Ruth was about to answer, but Ella cried “Dad!” and ran to the bed and pressed her face against the sheets. She said “Dad” over and over into the sheets, and continued to sob. Tom had not felt such closeness with his daughter for many years. It warmed him. He lifted his hand and patted Ella’s head gently and said, “It’s all right, kitten. I’m all right. It’s all right.”

He held onto the closeness a few seconds longer, then motioned to Ruth.

Ruth took Ella’s arm and walked with her to the door. “Go home, now,” she said. “It’s late, and we mustn’t upset your father. He’s going to be fine. I’ll be along in a while.” She unsnapped her purse and removed a five-dollar bill and gave this to Ella. “Take a taxi, dear,” she said.

Then, when Ella had gone from the room, Ruth clutched Tom’s hand and wept, also. The pains were becoming more frequent now and soon, he knew, they would have to call the nurse for some morphine, or whatever they were using; but for a while he could think clearly and sharply and be all aware, and this was precious time. He would hang on as long as possible and not show the pain.

He lifted his wife’s face, and saw in her eyes—and knew he saw, because he was not hallucinatory or detached, as he had been at first—a new sort of light; and even though her next words might show that he had been right when he’d told Abel Green that perhaps he was losing his family, he had to hear the words.

“Pretty stupid of me, wasn’t it?” he said.

She took from her purse one of those small, thin, useless handkerchiefs that women carry, and wiped her eyes.

She looked at her husband with this new light and said: “Yes, it was. You might have been killed. Or crippled for life.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ruth said. “Don’t be sorry. Because I’m not.”

He pressed his teeth together tightly until the hot lightning-streak had run its course.

“I’m not in the least sorry,” Ruth said. She looked at her husband straight, and spoke the words distinctly. “It was the best thing you’ve ever done,” she said, “and I’m proud of you. I never understood how you felt before. Before, it was a lot of words. I should call the doctor now; I should tell them to come; but I want to say this to you first. Can you understand me?”

Tom said, “Yes.”