Dawn of the Golden Promise Read Online Free PDF

was certain she would never be anything other than the gangly yearling she was today.
    Louisa smiled a little to herself. It was just as well that their Maker chose to keep such things well-hidden. The girl was difficult enough. Who could say what mischief she might wreak were she allowed a hint of what was ahead for her.
    She lingered at the window for another moment, contemplating the Almighty’s wisdom in concealing future events. She knew people who seemed eager to divine the days, as if knowing what lay ahead would give them some sort of power over it. For her part, she believed that wishing for the knowledge of one’s fate was nothing less than madness itself.
    Indeed, for many, she thought with a shudder, madness might well be the inevitable consequence of such knowledge.

    In his bedchamber, Morgan Fitzgerald buttoned his shirt, then propped himself up in bed.
    â€œYou are displeased with the examination?” he said, watching the physician at the foot of the bed. The young doctor’s chin was a fair barometer of his disposition on any given day. The lower the chin, the blacker the surgeon’s mood. At the moment the chin sagged like the wattle of an aging turkey. Not a good sign.
    The surgeon glanced up from closing his medical case. “Displeased? Oh—no, nothing of the sort. To the contrary, you seem remarkably fit. Your man Sandemon’s regime has accomplished wonders.”
    â€œBut?” Morgan pressed.
    The doctor looked at him, delaying his answer. “I’m concerned,” he finally said.
    â€œAbout the shaking,” Morgan said, knowing the answer.
    Dr. Dunne came around the side of the bed to stand beside him. “There’s that. But even without the tremors, I would urge you once again to seek the opinion of a specialist. I simply am not qualified in this area.”
    â€œTell me what you think,” Morgan said, as if he had not heard the surgeon’s opinion before.
    â€œAnd haven’t I already done so?” The doctor sighed. “I wish I had more expertise. I can only repeat my concern that the paralysis could eventually expand—move upward.”
    Morgan cringed inwardly, trying to ignore the familiar swell of panic that rose in his throat at the physician’s words.
    â€œIt would be to your benefit to seek the counsel of one far more qualified in this field than I. There is so much unknown in cases like yours.”
    In spite of the warmth of the room, Morgan shivered. “And what, exactly, do you think a specialist might do for me that you cannot?”
    The physician met his eyes. Morgan did not miss the fleeting glint of sympathy in his gaze.
    When Dunne replied, he was once more the consummate professional. “For one thing, he could give you a precise accounting of your condition and your options.”
    Morgan attempted a laugh. “I expect I can make that assessment on my own without benefit of a specialist.”
    â€œPrognosis isn’t my only concern,” the doctor said, looking directly at him. “What if there’s a chance the bullet could be removed?”
    Morgan glared at him. “I have been told by three purported experts that removal of the bullet is out of the question, unless I wish to risk ending up as a vegetable—or a corpse.” He expelled a long breath. “You will understand, I trust, that I prefer my present condition to either alternative.”
    The doctor leaned toward him. “Of course I understand,” he said, his gaze intent. “But advances have been made in surgery, even as recently as this past year. I have read papers from Paris, from Great Britain—and from the United States—that speak of exciting new procedures.” He hesitated, as if undecided as to whether he should go on until Morgan nodded his assent.
    â€œIf there is even the slightest possibility that the paralysis might spread, surely you are bound to investigate all the