"Yes; it turned white within a week after she learned the certainty of her husband's death."
"Would that I could have died in Hilland's place!"
"Yes," said the old lady, bitterly; "you were always too ready to die."
He drew her down to him as he lay on the lounge, and kissed her tenderly, as he said, "But I have kept my promise 'to live and do my best.'"
"You have kept your promise to live after a fashion. My words have also proved true, 'Good has come of it, and more good will come of it.'"
CHAPTER XXXII
A WOUNDED SPIRIT
Grace's chief symptom when she awoke on the following morning was an extreme lassitude. She was almost as weak as a violent fever would have left her, but her former unnatural and fitful manner was gone. Mrs. Mayburn told Graham that she had had long moods of deep abstraction, during which her eyes would be fixed on vacancy, with a stare terrible to witness, and then would follow uncontrollable paroxysms of grief.
"This morning," said her anxious nurse, "she is more like a broken lily that has not strength to raise its head. But the weakness will pass; she'll rally. Not many die of grief, especially when young."
"Save her life, aunty, and I can still do a man's part in the world."