I. A. R. Wylie

“ She understod only that the dead had risen, had been at her side, unrecognized, through the long weeks, and that now at a single word the veil had been torn from her eyes and she had seen the miracle. In the first instant her very reason had been threatened, but the touch of his hands was warm and human, the eyes that gazed into hers full of remembered tenderness. ”

“ Her eyes rested for an instant on the tiny figure curled up in a heavy sleep of fright and exhaustion, and a faint smile quivered around her lips. “He'll be glad, too, Fenton. He knew you and loved you when I was blind——”
“He must never know, dear.”
The smile died. She looked at his white, strained face with a dawning fear.
“Fenton—I don't understand!”
“We've got to think of our son,” he said. “We've got to consider him before and above ourselves. We've had our chance of happiness and lost it. We've no right to spoil his chance. ”

“ His clenched fists rested on the table in front of him, and for an instant the two men measured each other.
“And if I refuse?”
“The machine will never be completed; that's all.”
A dark flush of passion mounted to Delisle's eyes. His hand had flown out to the empty glass as if he would have flung it in his opponent's face, but instead he burst into a fit of rough laughter.
“As you wish. Either way, it comes to the same. You shall fly the machine, my friend. But I shall be your passenger. That much you will not deny me, I hope.” ”