She shook her head.
"We are in despair, Nothing touches the pain but morphia. And he has lost heart himself so much during the last fortnight."
"You have had any fresh opinion?"
"Yes. The last man told me he still believed the injury was curable, but that Oliver must do a great deal for himself. And that he seems incapable of doing. It is, of course, the shock to the nerves, and--the general--disappointment--"
Her voice shook. She stared into the fire.
"You mean--about politics?" said Sir James, after a pause.
"Yes. Whenever I speak cheerfully to him, he asks me what there is to live for. He has been driven out of politics--by a conspiracy--"
Sir James moved impatiently.
"With health he would soon recover everything," he said, rather shortly.
She made no reply, and her shrunken faded look--as of one with no energy for hope--again roused his pity.