought was dying six months ago, being up and around
again, is an instance. I tell you mortal man has no right to thrust his
hand between the Almighty and fate. You know nothing, and I know
nothing."

"I do know."

"You don't know, and you don't even know that you don't know. There is
no use talking about this any longer. When I am gone you must marry
Clemency, and keep on with my practice."

James considered when he was in his own room that the event of his
succeeding to the practice might not be so very remote, but as to his
marrying Clemency he doubted. He dared not hint of the matter to Gordon,
for he knew it would disturb him, but Clemency, as the days went on,
became more and more variable. At times she was loving, at times it was
quite evident that she shrank from him with a sort of involuntary
horror. James began to wonder if they ever could marry. He was fully
resolved not to clear himself at the expense of Doctor Gordon; in fact,
such a course never occurred to him. He had a very simple
straightforwardness in matters of honor, and this seemed to him a matter
of honor. No question with regard to it arose in his mind. Obviously it
was better that he should bear the brunt than Gordon, but he did ask
himself if it would ever be possible for Clemency to dissociate him from
the thought of the tragedy entirely, and if she could not, would it be
possible for her to be happy as his wife? That very day Clemency had
avoided him, and once when he had approached she had visibly shrunk and
paled. Evidently the child could not help it. She looked miserably
unhappy. She had grown thin lately, and had lost almost entirely her
sense of fun, which had always been so ready.

James went to sleep, wondering how she would treat him the next day. He
never knew, for the girl shifted like a weather-cock, driven hither and
yon by her love and terror like two winds. The next day, however, solved
the problem in an entirely unexpected fashion. James, that morning after
breakfast, during which Clemency had sat pale and stern behind the
coffee-urn, and scarcely had noticed him, set off on a round of calls.
Doctor Gordon, to his surprise, announced his intention of making some
calls himself; he said that he would take the team, and James must drive
the balky mare, as the bay was to be taken to the blacksmith's. Gordon
that morning loo