"Yes, better to-day," she said, with a sigh. "I shall fluctuate to the end, I suppose; one day better, the next worse. Val, I think sometimes it is not far off now."
Very far off he knew it could not be. But he spoke of hope still: it was in his nature to do so. In the depths of his heart, so hidden from the world, there seemed to be hope for the whole living creation, himself excepted.
"How is your wife to-day?"
"Quite well. She and Edward are out with the ponies and carriage."
"She never comes to see me."
"She does not go to see anyone. Though well, she's not very strong yet."
"But she's young, and will grow strong. I shall only grow weaker. I am brave to-day; but you should have seen me last night. So prostrate! I almost doubted whether I should rise from my bed again. I do not think you will have to come here many more times."
"Oh, Mrs. Ashton!"
"A little sooner or a little later, what does it matter, I try to ask myself; but parting is parting, and my heart aches sometimes. One of my aches will be leaving you."
"A very minor one then," he said, with deprecation; but tears shone in his dark blue eyes.