After a pause he said:
"Poor Ruby! What a time for you! You never guessed you'd married a miserable crock, did you?"
"I haven't. Any one may get a sunstroke. In two or three weeks you'll be laughing at all this. Directly it passes you'll forget it."
"But I have a feeling sometimes that—it's a feeling—of death."
"When? When?"
"Last night, in the night. I felt like a man just simply going out."
"I never ought to have let Doctor Hartley go. But you said you wanted to be alone with me, didn't you, Nigel?"
"Yes. I felt somehow that Hartley could be of no use—that no ordinary man could do anything. I felt as if it were Fate, and as if you and I must fight it together. I felt as if—perhaps—our love—"
The voice died away.
Isaacson clenched his hands, and moved a step backward. The shivering pariah dog slunk away, fearing a blow.