e was going out of her sight for ever, where her
pity could never reach him. She turned cold, and trembled.

'But do you think he will die,' she said, 'without ever coming to
himself? without ever knowing me?'

'One cannot say that with certainty. It is not impossible that the
cerebral oppression may subside, and that he may become conscious. If
there is anything you would wish to be said or done in that case, it
would be well to be prepared. I should think,' Mr. Pilgrim continued.
turning to Mrs. Raynor, 'Mr. Dempster's affairs are likely to be in
order--his will is ...'

'O, I wouldn't have him troubled about those things,' interrupted Janet,
'he has no relations but quite distant ones--no one but me. I wouldn't
take up the time with that. I only want to ...'

She was unable to finish; she felt her sobs rising, and left the room. 'O
God!' she said, inwardly, 'is not Thy love greater than mine? Have mercy
on him! have mercy on him!'

This happened on Wednesday, ten days after the fatal accident. By the
following Sunday, Dempster was in a state of rapidly increasing
prostration; and when Mr. Pilgrim, who, in turn with his assistant, had
slept in the house from the beginning, came in, about half-past ten, as
usual, he scarcely believed that the feebly struggling life would last
out till morning. For the last few days he had been administering
stimulants to relieve the exhaustion which had succeeded the alternations
of delirium and stupor. This slight office was all that now remained to
be done for the patient; so at eleven o'clock Mr. Pilgrim went to bed,
having given directions to the nurse, and desired her to call him if any
change took place, or if Mrs. Dempster desired his presence.

Janet could not be persuaded to leave the room. She was yearning and
watching for a moment in which her husband's eyes would rest consciously
upon her, and he would know that she had forgiven him.

How changed he was since that terrible Monday, nearly a fortnight ago! He
lay motionless, but for the irregular breathing that stirred his broad
chest and thick muscular neck. His features were no longer purple and
swollen; they were pale, sunken, and haggard. A cold perspiration stood
in beads on the protuberant forehead, and on the wasted hands stretched
motionless on the bed-clothes. It was better to see the hands so, than
convulsively picking the air, as they had been a week ago.

Janet sat on the edge of the bed through the long h