"No; and something within me seems to be failing." There was that in the trembling frame and altered voice that impressed her strangely. What was failing? Had the springs of life been so strained by suffering that there was danger lest they should break? Emily did not know; but everything seemed to change for her at that moment. It was little to her that he should discover her love for him now; but he would not, or, if he did, he was past caring, and he had been almost forgotten by those about him, though his danger was as great as that of any. He had been left to endure alone. She lifted the cup to his lips, and thought of nothing, and felt nothing, but the one supreme desire to console and strengthen. "She will die, Emily," he found voice enough to say when the cup was empty; "and I cannot survive her." "Yes, you can; but I hope she will not die, dear John. Why should she live so long, to die after all?" She leaned toward him, and, putting her arms about him, supported his head on her shoulder, and held it there with her hand. At least that once her love demanded of her that she should draw near. _She_ should not die; perhaps there was a long life before her; perhaps this might be the only moment she might have to look back to, when she had consoled and satisfied her unheeded heart. "Have you so soon forgotten hope?" she said as she withdrew her arms. "I thought I had." "They always say she is not worse; not to be worse is to be better." "They never say that, and I shall not forgive myself." "No?" she exclaimed, and sighed. There was, indeed, so little hope, and if the child died, what might not be feared for the father? "That is because, though you seem a reverent and sincere Christian, you do not believe with enough reality that the coming life is so much sweeter, happier, better, than this. Few of us can. If you did, this tragedy could not fold itself down so darkly over your head. You could not bring yourself almost to the point of dying of pity and self-blame, because your child is perhaps to taste immortal happiness the sooner for your deplored mistake. Oh! men and women are different." "You do not think you could have outlived a misfortune so irreparable?" "I do think so. And yet this is sad; sometimes I cannot bear to think of it. Often I can find in my heart to wish that I might have handed that glass in your stead. Even if it had broken my heart, I stand alone; no other lives depend on me for well-being, and perhaps for well-doing. Cannot you think of this, dear John, and try to bear it and overlive it for their sakes? Look, day begins to dawn, and the morning star flickers. Come in; cannot you rise?" "I suppose not; I have tried. You will not go?" "Yes; I may be wanted." "You have no resentments, Emily?" "Oh no," she answered, understanding him. "Then give me one kiss."