ly. From the
first moment she knew that all, and more than all, Elton had said was
true. She saw death unmistakable, inevitable, and close at hand, and
reproached herself for not having come sooner. But in that strange calm
and stillness, even self-reproach seemed to be curbed and
repressed--even a quickened beating of the heart would have been out of
place. So they remained until fully half an hour had passed, when the
door of the room again opened; this time to admit the doctor.

He was an elderly man, kind, busy, and quick in his words and motions.
He came in briskly, and looked rather surprised at seeing Mrs. Costello.
She only bowed, however, and drew back as he came towards the bedside.
He was followed into the room by the jailer's wife, who had
compassionately tended the prisoner ever since his illness increased.

Christian seemed to wake from his stupor, or dream, at the sound of the
doctor's voice. He answered the questions put to him mechanically but
clearly, and with his old purity of accent and expression. The dialogue,
however, even with Mrs. Elton's comments, was but a short one, and as
soon as it was ended, Mrs. Costello came forward and stopped the doctor
on his way from the room.

"Will you tell me," she said in a low voice, "exactly what you think of
him?"

He looked at her again with some surprise.

"I am interested in the question," she went on, regulating her voice
with a painful effort. "I assure you it is not from mere curiosity I
ask."

"He is very low, very low indeed; but allow me to say, this is not the
place for you."

"I will not do myself any harm," she answered, with a faint smile; "you
shall not have any occasion to scold me."

"How long have you been here?"

"About half an hour. And you may feel my pulse if you like; it is
perfectly steady."

She held out her wrist; the pulse was, in fact, quite regular, rather
more so than usual, and there was nothing to show that the sick room was
"not the place for her."

"Now tell me," she said; "he is dying, is not he?"

"Yes. Best thing that can happen to him, poor wretch."

"You don't think he will live to be tried?"

He shook his head.

"More than doubtful."

"But it is only a fortnight, and there seems to be no acute disease."

"He would have a better chance of living if there were. He is completely
worn out--dying of exhaustion. It is a question if he lasts another
week."

"Tell me, please, exactly what can be done for