had sardonically repeated the phrase "apparently little the worse,"
murmuring it with his eyes shut. He had said, "I wish they could see
me." Still, he had made no further mention of sending for a solicitor.
He had taken a little food and a little drink. He had asked Rachel
when she meant to go to bed. And at length Rachel, having first
arranged food for use in the night, and fixed a sheet of note-paper on
the gas-bracket as a screen between the gas and Louis, had undressed
and got into bed, and gone off into a heavy slumber with a mind
comparatively free.

In response to his confusing summons, she stumbled to her peignoir and
slipped it on.

"Yes, dear?" she spoke softly.

"I couldn't bear it any longer," said the voice of Louis. "I just had
to waken you."

She raised the gas, and her eyes blinked as she stared at him. His
bedclothes were horribly disarranged.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, smoothing the blankets.

"No. But I'm so ill. I--I don't want to frighten you--"

"The doctor said you'd feel ill. It's the shock, you know."

She stroked his hand. He did indubitably look very ill. His appearance
of woe, despair, and dreadful apprehension was pitiable in the highest
degree. With a gesture of intense weariness he declined food, nor
could she persuade him to take anything whatever.

"You'll be ever so much better to-morrow. I'll sit up with you. You
were bound to feel worse in the night."

"It's more than shock that I've got," he muttered. "I say, Rachel,
it's all up with me. I _know_ I'm done for. You'll have to do the
best you can."

The notion shot through her head that possibly, after all, the doctor
might have misjudged the case. Suppose Louis were to die in the night?
Suppose the morning found her a widow? The world was full of the
strangest happenings.... Then she was herself again and immovably
cheerful in her secret heart. She thought: "I can go through worse
nights than this. One night, some time in the future, either he will
really be dying or I shall. This night is nothing." And she held his
hand and sat in her old place on his bed. The room was chilly. She
decided that in five minutes she would light the gas-stove, and also
make some tea with the spirit-lamp. She would have tea whether he
still refused or not. His watch on the night-table showed half-past
two. In about an hour the dawn would be commencing. She felt that she
had reserves of force against any contingency, against any nervous