re to aid her came upon Clement again--so powerful it carried with it an unwavering belief that he could help her.
What was his newly-acquired wealth good for if he could not aid her? Wealth? Yes--his blood! He looked at his great brown hand and at his big veins full of blood. Why should she die when he had so much life?
Meanwhile his common sense had not entirely fled him. He perceived that they were not poor, and he reflected that they had probably tried all climates and all the resources of medical science; also that the father had quite as much red blood in his veins as any other man; and these considerations gave him thought as he watched them rise and go out upon the little veranda.
Clement was not a markedly humble person under ordinary conditions. He had a fashion of pushing rather heedlessly straight to his purpose--which now was to speak to her, to meet her face to face, to touch her hand and to offer his aid. Naturally he sought the father's acquaintance first. This was not dif