It would mean the tearing open of a wound that was scarcely closed. It would mean a calling to life of a bitterness that was hardly past. It would mean—it would mean—
"Avery darling!" Softly Jeanie's voice broke through her agitated thoughts.
Avery turned and looked at her,—the frail, sweet face with its shining eyes of love.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," whispered Jeanie. "Don't think any more about it!"
"Do you want him so dreadfully?" Avery said.
Jeanie's eyes were full of tears again. She tried to answer, but her lips quivered. She turned her face aside, and was silent.
The day waxed hotter, became almost insupportable. In the afternoon Jeanie was attacked by breathlessness and coughing, both painful to witness. She could find no rest or comfort, and Avery was in momentary dread of a return of the hemorrhage.
It did not return, but when evening came at length and with it the blessed coolness of approaching night, Jeanie was so exhausted as to be unable to speak above a whisper. She lay white and still, scarcely conscious, only her difficult breathing testifying to the fluttering life that had ebbed so low.
The nurse's face was very grave as she came on duty, but after an interval of steady watching, during which the wind blew in with rising freshness from the sea, she turned to Avery, saying, "I think she will revive."
Avery nodded and slipped away.