She had known but very little of Constance; that little had
made her love her dearly--who could help doing that? Yet it was not
Constance she was regretting then. I could see the same thought was in
her mind as in mine--who will tell Guy this if he recovers? I did all I
could to spare her; but the anxiety she felt when out of the sick-room
tried her almost more than the bodily fatigue. It was best to let her
have her way. I never guessed, till then, the extent of a weak woman's
endurance.
It was a close struggle, indeed, between life and death. The fire of the
fever died out when there was little left for it to feed on. The arm
which, a month ago, was fatal as old Front-de-Boeuf's, had not
strength enough in its loosened sinews to lift itself three inches from
the coverlet.
Guy had fallen at last into a heavy sleep. The doctors said it was the
turning-point. If he woke quite calm and sane, the immense power of his
constitution would probably enable him to rally; if not, the worst that
could be feared was certain.
He woke after many hours. There was such a stillness in the room as he
unclosed his eyes that you might have heard his mother's heart beat as
she sat motionless by his bedside.
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