"
She hid her face against him.
"Oh! you angel!" he murmured to her--"angel of consolation! When I am
gone, say to yourself: 'I drew him out of the pit, and helped him to
die'; say 'he suffered, and I forgave him everything'; say 'he was my
husband, and I carried him on my heart--so.'" He moved toward her. She
put her arms under his head and drew him to her breast, stooping over
him and kissing him.
So the first part of the night went by, he very much under the influence
of morphia and not in pain; murmured words passing at intervals between
them, the outward signs of an inward and ineffable bond. Often, as she
sat motionless beside him, the thought of her mother stirred in her
heart--father, mother, husband--close, close all of them--"closer than
hands and feet"--one with her and one with God.
About two o'clock she gave him the new drug, he piteously consenting for
her sake. Then in a mortal terror she resumed her place beside him. In a
few minutes surely the pain, the leaping hungry pain would be upon him,
and she must see him wrestle with it defenceless. She sat holding her
breath, all existence gathered into fear.
But the minutes passed.
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