"And there isn't any--any--" I gasped for the words, and could hardly speak.
"No, none, Pauline," he said, keeping my hand in his. "The doctors have just gone away. It was all no use."
"Tell me about it," I whispered.
"About what?" he said, looking troubled.
"About how it happened."
"Nobody can tell," he answered, averting his face. "We can only conjecture about some things. Don't try to think about it. Try to rest."
"How does he look?" I whispered, clinging to his hand.
"Just the same as ever; more quiet, perhaps," he answered, looking troubled.
I gave a sort of gasp, but did not cry. I think he was frightened, for he said, uneasily, "Let me call Bettina; she can give you something--she can sit beside you."
I shook my head, and said, faintly, "Don't let her come."