“Thou hast sent for me?” he murmured.
“Yes; perhaps thou didst again imagine I was on my deathbed?” she replied, with bitter irony.
“It is not so, Sarah. I would have come of myself, only thou wouldst not see my face.”
“I have seen it for twenty years—it is another’s turn now.”
He was silent.
“It is true all the same. I am on my deathbed.”
He started. A pang shot through his breast. He darted an agitated glance at her face.
“Is it not so? In this bed I shall die. But God knows how many years I shall lie in it.”