to them both when they were parted.
They seemed to be born mated for life."

"That was the reason," she said quite relievedly. "I can understand
that. It's as orderly as the stars." Then she added with a sudden,
strong, quite normal conviction, and her tiredness seemed to drop from
her, "He won't die--that beautiful boy," she said. "He can't. It's not
meant. They're going on, those three. He's the most splendid human thing
I ever handled--skeleton as he is. His very bones are magnificent as he
lies there. And that smile of his that's deep in the blue his eyes are
made of--it can only flicker up for a second now--but it can't go out.
He's safe, even this minute, though you mayn't believe it."

"I do believe it," Coombe said.

And he stood there believing it, when she went through the open door and
left him.

CHAPTER XLI

It was long before the dropped eyelids could lift and hold themselves
open for more than a few seconds and long before the eyes wore their old
clear look. The depths of the collapse after prolonged tortures of
strain and fear was such as demanded a fierce and unceasing fight of
skill and unswerving determination on the part of both doctors and
nurses. There were hours when what seemed to be strange, deathly drops
into abysses of space struck terror into most of those who stood by
looking on. But Nurse Jones always believed and so did Coombe.

"You needn't send for his mother yet," she said without flinching. "You
and I know something the others don't know, Lord Coombe. That child and
her baby are holding him back though they don't know anything about it."

It revealed itself to him that her interest in things occult and
apparently unexplained by material processes had during the last few
years intensely absorbed her in private. Her feeling, though intense,
was intelligent and her processes of argument were often convincing. He
became willing to answer her questions because he felt sure of her. He
lent her the books he had been reading and in her hard-earned hours of
leisure she plunged deep into them.

"Perhaps I read sometimes when I ought to be sleeping, but it rests
me--I tell you it _rests_ me. I'm finding out that there's strength
outside of all this and you can draw on it. It's there waiting," she
said. "Everybody will know about its being there--in course of time."

"But the time seems long," said Coombe.

Concerning the dream she had many interesting theories. She was at firs