"It's death!" she whispered under her voice. "D'you want to murder him? He's taking just what the doctor allows—the utmost limit."
After three days of unutterable grief, Nathan's brother became aware of the situation, and perceived that the end tarried. He debated on this long-drawn horror for a night, and next day spoke to the doctor.
He put the case without evasion or obscurity, and the professional man heard him in patience and explained at once his deep sympathy and his utter powerlessness to do more.
"He's dying—you grant that?"
"Certainly, he's dying—the quicker the better now, poor fellow. The glands are involved, and the end must come tolerably soon."
"How long?"
"Impossible to say. A few days probably. He keeps his strength wonderfully well."
"But it would be better if he didn't? Wouldn't it be better if he died to-night?"
"Much—for all our sakes," admitted the physician.
"Can't you help him out of it, then?"