"Till you are quite well," she said.
"Till the end," he repeated sadly. His eyes closed and he dozed off again, his hand clasped in hers that he might keep her by him. For ten minutes she sat thus. Then, seeing that he slept soundly, she quietly rose to go to her room. As she left she called the nurse aside. She wished to see the doctor when he came. He was expected early in the afternoon.
When she saw him—he was a young man and fully sensible to the charms of a pretty woman—she had no difficulty in getting her own way; it was that she might undertake at least a portion of the nursing. And so for days and weeks she came to that melancholy bedside, and tended him with all the endless patience and unswerving devotion which were so much a part of her nature. And his attitude toward her was that of a child to mother rather than that of husband to wife. So long as she was beside him he was at rest. And from her all sense of wrong, of anger, and contempt had passed away, and had given place to a great pity in her heart.
"I am afraid we must be prepared for the end in a very few hours now, Mrs. Arkel," the doctor said to her. Gerald had had a more than usually restless night.
"Is there nothing to be done?—no one we could get from London?"
"Nothing. He is beyond science—beyond drugs. An attack of this kind is invariably fatal to men of his constitution and habit. He has lasted longer that I thought. It is only right you should be prepared for the end."
Still Miriam kept a smiling face always to him. Wherever she went he followed her with his eyes; when he could he clasped her hand in his as if to save him from the deep abyss on the brink of which he knew so well he was. He seemed always to wish to speak to her, and in between his short snatches of sleep he would murmur all the time:
"You said I would die, Miriam, when the money came to me—if only I had held by you—but I neglected you—I left you—oh, Miriam, how could I leave you—Hilda never loved me—I'm afraid the estate is dipped, dear—Dundas'll soon put that right—why didn't he come to see me?—might have come to a poor dying chap——"
"He did come, dear; he is here now. Would you like to see him?"
"No—I want you—only you. Don't let anyone else in, Miriam. Just our two selves. You forgive my leaving you, dear? Ah, yes, you were always good—read to me, Miriam—I never was a good chap—but there's some of the Bible you can read to me."