"Do you think him very dangerous, Doctor?" Mary asked, in a husky voice.
"I certainly do. And, to speak to you the honest truth, have, myself, no hope of his recovery. I think it right that you should know this."
"No hope, Doctor!" Mrs. Graham said, laying her hand upon the physician's arm, while her face grew deadly pale. "No hope!—My only son die thus!—O! Doctor, can you not save him?"
"I wish it were in my power, Madam. But I will not flatter you with false hopes. It will be little less than a miracle should he survive."
The mother and sisters turned away with an air of hopelessness from the physician, and he retired slowly, and with oppressed feelings.
When they returned to the sick chamber, a great change had already taken place in Alfred. The prediction of the physician, it was evident to each, as all bent eagerly over him, was about to be too surely and too suddenly realized. His face, from being slightly flushed with fever, had become sunken, and ghastly pale, and his respiration so feeble that it was almost imperceptible.
The last and saddest trial of this ruined family had come. The son and brother, for whom now rushed back upon their hearts the tender and confiding affection of earlier years, was lingering upon life's extremest verge. It seemed that they could not give him up. They felt that, even though he were neglectful of them, they could not do without him. He was a son and brother; and, while he lived, there was still hope of his restoration. The strength of that hope, entertained by each in the silent chambers of affection, was unknown before—its trial revealed its power over each crushed and sinking heart.
But the passage of each moment brought plainer and more palpable evidence of approaching dissolution. For about ten minutes he had lain so still, that they were suddenly aroused by the fear that he might be already dead Softly did the mother lay her hand upon his forehead. Its cold and clammy touch sent an icy thrill to her heart Then she bent her ear to catch even the feeblest breath—but she could distinguish none.
"He is dead!" she murmured, sinking down and burying her face in the bed-clothes.
The cup of their sorrow was, at last, full—full and running over!