With unnerved lip and quivering breath Faith began again her sweet utterance of some of those sweetest things. For a moment she longed to ask the other two listeners to go away and leave her alone; but reasons, different and strong, kept her mouth from speaking the wish; and then, once dismissed, it was forgotten. Her voice steadied and grew clear presently; its low, distinct words were not interrupted by so much as a breath in any part of the room. They steadied her; Faith rested on them and clung to them as she went along, with a sense of failing energy which needed a stay somewhere. But her words did not shew it, except perhaps that they came more slowly and deliberately. Mr. Linden had drawn back a little out of sight. Dr. Harrison kept his stand by the bedpost, leaning against it; and whatever that reading was to him, he was as motionless as that whereon he leaned.
Till some little length of time had passed in this way, and then he came to Faith's side and laid his hand on her open book.
"She does not hear you," he said softly.
Faith looked at him startled, and then bent forward over the woman whose face was turned a little from her.
"She is sleeping"—she said looking up again.
"She will not hear you any more," said the doctor.
"She breathes, regularly,—"
"Yes—so she will for perhaps some hours. But she will not waken again,—probably."
"Are you sure?" Faith said with another look at the calm face before her.
"Very sure!"—