"I'm going to die," he repeated, plucking with cold fingers at the sheet.
"I'll go and fetch the doctor," cried Nigel.
"No ... I don't want you to leave me."
"But we must do something."
"There's nothing to do ... only talk to me ... and don't let me get funky."
"You might look out of the window, Nigel, and see if any one's passing," said Janey.
There was not likely to be any one at that hour, but he thrust his head out and eagerly scanned the lane. The rain had stopped, though the sky was shagged over with masses of cloud. One or two stars glimmered wanly above the woods. It was the constellation of Orion, setting.
"There's no one," said Nigel, "nor likely to be—I must go, Len."
"Oh, no ... don't ... don't leave me ... the doctor couldn't do anything.... Perhaps I won't die ... only I hate the dark."
A strangling pity seized Nigel. He went over to his brother, and sat down beside the bed, taking his hand.