"Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of what I've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve, and I don't want, gratitude." But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to save James, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. The disease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostration extreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power of holding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had given up trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it was terrifying to look upon. The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs. Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth. "Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather know the worst." "I'm afraid very, very little." Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to the sick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside. "Well?" Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The others understood only too well. "The Lord's will be done," whispered the father. "Blessed be the name of the Lord!" They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had long gone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time. "D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel. Mary took his hand and held it affectionately. "Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm sure he never felt any bitterness towards you." James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would pass through him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soul were parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes. "Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" muttered the Colonel, hopelessly. * * * But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatures whose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart's desire till long waiting has made it listless, and giving with both hands only when the gift entails destruction.... James did not die; the passionate love of those three persons who watched him day by day and night by night seemed to have exorcised the might of Death. He grew a little better; his vigorous frame battled for life with all the force of that unknown mysterious power which cements into existence the myriad wandering atoms. He was listless, indifferent to the issue; but the will to live fought for him, and he grew better. Quickly he was out of danger.