He was worn with a night of agony—a night whose marks the staff had observed and wondered at.
"How long?" she asked; "I know I can't get better. When's it going to be?" He clenched his teeth to curb the twitching of his mouth. "It isn't now?"
"No, no," he said. "You shouldn't, you mustn't frighten yourself like this!"
"To-day?"
"Not to-day," he answered hoarsely, "I honestly believe."
"To-morrow?"
"Mary!"
"To-morrow?" she pleaded in the same painful whisper. "Tell me the truth. What to-morrow?"
"I think—to-morrow you may know how much I loved you."
She did not move; and he had turned aside. He noticed it was raining and how the drops spattered on the window-sill.