"Mona, are you still there?" he says, with a return to consciousness: "did I dream, or did my father speak to me? How the night comes on!" He sighs wearily. "I am so tired,—so worn out: if I could only sleep!" he murmurs, faintly.
Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man waketh!
His breath grows fainter, his eyelids close.
Some one comes in with a lamp, and places it on a distant table, where its rays cannot distress the dying man.
Dr. Bland, coming into the room, goes up to the bedside and feels his pulse, and tries to put something between his lips, but he refuses to take anything.
"It will strengthen you," he says, persuasively.
"No, it is of no use: it only wearies me. My best medicine, my only medicine, is here," returns Paul, feebly pressing Mona's hand. He is answering the doctor, but he does not look at him. As he speaks, his gaze is riveted upon Mona.
Dr. Bland, putting down the glass, forbears to torment him further, and moves away; Geoffrey, who has also come in, takes his place. Bending over the dying man, he touches him lightly on the shoulder.
Paul turns his head, and as he sees Geoffrey a quick spasm that betrays fear crosses his face.