“Oh! I can’t. I’m not cold, Doctor Thryng. It isn’t that.”

He became imperative through anxiety. “Then tell me what it is,” he said.

“I can’t stop thinking of Decatur Irwin. I can feel you working there yet, and seems like I never will forget. I keep going over it and over it and can’t stop. Doctor, are you sure — sure — it was right for us to do what we did?”

“Poor child! It was terrible for you, and you were fine, you know — fine; you are a heroine — you are — ”

“I don’t care for me. It isn’t me. Was it right, Doctor? Was there no other way?” she wailed.