“Fever.”
“Who is attending her?”
“Doctor Girvan.”
“The old dotard will kill her,” he exclaimed.
“He will do no such thing,” answered Grace sharply. “Doctor Girvan will no more kill Mrs. Brady than you have killed Reuben Scott. If she dies, it can only be because God willed she was to do so, not because she has lacked attention. Nevertheless,” added Grace reflectively, “I should have had further advice, only I feared—”
“Do not let that consideration influence you any longer,” he said, “I shall give myself up in the morning.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because there is nothing else to do,” he answered with a bitter laugh. “Because the game is played out, and I may as well throw down the cards as have them taken out of my hands.”
“Shall I tell you what you ought to do?” asked Miss Moffat.
“If you will be so good.”