It was such a caress
as a father might have given; it was such a one as was not unbecoming
from a man soon to die to a woman already dead.
"And now," said I, "I am at your service, Mr. Northmour."
But I saw, to my surprise, that he had turned his back upon me.
"Do you hear?" I asked.
"Yes," said he, "I do. If you wish to fight, I am ready. If not, go on and
save Clara. All is one to me."
I did not wait to be twice bidden; but, stooping again over Clara,
continued my efforts to revive her. She still lay white and lifeless; I
began to fear that her sweet spirit had indeed fled beyond recall, and
horror and a sense of utter desolation seized upon my heart. I called her
by name with the most endearing inflections; I chafed and beat her hands;
now I laid her head low, now supported it against my knee; but all seemed
to be in vain, and the lids still lay heavy on her eyes.
"Northmour," I said, "there is my hat. For God's sake bring some water
from the spring."
Almost in a moment he was by my side with the water.
"I have brought it in my own," he said. "You do not grudge me the
privilege?"
"Northmour," I was beginning to say, as I laved her head and breast; but
he interrupted me savagely.
"Oh, you hush up!" he said. "The best thing you can do is to say nothing."
I had certainly no desire to talk, my mind being swallowed up in concern
for my dear love and her condition; so I continued in silence to do my
best toward her recovery, and, when the hat was empty, returned it to him,
with one word--"More.
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