“Let me look at it a moment. There--I shall not hurt you.” “Oh, no. I am not afraid.” I cut the hair from round the place, and plastered it up. It hardly took a minute; was the smallest of surgical operations; yet she trembled. I saw her strength was beginning to yield; and she might need it all. “Now, you must go and lie down for an hour.” She shook her head. “You must.” There might have been something harsh in the words--I did not quite know what I was saying--for she looked surprised. “I mean you ought; which is enough argument with a girl like you. If you do not rest, you will never be able to keep up for another twelve hours, during which your father may need you. He does not need you now.” “And you?” “I had much rather be alone.” Which was most true. So she left me; but, ten minutes after, I heard again the light step at the door. “I have brought you this” (some biscuits and a glass of milk) “I know you never take wine.” Wine! O Heaven, no! Would that, years ago, the first drop had burnt my lips--been as gall to my tongue--proved to me not drink, but poison--as the poor old man now lying there once wished it might have happened to any son of his. Well might my father, my young happy father, who married my mother, and, loving and loved, spent with her the brief years of their youth--well, indeed, might my father have wished it for me! So there I sat, after the food she brought me had been swallowed down somehow--for it would have hurt her to come back and find it untouched. Thus watching, hope lessened by degrees, sank into mere conjectures as to the manner in which the watch would end. Possibly, in this state of half-consciousness, the breath would quietly pass away, without struggle or pain; which would be easiest for them all. I laid my plans, in that case, either to be of any use to the family if I could, by remaining until the Trehernes arrived, or to leave immediately all was over. Circumstances, and their apparent wish, must be my only guide. Afterwards there would be no difficulty; the less they saw of any one who had been associated with such a painful time, the better. Better for all of them. The clock below struck--what hour I did not count, but it felt like morning. It was,--must be--I must make it morning. I went to the window to refresh my eyes with the soft white dawn, which, as I opened the blind, stole into the room, making the candle buRN yellow and dim. The night was over and gone. Across the moorland, and up on the far hills, it was already morning. A thought struck me, suggesting one more chance. Extinguishing the candle, I drew aside all the curtains, so as to throw the daylight in a full stream across the foot of the bed; and by the side of it--with the patient's hand between mine, and my eyes fixed steadily on his face--I sat down.