But her eyes
were closed now, and two dark, purple rims inclosed them, terribly dark
on the wan, white face. Suddenly the eyes unclosed with a start, as if
her doze had been abruptly disturbed, though Lionel had been perfectly
still. She looked at him for a minute or two in silence, and he, knowing
it would be well that she should doze again, neither spoke nor moved.
"Lionel, am I dying?"
Quietly as the words were spoken, they struck on his ear with startling
intensity. He rose then and pushed her hair from her damp brow with a
fond hand, murmuring some general inquiry as to how she felt.
"Am I dying?" came again from the panting lips.
What was he to answer her? To say that she was dying might send her into
a paroxysm of terror; to deceive her in that awful hour by telling her
she was not, went against every feeling of his heart.
"But I don't want to die," she urged, in some excitement, interpreting
his silence to mean the worst. "Can't Jan do anything for me? Can't Dr.
Hayes?"
"Dr. Hayes will be here soon," observed Lionel soothingly, if somewhat
evasively.
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