'
'Good Heavens!'
'Don't be frightened: I think he will recover.'
'Is that certain?'
'Yes, I think--that is, if he leaves off taking the drug, Wilson.'
'What! it is he who has poisoned himself?'
I hesitated, I hesitated. But I said:
'He is in the habit of taking atropine, Wilson.'
Three hours I remained there, and, God knows, toiled hard for his life:
and when I left him in the dark of the fore-day, my mind was at rest: he
would recover.
I slept till 11 A.M., and then hurried over again to Peters. In the room
were my two nurses, and Clodagh.
My beloved put her forefinger to her lips, whispering:
'Sh-h-h! he is asleep....'
She came closer to my ear, saying:
'I heard the news early. I am come to stay with him, till--the last....'
We looked at each other some time--eye to eye, steadily, she and I: but
mine dropped before Clodagh's. A word was on my mouth to say, but I said
nothing.
The recovery of Peters was not so steady as I had expected. At the end
of the first week he was still prostrate.
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