"I don't know—" in the same dull undertone, as if he were scarcely conscious of what he said.
"Is it sinking—faintness?"
"Yes."
"If you had a little water!—" and a craving look responded, but he only whispered—
"No; don't move."
"No, I know I must not. Harvey, it is only faintness, nothing worse!"
For another thought had come, with a beat of anguish at her heart. How if this were death? The ghastly pallor, the dim and half-shut eyes, the panting breath, the feeble voice, these might mean the worst! Julia had seen little of illness, and she knew nothing of how death might look, but the terror assailed her.
"If I am killed, and you get through!" he had said. Those words recurred now.
And she could not get to him; she might not stir to touch him; she was debarred from seeking help. She had only to sit there, close at hand yet parted, looking on at what he had to bear.
Again she spoke, because she could not endure the terrible silence and her own helplessness, but there was no reply. Harvey did not seem to hear.