“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel, “while I go in first, and I will come and tell you.”
He left them in the shade of the tall beech trees, and they saw him go into the cabin. Though neither had spoken, they knew that upon each heart rested the same burden of dread. In the moment that followed there came over the young man an almost sickening anxiety, but the girl stood, awed only by the thought that perhaps even then the black wings of Death might be settling unknown within their very presence. Then she saw her father come to the door and beckon—the old man at least was not dead—and they went in together.
The place was far more bare and desolate than even its exterior had appeared. The rough boards of the floor were shrunken apart. Through the windows, unshielded by even a plank, the glaring light poured in a pitiless flood. A broken chair or two were propped against the wall, and in the corner an old pine table stood in a precarious condition upon its uneven legs.
There, stretched across the wretched bed dressed in his grimy clothes, just as they had seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago, the old man lay insensible. All their restoratives were powerless to rouse him from this heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to their efforts. The half-closed eyes were glazed. There was no quiver now about the bloodless lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner, more emaciated, for over all the features rested that sunk expression which those who look upon it behold with despair at their hearts. But for the slow rise and fall of his chest, they might have thought the last glimmer of life had died out of that frail form forever.
It was plain that they could not dare to move him, and the colonel carefully shaded the window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken all the things from the basket, and set them ready for use, though there was little chance now that they could be of any avail. Safford stood at the foot of the bed, utterly unconscious of every thing at the moment but the prostrate figure before him. Since he entered the room he had hardly changed his position, only that he folded his arms across his breast, and drooped his head a little, as if in that attitude he might the more intently watch the sleeper.
When the colonel came and spoke to him he started up as if frightened, like one out of a dream, so that the elder man looked at him in surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling himself, said quickly, in a husky voice,— “I beg your pardon. You startled me!”
“I only wanted to know how long you thought he could last?”
“I can not tell. It may be until evening, hardly longer.”
He was right. The day wore on without any apparent change until about the going down of the sun, when the old man moved a little. They had once or twice dropped a few drops of wine between his lips, but this was the first symptom of any break in the heavy stupor which had held him so long in its death-like embrace. His respiration quickened, and became audible. He muttered one or two incoherent sentences, then a tremor passed over his features, and he opened his eyes.
Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored during the afternoon to persuade into going home, stood with her head turned away; and the colonel, too intent upon watching the dying man, did not notice Safford, from whose face, at the first struggle in the inanimate form, every particle of color fled, and who, trembling violently all over, clutched the bed for support.