“How many days at the most will he live?”
“I cannot tell; God forbid that I should even guess.”
“Would you save his life?”
“Would I?—would I keep the breath in my own bosom?”
“Then you wish him to live?”
“Wish it, yes—heaven only knows how much!”
“Renegade!”
“What?”
“Nay,” he said, with a sudden change from ferocity to the most child-like tenderness, “let her know all—how can she judge?”