“What is your opinion, Mrs. Deacon? Tell me candidly—for you have an opinion—and are a good judge in matters of this sort.”
“Well, sir, ‘while there’s life there’s hope,’” said the woman.
She did not compromise herself by giving expression to this hackneyed quotation.
“Yes, that we all know,” muttered the farmer, “That’s but a poor consolation.
“You had better get a little rest now, I will sit up for the next two or three hours with your mistress.”
The nurse retired, and Richard Ashbrook returned to the sick chamber.
He sat himself down in an easy chair. In a short time after this his wife sank into a sound slumber, and the farmer himself dozed.
He was awoke by the sick woman softly calling him by name.
“What is the day of the month, Richard?” enquired his wife.
“The day of the month; it’s the twenty-first.”