A deep hush has fallen upon everything. The air is cold and piercing. Mona shivers, and draws even closer to Geoffrey, as, mute, yet full of saddest thought, they move through the leafless wood.
As they get within view of the windows of Rawson's cottage, they are met by Dr. Bland, who has seen them coming, and has hurried out to receive them.
"Now, this is kind,—very kind," says the little man, approvingly, shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad case,—very—very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in."
He draws Mrs. Geoffrey's hand through his arm, and goes towards the lodge.
"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely.
"None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, poor boy!"
"Oh! can nothing be done?" asks Mona, turning to him eyes full of entreaty.
"My dear, what I could do, I have done," says the little man, patting her hand in his kind fatherly fashion; "but he has gone beyond human skill. And now one thing: you have come here, I know, with the tender thought of soothing his last hours: therefore I entreat you to be calm and very quiet. Emotion will only distress him, and, if you feel too nervous, you know—perhaps—eh?"
"I shall not be too nervous," says Mona, but her face blanches afresh even as she speaks; and Geoffrey sees it.
"If it is too much for you, darling, say so," whispers he; "or shall I go with you?"