Nellie Seton's cool, soft hands fell lightly on his head—Nellie's soft, gentle voice spoke:
"Charley, you are to leave us for a little, and lie down. You must have some rest, be it ever so short; and you have had nothing to eat, I believe all day; you will let me prepare something, and take it, and go to your room."
She spoke to him coaxingly, almost as she might to a child. He lifted his eyes, full of dull, infinite misery, to hers.
"To-night?" he answered: "the last night! I will not go."
"Only for an hour then," she pleaded; "there will be no change. For my sake, Charley!"
All her goodness, all her patience, came back to him. He pressed her hand in his own gratefully, and arose.
"For your sake, Nellie, then—for no other. But you promise to call me if there is the slightest change?"
"I promise. Drink this and go."
She gave him a glass of mulled wine, containing the opiate. He drank it and left the room. They listened breathlessly until they heard his door, further down the passage, open and shut—then both drew a deep breath.
"Thank Heaven," Trix said; "I couldn't bear to see him here to-night.
Nellie, if she dies it will kill him—just that."