corners of his lips showed a very slight perspiration.
But though the doses were repeated, and the fomentations assiduously
maintained, no further result occurred, save that Meshach's eyes,
according to the shifting of his head, perused new portions of the
ceiling.

* * * * *

As the futile minutes passed, John grew more and more restless. He was
obliged to admit to himself that Uncle Meshach was not dead, but he felt
absolutely sure that he would never revive. Had not the doctor said as
much? And he wanted desperately to hear that Aunt Hannah still lived,
and to take every measure of precaution for her continuance in this
world. The whole of his future might depend upon the hazard of the next
hour.

'Look here, Nora,' he said protestingly, while Rose was on one of her
journeys to the kitchen. 'It's evidently not much use you stopping here,
whereas there's no knowing what hasn't happened down at Church Street.'

'Do you mean you wish me to go down there?' she asked coldly.

'Well, I leave it to your common sense,' he retorted.

Rose appeared.

'Your father thinks I ought to go down to Church Street,' said Leonora.

'What! And leave uncle?' Rose added nothing to this question, but
proceeded with her tasks.

'Certainly,' John insisted.

Leonora was conscious of an acute resentment against her husband. The
idea of her leaving Uncle Meshach at such a crisis seemed to her to be
positively wicked. Had not John heard what Rose said to the doctor:
'Mother must stay here'? Had he not heard that? But of course he
desired that Uncle Meshach should die. Yes, every word, every gesture of
his in the sick-room was an involuntary expression of that desire.

'Why don't you go yourself, father?' Rose demanded of him bluntly, after
a pause.

'Simply because, if there _is_ any illness, I shouldn't be any use.'
John glared at his daughter.

Then, quite suddenly, Leonora thought how vain, how pitiful, how
unseemly, were these acrimonious conflicts of opinion in presence of the
strange and awe-inspiring riddle in the blanket. An impulse seized her
to give way, and she found a dozen reasons why she should desert Uncle
Meshach for Aunt Hannah.

'Can you manage?' she asked Rose doubtfully.

'Oh yes, mother, we can manage,' answered Rose, with an exasperating
manufactured sweetness of tone.

'Tell Carpenter to put the horse in,' John suggested. 'I expect he's
waiting about in the kitchen.'

'