"I—I saw him," Julia said, mingled emotions making speech almost impossible. "Isn't there any hope, Richie?"
"None at all," Jim said, leaving the fireplace to quietly join Julia and Richie at the centre table.
The unforgotten voice! Every fibre in Julia's body thrilled to mortal shock. She rallied her courage and endurance sternly; she must not betray herself. Anger helped her, for she knew him well enough to know that the situation for him was not devoid of a certain artistic enjoyment.
"Yes, it may come to-night, it may come to-morrow," Richie assented sorrowfully. "But it's the end, I'm afraid!"
Julia clung to his arm; never had Richie seemed so dear and good to her.
"Your mother will die of it, Rich," she said, to say something. The room seemed to her shouting with Jim's presence; she kept her eyes on Richie's face. Ned, never more than an overgrown boy, put his face in his hands and began to sob.
"Sh—h!" Jim warned them. Mrs. Toland came in.
"He's better—he wants to see you boys!" she said, tremulously happy. Her eyes went from face to face. "Why, what's the matter?" she demanded. "You don't think it's—do you, Richie? Do you, Jim?"
Richie merely flung up his head and set his lips. Jim put one arm around her.
"He's pretty ill, dear," he said gently, and Julia found his smooth tenderness infinitely less bearable than Richie's bluntness.