“My dear,” he said, in his kind voice, “he would not think so Very strange things have passed; but though I don’t see them quite as he does, he has made as noble a struggle as man ever made. And he has conquered. He has mastered his weakness, and risen above it. It is a thing never to be forgotten. Even if we lose him—as may be—as may be—I cannot think—I cannot think, Florella, that he will lose himself. And—I think you must not fail him now. The conditions of the fight are very mysterious, and I could not say that our courage may make no difference to him. His perceptions are keener than ours.”
“I’ll not fail him,” said Florella, with a light in her eyes. “I’ll fight it out too.”
She went up to her room, and knelt down by the bed, and fought as hard a fight with her own soul as ever Guy had waged with his.
If her thoughts could affect his, if her will could share in the struggle, she must not will for him a lesser thing than he had willed for himself. She would not pray only that Guy might live and not die; but that, at all costs, his work might be carried through, his victory completed. She must give him as he gave himself. She prayed the prayer of faith with all her waking will; but when at last, exhausted, she fell asleep, in her dreams she prayed that he might be given back to life.
Part 3, Chapter XI.
Waynflete of Waynflete.
And Guy did not die. At first he lay in a state of collapse, hardly kept alive from hour to hour, silent, motionless, and apparently unconscious of all around him; but gradually there was some slight improvement, now and then a response by word or look, more power of taking food, and a stronger pulse.
At last, about a week after the accident, on a calm sunny day, when Cuthbert was with him alone, he lay with open eyes, watching the window.