With evident willingness Carl shuffled off, leaving Mrs. Tom alone with her patient.
The little woman approached the bed, and looked at his pinched, sallow features with an experienced eye. It was evident to her he could not survive the night.
"I wonder if he knows his end's so near at hand?" said Mrs. Tom to herself. "He ought to know, anyhow. I'll tell him when he awakes, 'cause it's no use for me trying to do anything with him."
The man was not asleep. As she spoke he opened his large, wild-looking black eyes, and gazed around vacantly.
"Mister," began Mrs. Tom, "I don't know your name, but 'taint no odds. Do you know how long you have to live?"
"How long?" said the man, looking at her with a gaze so wild that, had Mrs. Tom been the least bit nervous, would have terrified her beyond measure.
"Not three hours," said Mrs. Tom gravely.
A sort of wild horror overspread the face of the dying man.
"So soon! oh, Heaven, so soon!" he murmured, "and with all unconfessed still. I cannot die with this crime on my soul. I must reveal the miserable secret that has eaten away my very life."
Mrs. Tom listened to this unexpected outburst in wonder and amazement.