They struck--they wounded; I could see her shiver.

"Ill!--and no one ever told me!"

"You? How could it affect you? To me, now"--and my savage words, for
they were savage, broke down in a burst of misery--"nothing in this
world to me is worth a straw in comparison with John. If he dies--"

I let loose the flood of my misery. I dashed it over her, that she
might see it--feel it; that it might enter all the fair and sightly
chambers of her happy life, and make them desolate as mine. For was
she not the cause?

Forgive me! I was cruel to thee, Ursula; and thou wert so good--so
kind!

She rose, came to me, and took my hand. Hers was very cold, and her
voice trembled much.

"Be comforted. He is young, and God is very merciful."

She could say no more, but sat down, nervously twisting and untwisting
her fingers. There was in her looks a wild sorrow--a longing to escape
from notice; but mine held her fast, mercilessly, as a snake holds a
little bird. She sat cowering, almost like a bird, a poor,
broken-winged, helpless little bird--whom the storm has overtaken.

Rising, she made an attempt to quit the room.

"I will call Mrs. Jessop: she may be of use--"

"She cannot. Stay!"

"Further advice, perhaps? Doctor Jessop--you must want help--"

"None save that which will never come. His bodily sickness is
conquered--it is his mind. Oh, Miss March!" and I looked up at her
like a wretch begging for life--"Do YOU not know of what my brother is
dying?"

"Dying!" A long shudder passed over her, from head to foot--but I
relented not.

"Think--a life like his, that might be made a blessing to all he
loves--to all the world--is it to be sacrificed thus? It may be--I do
not say it will--but it may be. While in health he could fight against
this--this which I must not speak of; but now his health is gone. He
cannot rally. Without some change, I see clearly, even I, who love him
better than any one can love him--"

She stirred a little here.

"Far better," I repeated; "for while John does NOT love me best, he to
me is more than any one else in the world. Yet even I have given up
hope, unless--But I have no right to say more."

There was no need. She began to understand. A deep, soft red,
sun-rise colour, dawned all over her face and neck, nay, tinged her
very arms--her delicate, bare arms. She looked at me once--just
once--with a mute but keen inquiry.

"It is the truth, Miss March--ay, ever si