A man doomed to death must prefer a swift end to a
lingering one. Hollister gradually came to the idea that he could not
possibly sit by and watch the light of comprehension steal slowly into
his wife's eyes. Better that she should fully regain her sight, and
then see with what manner of man she had lived and to whom she had
borne a son. Then if she could look at him without recoiling, if the
essential man meant more to her than the ghastly wreckage of his face,
all would be well. And if not,--well, then, one devastating buffet
from the mailed fist of destiny was better than the slow agony of
daily watching the crisis approach.
So Hollister put forth the plausible fact that he must see about his
affairs and took the next steamer for the Toba.
Lawanne, expecting letters, was at the float to meet the steamer.
Hollister went up-stream with him. They talked very little until they
reached Lawanne's cabin. There was a four-mile current to buck, and
they saved their breath for the paddles. Myra Bland waved as they
passed, and Hollister scarcely looked up.
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