All that night Dave walked the floor of his room or sat hunched up
on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall and fighting the fears
that preyed upon him.
He had faith enough in Alaire to believe that she would marry him
regardless of the facts; her kiss, that one delirious moment when
he had held her to his breast, had taught him much, and it was, in
fact, this very certainty which made his struggle so hard. After
all, why not? he asked himself a thousand times. Ellsworth's fears
were surely exaggerated. Who could say that Frank Law had passed
on his heritage? There was at least a chance that he had not, and
it would require more than a remote possibility, more evidence
than Ellsworth could summon, to dismay Alaire. Suppose it should
transpire that he was somehow defective? What then? The signs of
his mental failing would give ample warning. He could watch
himself carefully and study his symptoms. He could lead the life
of a sentinel perpetually on guard. The thing might never come--or
at the worst it probably would not manifest itself until he was
further along in years. That, it seemed, was the family history,
and in such a case Dave was assured of half a life at least.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347