half an hour, and they sat
there together, all the afternoon, one on each side of the bed, waiting
and watching.

Towards evening the doctor, who had come at midnight and in the morning,
came again. He looked at Anne keenly and kindly, and his manner seemed
to her to say that there was no hope. He made experiments. He brought
a lighted candle and held it to the patient's eyes, and said that the
pupils were still contracted. The nurse said nothing. She looked at Anne
and she looked at the doctor, and when he went away, she made a sign to
Anne to keep back while she followed him. Anne heard them talking
together in low voices outside the door, and her heart ached with fear
of what he would say to her presently.

He sent for her, and she came to him in the sitting-room. He said, "There
is no change." Her brain reeled and righted itself. She had thought he
was going to say "There is no hope."

"Will he get better?" she said.

"I cannot tell you."

The doctor seated himself and prepared to deal long and leisurely with
the case.

"It's impossible to say. He _may_ get better. He may even get well. But
I should do wrong if I let you hope too much for that."

"You can give _no_ hope?" she said, thinking that she uttered his real
thought.

"I don't say that. I only say that the chances are not--exclusively--in
favour of recovery."

"The chances?"

"Yes. The chances." The doctor looked at her, considering whether she
were a woman who could bear the truth. Her eyes assured him that she
could. "I don't say he won't recover. It's this way," said he. "There's
a clot somewhere on the brain. If it absorbs completely he may get
well--perfectly well."

"And if it does not absorb?"

"He may remain as he is, paralysed down the left side. The paralysis may
be only partial. He may recover the use of one limb and not the other.
But he will be paralysed. Partially or completely."

She pictured it.

"Ah--but," she said, laying hold on hope again, "he will not die?"

"Well--there may be further lesions--in which case--"

"He will die?"

"He may die. He may die any moment."

She accepted it, abandoning hope.

"Will there be any return of consciousness? Will he know me?"

"I'm afraid not. If consciousness returns we may begin to hope. As it
is, I don't want you to make up your mind to the worst. There are two
things in his favour. He has evidently a sound constitution. And he has
lived--up till now--Mr. Hannay tells me,