As she said the last words he noticed in her voice the sound of a woman who had nearly come to the end of her powers of resistance.
"It won't take a moment," he said. "Where is he?"
"I'll show you."
She went in front of him to a cabin, in which, on a smart bed, Nigel lay supported by pillows. One candle was burning on a bracket of white wood, giving a faint light. Mrs. Armine stood by the head of the bed looking down upon the thin, almost lead-coloured face that was turned towards her.
"Now Doctor Isaacson is going to make you sleep."
"Thank God. The rheumatism's awfully bad to-night."
"Rheumatism?" said Isaacson.
Already he had poured some water into a glass, and dropped something into it. He held the glass towards Nigel, not coming quite near to him. To take the glass, it was necessary for the sick man to stretch out his arm. Nigel made a movement to do this; but his arm dropped, and he said, almost crossly:
"Do put it nearer."
Then Isaacson put it to his mouth.