“Hush!” she said, violently, with a tremendous effort raising herself (she was gradually slipping down, hold her how I might). “Do not say any more about that. Tell me, how long have I——”
“My darling, I have sent for Dr. Taylor; we must not give up hope,” I said. In my agony of despair the words mocked me like so many separate and distinct lies. “He may do something. Why should you die? You are so young——”
“I asked you, how long?” she repeated. “I have something to say.”
“Days—I mean hours,” I stammered, lying hard and fast in my misery.
She feebly shook her head.
“No, no!” she said; “perhaps in a minute. I want you to promise your dying wife something. Will you—whatever I ask?”
“Anything! anything!” I said. “Your will is my will now!”
“Anything?” she repeated.
Drops, those last cold drops, were on her brow.
“I swear—anything,” I said, recklessly.