Gifford's serious face answered her without words, and none of the group spoke for a moment. Then Gifford said, "It cannot last much longer. You see, he suffers very much at night; it doesn't seem as though he could live through another."
"Oh, dear me," said Miss Ruth, wiping her eyes with the frankest grief, "you don't say so!"
"Haven't you just heard him say so, sister?" asked Miss Deborah, trying to conceal an unsteady lip by a show of irritation. "Do pay attention."
"I did, dear Deborah," returned Miss Ruth, "but I cannot bear to believe it."
"Your believing it, or not, doesn't alter the case unfortunately. Did he like the syllabub yesterday, Gifford?"
"He couldn't eat it," her nephew answered, "but Willie seemed to enjoy it."
"Poor child," cried Miss Deborah, full of sympathy, "I'm glad he had anything to comfort him. But Gifford, do you really feel sure Mr. Denner cannot recover?"
"Too sure," replied the young man, with a sigh.
"There's no doubt about it,—no doubt whatever?" Miss Ruth inquired anxiously.
Her nephew looked at her in surprise. "I wish there were."