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came in and sat by his bed in the dim light; there was only
a shaded candle in a corner of the room. She told the nurse
she might he herself would sit with him for the rest of the
evening. He had opened his eyes and recognized her, and
had moved his hand, which lay helpless beside him, so that
she might take it. But he was unable to speak; he closed his
eyes again and remained perfectly still, only keeping her
hand in his own. She sat with him a long time-till the nurse
came back; but he gave no further sign. He might have
passed away while she looked at him; he was already the
figure and pattern of death. She had thought him far gone
in Rome, and this was worse; there was but one change pos-
sible now. There was a strange tranquillity in his face; it was
as still as the lid of a box. With this he was a mere lattice of
bones; when he opened his eyes to greet her it was as if she
were looking into immeasurable space. It was not till mid-
night that the nurse came back; but the hours, to Isabel, had
not seemed long; it was exactly what she had come for. If she
had come simply to wait she found ample occasion, for he
lay three days in a kind of grateful silence. He recognized
her and at moments seemed to wish to speak; but he found
no voice. Then he closed his eyes again, as if he too were
waiting for something-for something that certainly would
come. He was so absolutely quiet that it seemed to her what
was coming had already arrived; and yet she never lost the
sense that they were still together. But they were not always
together; there were other hours that she passed in wander-
ing through the empty house and listening for a voice that
was not poor Ralph’s. She had a constant fear; she thought

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