ly courageous--so Sir Coupland thinks--in the
presence of Death. But she is ashy white.

He utters the barest syllable of doubt; then half-turns for courtesy to
his junior, who echoes it. Then each shakes his head, looking at the
other.

"Is there no sound--nothing to show?" Gwen has some hazy idea that there
ought to be, if there is not, some official note of death due from the
dying, a rattle in the throat at least.

Sir Coupland sees her meaning. "In a case of this sort," says he, "sheer
loss of blood, the breath may cease so gradually that sound is
impossible. All one can say is that there _is_ no breath, and no action
of the heart--so far as one can tell." He speaks in a business-like way
that is a sort of compliment to his hearer; no accommodation of facts as
to a child; then raises the lifeless hand slightly and lets it fall,
saying:--"See!"

To his surprise the girl, without any comment, also raises the band in
hers, and stands holding it. "Yes--it will fall," says he, as though she
had spoken questioning it. But still she holds it, and never shrinks
from the horror of its mortality, somewhat to the wonder of her only
spectator. For the other doctor has withdrawn, to speak to someone
outside.

Of a sudden the dog Achilles starts barking. A short, sharp, startled
bark--once, twice--and is silent. The girl lays the dead hand gently
down, not dropping it, but replacing it where it first lay. She does not
speak for a moment--cannot, perhaps. Then it comes with a cry, neither
of pain nor joy--mere tension. "Oh, Dr. Merridew ... the fingers closed
... They closed on mine ... the fingers _closed_.... I know it. I know
it ... The fingers _closed_!..." She says it again and again as though
in terror that her word might be doubted. He sees as she turns to him
that all her pride of self-control has given way. She is fighting
against an outburst of tears, and her breath comes and goes at will, or
at the will of some power that drives it. Sir Coupland may be
contemplating speech--something it is correct to say, something the
cooler judgment will endorse--but whatever it is he keeps it to himself.
He is not one of those cheap sages that has _hysteria_ on his tongue's
tip to account for everything. It _may_ be that; but it may be ...
Well--he has seen some odd cases in his time.

So, without speaking to the agitated young lady, he simply calls his
colleague back; and, after a word or two aside with him, says to
her:--"