"By getting well. What should you say to that?"
"Thank heaven for it: and do my best to get you away to a place of safety."
"By George, old fellow, I don't know that I shan't. I am feeling as blithe as a bee. Rose, take yourself a trifle further off; out of the mould."
He was throwing about the spadefuls almost as well as he had ever thrown them in his strength. Rose was cheated into something like hope, and her face for the moment lost its sadness.
"I wish to goodness I had a draught of beer," cried Adam. "Where's Ann, I wonder."
Karl went to fetch it. Ann Hopley shook her head at the idea of hope, when Karl spoke of it as she gave him the beer.
"You never saw any person, who was to live on, have the look in his face that he has, sir."
"He looks fairly well to-day."
"And so he will at times to the last, as it strikes me. I have had a good deal of experience in illness, sir. As to his talking about getting well--why, sir, you know what he is: saying this and that without meaning it. There's no doubt he feels pretty sure himself how it will be."
Karl sighed as he went back with the beer. Yes, there was no real hope.