‘O my darling!’ he said, sinking down on his knees by her bedside. ‘What do they know? They are mistaken every day. How often have we said that, you and I? Why should we make gods of them now? Annie! we never believed in doctors, you and I!’
‘I believe in them now,’ she said. All her excitement had faded from her. The hectic red had disappeared from her cheeks, a convulsive shivering was all that remained of her strong excitement and emotion. She was hushed by the certainty. No doubt was in her mind as to the truth of it. There was silence for a moment—a long, long time, as it seemed; and when the silence was broken, it was she who spoke, not in complaint or despair, but with a strange, chill wonder and reflective pain. ‘There are some people who would not have minded so much,’ she said, in a half whisper. ‘Some people do not feel the pain so much—or—the loathing. O my God, my God, me!’ What could be said? Hard sobs shook the man’s helpless frame. He could do nothing for her—and she was dearer to him than his life.
‘Do not cry,’ she said, as if she had been talking to a child; ‘that hurts me more. Don’t you remember when we talked of it—if it ever came to this, James—and I made you promise. You promised. Surely, surely, you must remember? In summer, before we went away.’
He tried to look at her blankly, as if he did not know what she meant; but, God help him, he remembered every word.
‘Yes; you know what I mean. I can see it in your eyes. You can’t deceive me now, James! you promised!’
‘Never! never!’ he said, his voice broken with passionate sobs.
‘I think you promised; but at least you said it was right—no wickedness in it. Oh, do it, James! You can save me still. Why should I have any more pain, now? I could bear it if it was for any good; but why should I now, James?’
‘I cannot, I cannot,’ he cried; ‘do not ask me. Myself, if you will, but not you—not you!’
‘Yourself!’ she said, with a dreamy contempt. In her deadly danger and despair she was somehow raised above all creatures who had no warrant of death in them. ‘Why yourself? You are safe; there is no vulture coming to gnaw your flesh. O James, have you not the heart of a man to save me! Think if it had been in India, in the Mutiny—and you said it would be right.’
‘How could I know?’ cried the unhappy man, with the artlessness of despair; ‘how could I tell it was coming to us? I did not think what I was saying. I thought of others—strangers. Annie! oh, let me go!—let me go!’