Something was alive still—something which strove to see, move, speak, yet could not, till the mist, which obscured every sense, should clear away. A murmur was in the air, growing clearer every instant, as it rose and fell, like the muffled sound of waves upon a distant shore. Presently he recognized human voices, and the words they uttered,—words which had no meaning, till, like an electric shock, intelligence returned, bringing with it a great fear.
Olivia was mourning over him, and he felt her tears upon his face; but it was not this which stung him to sudden life,—it was another voice, saying, low, but with a terrible distinctness,—
“There is no hope. He may remain so for some years; but sooner or later the brain will share the paralysis of the body, and leave our poor friend in a state I grieve to think of.”
“No!” burst from Helwyze, with an effort which seemed to dispel the trance which held his faculties. Stir he could not, but speak he did, and opened wide the eyes which had been closed for hours. With the unutterable relief of one roused from a nightmare he recognized his own room, Olivia’s tender face bent over him, and his physician holding a hand that had no feeling in it.
“Not dead yet;” he muttered, with a feeble sort of exultation, adding, with as feeble a despair and doubt, “but she is. Did I dream that?”
“Alas, no!” and Olivia wiped away her own tears from the forehead which began to work with the rush of returning memory and thought.
“What does this numbness mean? Why are you here?” he asked, as his eye went from one face to the other.
“Dear Jasper, it means that you are ill. Stern found you unconscious in your chair last night. You are much better now, but it alarmed us, for we thought you dead,” replied Olivia, knowing that he would have the truth at any cost.
“I remember thinking it was death, and being glad of it. Why did you bring me back? I had no wish to come.”
She forgave the ingratitude, and went on chafing the cold hand so tenderly, that Helwyze reproached no more, but, turning to the physician, demanded, with a trace of the old imperiousness coming back into his feeble voice,—