‘He said it,’ continued Nina, ‘like one talking to himself, and it was not easy to follow him. The words, as well as I could make out, were, “I will say it to-day—this evening, if I can. When it is said”—here he muttered something, but I cannot say whether the words were, “My mind will be at rest,” or “I shall be at rest for evermore.”’
Kate did not utter a word, but her eyes swam, and two large tears stole slowly down her face.
‘His own conviction is that he is dying,’ said Nina; but Kate never spoke.
‘The doctors persist,’ continued Nina, ‘in declaring that this depression is only a well-known symptom of the attack, and that all affections of the brain are marked by a certain tone of despondency. They even say more, and that the cases where this symptom predominates are more frequently followed by recovery. Are you listening to me, child?’
‘No; I was following some thoughts of my own.’
‘I was merely telling you why I think he is getting better.’
Kate leaned her head on her cousin’s shoulder, and she did not speak. The heaving motion of her shoulders and her chest betrayed the agitation she could not subdue.
‘I wish his aunt were here; I see how her absence frets him. Is she too ill for the journey?’ asked Nina.
‘She says not, and she seems in some way to be coerced by others; but a telegram this morning announces she would try and reach Kilgobbin this evening.’
‘What could coercion mean? Surely this is mere fancy?’