With the
passing weeks the old year died and a new one was born. January merged
into February, and days began noticeably to lengthen. Through all
these weeks Cabot kept up his strength by frequent exercise in the
open, where, in conflict with storm and cold, he ever won some part of
their own ruggedness. At the same time, his patient grew slowly but
surely weaker, until at length he could converse only in whispers, and
experienced such difficulty in swallowing that he had almost ceased to
take nourishment. One evening while affairs stood thus, he roused
himself sufficiently to inquire what day of the month it was.
"The thirteenth of February," replied Cabot, who had kept careful note
of the calendar.
Instantly the man brightened, and said, with an unexpected strength of
voice: "Six years to-morrow since we were married. Five years to-day
since she left me, and to-night I shall rejoin her. Wish me joy, lad,
for the long period of our separation is ended. Good-night, good-bye,
God bless you!"
With this final utterance, he again lapsed into silence, closed his
eyes, and seemed to sleep. Several times during that night Cabot stole
softly to his patient's bedside, but the latter was always asleep, and
he would not disturb him. Only in the morning, when daylight revealed
the marble-like repose of feature, did he know that a glad reunion of
long parted lovers had been effected, and that it was he who was left
alone.
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