They walked on in silence until they reached the gate.
"To me this place is infinitely pathetic. That little cough never silent for long. Did you hear that poor girl say with surprise that her cough is no better than it was last Christmas?"
"Yes, sir. Poor girl, I don't think she's long for this world."
"But tell me about your husband, Esther," he said, and his face filled with an expression of true sympathy. "I'm a subscriber, and if your husband would like to become an in-door patient, I hope you'll let me know."
"Thank you, sir; you was always the kindest, but there's no reason why I should trouble you. Some friends of ours have already recommended him, and it only rests with himself to remain out or go in."
He pulled out his watch and said, "I am sorry to have met you in such sad circumstances, but I'm glad to have seen you. It must be seven years or more since you left Miss Rice. You haven't changed much; you keep your good looks."
"Oh, sir."
He laughed at her embarrassment and walked across the road hailing a hansom, just as he used to in old times when he came to see Miss Rice. The memory of those days came back upon her. It was strange to meet him again after so many years. She felt she had seen him now for the last time. But it was foolish and wicked, too, to think of such things; her husband dying…. But she couldn't help it; he reminded her of so much of what was past and gone. A moment after she dashed these personal tears aside and walked open-hearted to meet William. What had the doctor said? She must know the truth. If she was to lose him she would lose everything. No, not everything; her boy would still remain to her, and she felt that, after all, her boy was what was most real to her in life. These thoughts had passed through her mind before William had had time to answer her question.
"He said the left lung was gone, that I'd never be able to stand another winter in England. He said I must go to Egypt."
"Egypt," she repeated. "Is that very far from here?"