Her only answer was a mocking smile.
The doctor came and examined his symptoms.
"Will he get well?" she asked, following him away a short distance.
"No," said the physician. "He will die."
Her cheek blanched for a moment; but from her eyes glowed a deadly gleam of satisfaction.
"What did he say?" whispered Van Dam.
"He says you will die," she answered, in a stony voice. "You see, I am better than you were. You would not come to me for even one poor moment. You left me to die alone; but I will stay and watch with you."
"Oh, go away!" groaned Van Dam.
"I couldn't be so heartless," she said, in a mocking tone. "You need dying consolation, I want to tell you, Guilliam, what was in my mind the night I left all for you. I did doubt you a little. That is where I sinned; but I shall only suffer for that through all eternity," she said, with a reckless laugh that chilled his soul. "But then, I hoped, I felt almost sure, you would marry me; and, oh, what a heaven of a home I purposed to make you! If you had only let even a magistrate say, 'I pronounce you man and wife,' I would have been your patient slave. I would have kissed away even your headaches, and had you ten contagions, I would not have left you. I would have taken care of you and nursed you back to life."
"Go away!" groaned Van Dam, with more energy.