"He said he could not tell whether you would get well or not."
"He thought I was going to die?" said the old man, nervously.
"He didn't say that."
"I don't want to die," moaned the old man, terrified. "I'm only sixty-five. My father lived to be seventy-five."
"You may live, Jacob."
"I—I'm not ready to die. Ask the doctor to do all he can."
"He will be sure to do that."
There was a pause. The old man's features were convulsed. He had not till now thought that he was in danger of dying. He was trying to realize the terrible fact. Tom stood by in silence, for he had some idea of Jacob's feelings, and he pitied him.
At length the old man turned his face again toward him, and said:
"Tom?"