"How is she?" Mrs. Birtwell asked, anxiously.
"I do not think she can last much longer," was replied.
Tears came into Mrs. Birtwell's eyes and fell over her cheeks.
"A few days at most—a few hours, maybe—and she will be at rest. She spoke of you very tenderly, and I think would like to see you."
"Then I will go to her immediately," said Mrs. Birtwell, rising. "You must excuse me, Mr. Elliott. I will take the carriage and go alone," she added, glancing toward her husband.
The two men on being left alone remained silent for a while. Mr. Birtwell was first to speak.
"I have always felt badly," he said, "about the death of Archie Voss. No blame attaches to us of course, but it was unfortunate that he had been at our house."
"Yes, very unfortunate," responded the clergyman. Something in his voice as well as in his manner awakened an uncomfortable feeling in the mind of Mr. Birtwell.
They were silent again, neither of them seeming at his ease.
"I had hoped," said Mr. Elliott, breaking at length this silence, "to find you by this time over upon our side."