And suppose I even admitted the possibility that you
were right--which, mind you, I don't--what use is it to argue the
question at this late hour?"
"Because the hour is not too late. If you want to sleep quietly to-night
and wake fit for what's coming, put yourself in the hands of the Maker
of heaven and earth before you sleep. Then, whether there's a hereafter
or not won't matter for you; you'll leave that to Him. But you'll be in
His hands--and that's the only place it's safe to be."
"Suppose I told you I didn't believe in any such Being."
"I should tell you you knew better--and knew it with every fibre of
you."
The two pairs of eyes steadily regarded each other. In Burns's flamed
sincerity and conviction. In Van Horn's grew a curious sort of
suffering. He moved restlessly on his pillow.
"If I had known you were a fanatic as well as a fighter I might have
hesitated to call you, even though I believe in you as a surgeon," he
said somewhat huskily.
"It's surgery you're getting from me to-night, but I cut to cure. A mind
at rest will help you through to-morrow."
"Why should you think my mind isn't at rest? You commended me for my
quiet mind when you came in."
"For your cool control. But your unhappy spirit looked out of your eyes
at me, and I've spoken to that. I couldn't keep silence. Forgive me,
Doctor; I'm a blunt fellow, as you have reason to know. I haven't liked
you, and you haven't liked me.
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