"Of course," went on Cicely desperately—"Maryllia may live a long time,—or she may not. She thinks not. And because she thinks not, she wants to see you."
He started nervously.
"To see ME?"
"Yes. It's perfectly natural, isn't it? Isn't it your business to visit the sick,—and—-" He interrupted her by a quick gesture.
"Not dying,"—he said—"I will not have the word used! She is not dying—she will not die! She shall not!"
His eyes flashed—he looked all at once like an inspired apostle with the gift of life in his hand. Cicely watched him with a sudden sense of awe.
"If you say so,"—she faltered slowly—"perhaps she will not. Go and see her!"
"To-day?"
"Yes,—this afternoon. She has asked for the school children to come and sing to her,—I shall try to get them about four. If you come at five, she will be able to see you—alone."
A silence fell between them.