"Should you like food now, if I brought it to you?" said Martin in a low voice.
"Yes, yes; bring me food,—I am dying."
Martin released her hand and glided gently out of the room. In a few minutes he returned with a can of warm soup and a roll; of which Aunt Dorothy partook with an avidity that showed she had been in urgent need. Immediately after, she went to sleep; and Martin sat upon the bed holding her hand in both of his till she awoke, which she did in an hour after, and again ate a little food. While she was thus engaged the door opened and a young man entered, who stated that he was a doctor, and had been sent there by a policeman.
"There is no hope," he said in a whisper, after feeling her pulse; "the system is quite exhausted."
"Doctor," whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, "can nothing save her? I have money, and can command anything that may do her good."
The doctor shook his head. "You may give her a little wine. It will strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope. I will send in a bottle if you wish it."
Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was brought up by a boy.
The effect of the wine was wonderful. Aunt Dorothy's eyes sparkled as they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy.
"You are kind to me, young man," she said, looking earnestly into Martin's face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow. "May our Lord reward you."
"Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?" said Martin; "I have seen him abroad."