But, to judge from her own state of mind, no means at the disposal of science would have been of much use. She bore the aspect of one waiting, waiting for the imminent and the inevitable; and she seemed to feel as if by instinct that her fate was foreordained. Sometimes she would call me to her, and in feeble tones confide that she loved me, and that I should not worry; sometimes she would merely take my hand, and speak by a silence more moving than words. Of our few brief conversations there is only an occasional phrase that I can recall: how once a bright light came into her eyes, and she murmured that she had been happy, very happy with me; how one moment she would say that she was tired, and the next moment that she was cold, but always that I was very good to her; how at times her wan face would be seamed with sorrow, and she would sigh that she did not wish to leave me alone. But most distinctly of all I remember the occasion when she sat up halfway on her couch, and her countenance was transfused with a radiance that brought reminders of her old self, and she held out a pleading hand to me and whispered that I should not be sad no matter what happened; that she would not be sad, but would be marvelously happy. And in her eyes I noticed a beautiful glitter that might have been the brilliance of delirium, and might have been the exaltation of one who sees that which is hidden from most men. Of course, I would always try to reassure her; would tell her that there was nothing to be sad about, and that all would again be as it had been. But in my heart I knew that this was not so. And my eyes showed me signs that were far from hopeful. Gradually she was growing thinner still; her cheeks, ashen before, were brightening with a hectic glow. And when I placed my hand on her forehead, I realized that she was burning with fever. Just how severe that fever was, I could not tell; but my one consolation was that she did not appear to suffer. And now my hours were passed in continual dread. I scarcely dared leave the cabin even to obtain water from the creek a stone's throw away; I was reluctant to desert my post for brief sleep at night. Perhaps I too was growing emaciated and weak, but could that matter when my whole world was withering away before my eyes? At last the long-protracted January days were over, and February was ushered in by the songs of a demon wind. And with February a faint hope, remote and candle-dim, came flickering into my heart, for now the return of spring and the revival of the universe seemed not quite so distant. But that hope was to be snuffed out almost at birth.