"How is he?" he asked at last, with effort.
Her head had drooped forward, but with this question she moved quickly, as if suddenly lashed.
"He is better, always better."
"My God!" the man groaned.
"But his mind is weaker—it wanders. Sometimes it is clear; then it is dreadful."
"You must not endure it!"
She laid her hand lightly upon his arm, warning him of the inutility of his protest.
"I think we must endure it now. If it had been done earlier, before—" she answered tranquilly; and added definitely, "it is too late now for any relief."
It was on his lips to cry out, "Why, why?" but as his eyes looked into her face and met her warm, wistful glance, he acquiesced in the fate she had ordained. He took her hand, the one that had touched him, and for the time he was content that things should be as they were. She was looking out into the ruined buildings, where embers hissed; at last she lowered her eyes, and whispered:
"It is very good even as it is, now."