The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (4.1895)

By H. B. Marriott Watson 73

to dismiss him, her voice softening. “ Doctor Green will teil
you best to-morrow.”

Farrell entered his room and took off his coat. His ears, grown
delicate to the merest suspicion, seemed to catch a sound upon
the stillness, and opening the door he looked out. All was quiet ;
the great lamp upon the landing swung noiselessly, shedding its
dim beams upon the pannelled walls. He shut to the door, and
once more was in the wilderness of his own thoughts.

The doctor came twice that next day. In the morning a white
and anxious face met him on the stairs and scanned him eagerly.

“She is going on, going on ” said he deliberately.

cc Then the danger is past ? ” cried Farrell, his heart beating
with new vigour.

“No doctor can say that,” said the doctor slowly. “She is as
well as I expected to find her. It was very difficult.”

“But will she-” began Farrell, Stammering.

“Well ? ” exclaimed the doctor sharply.

“ Will she live ? ”

The doctor’s eye avoided his. “ Those things are never certain,”
he said. “You must hope. I know more than you, and I
hope.”

“ Yes, yes,” cried Farrell impatiently. “ But, my God, doctor,”
he burst forth, “ will she die ? ”

The doctor glanced at him and then away. “It is possible,”
he said gravely.

Farrell leaned back against the handrail and mechanically
watched him pass the length of the hall and let himself out. Some
one touched his arm, and he looked up.

“ Come, sir, come,” said the nurse. “ You musn’t give way.
Nothing has happened. She is very weak, but I’ve seen weaker
folk pull through.”

He