I shook my head. Every symptom of fatal relapse. I could not imagine what card Hilda held in reserve. But I stood there, waiting.
She whispered in the girl's ear: “Arthur's ship is sighted off the Lizard.”
The patient opened her eyes slowly, and rolled them for a moment as if she did not understand.
“Too late!” I cried. “Too late! She is delirious—insensible!”
Hilda repeated the words slowly, but very distinctly. “Do you hear, dear? Arthur's ship... it is sighted.... Arthur's ship... at the Lizard.”
The girl's lips moved. “Arthur! Arthur!... Arthur's ship!” A deep sigh. She clenched her hands. “He is coming?” Hilda nodded and smiled, holding her breath with suspense.
“Up the Channel now. He will be at Southampton tonight. Arthur... at Southampton. It is here, in the papers; I have telegraphed to him to hurry on at once to see you.”
She struggled up for a second. A smile flitted across the worn face. Then she fell back wearily.
I thought all was over. Her eyes stared white. But ten minutes later she opened her lids again. “Arthur is coming,” she murmured. “Arthur... coming.”
“Yes, dear. Now sleep. He is coming.”