"He is conscious," she said. "I thought you would wish to know. There is yet a hope, and God is merciful. Surely I am not to lose all in one day at one blow!"
"He will get well, sweetheart," answered John Garnet, hopefully, "and live, I pray, for many a long year to come. In a few weeks he will be strong enough to leave his bed, and, Nelly, he will be able to give me the girl I love with his own hand."
The last sentence he whispered in her ear, but she started away from him, and her face, pale enough before, turned white to the very lips.
"Silence!" she exclaimed, fiercely. "You must never speak to me like that again!"
But for the pity of it, his blank amazement would have seemed absolutely ludicrous. It was as though some soft and gentle bird that he loved and cherished had turned on him, with the gaping beak and battling wings of an infuriated hawk!
"What mean you?" he gasped. "What is it? Nelly! Sweetheart! What have I done?"
"To save him from death! To save him from death!" The words seemed ringing in her brain, or she never could have nerved herself for the task she had undertaken.
"We have not gone too far to draw back, Master Garnet," she said. "There is a time for all things. Let there be no more fooling between you and me!"
She spoke lightly, even flippantly, though she felt her heart breaking. Surely there is no courage like that of a woman who makes up her mind to lead a forlorn hope.