"And he shall not die! My love shall call him back from the grave!" she sobbed.
[CHAPTER LXI.]
SHE LOVED MUCH.
I would have rather been a slave
In tears, in bondage, by his side,
Than shared in all, if wanting him,
This world had power to give beside.
L. E. Landon.
She was kneeling by his couch—she was gazing through her blinding tears upon that pallid, emotionless face, as still now as though it already bore the stamp of death; her hand touched his, but it did not respond to her passionate pressure, and when she called his name, there was no answer—not even a quiver of the dark, curling lashes lying so heavily against the marble-white cheek.
Mrs. Chainey and the two physicians looked on in the tenderest compassion. The story of the young girl's love was written on her anguished face, and they knew, alas! that Ralph Chainey lay close to the borders of spirit-land. The dark eyes would never open on that most beautiful face bending over him, the pale lips would never unclose to speak her name.
Breathlessly she called upon his name, beseeching him to look at her, to speak to her; but the spell that wrapped him was too deep. Those strong men listening to her wept in sympathy. They had no hope. It had been so difficult to stanch the flow of blood from the terrible wound so close to his heart, that he was sinking from inanition—he could not survive the weakness.
Suddenly the girl turned and looked at them. They were whispering together. She caught some disjointed words:
"It has been tried with success. You remember cases of?—but he is so far gone, I doubt—transfusion of blood—do you think?"