Maria drew forward a chair and sat down by him. “Warnings?” she repeated.
“Of the end. You must be aware, Maria, that I am attacked with a fatal malady.”
Maria was not quite unaware of it, but she had never understood that a fatal termination was inevitable. She did not know but that he might live to be an old man. “Can nothing be done for you?” she breathed.
“Nothing.”
Her eyes glistened with the rising tears. “Oh, Thomas! you must not die! We could none of us bear to lose you. George could not do without you; Janet could not; I think I could not.”
He gently shook his head. “We may not pick and choose, Maria—who shall be left here, and who be taken. Those go sometimes who, seemingly, can be least spared.”
She could scarcely speak; afraid lest her sobs should come, for her heart was aching. “But surely it is not to be speedy?” she murmured. “You may live on a long while yet?”
“The doctors tell me I may live on for years, if I keep myself quiet. I think they are wrong.”
“Oh, Thomas, then, you surely will!” she eagerly said, her cheek flushing with emotion. “Who can have tranquillity if you cannot?”
How ignorant they both were of the dark cloud looming overhead, ready even then to burst and send forth its torrent! Tranquillity! Tranquillity henceforth for Thomas Godolphin!