So the finger of the duellist
trembles on the trigger of his gun before he receives the signal to
fire--a suspense more terrible than the actual face of death.
"A narcotic?" she pleaded. "Something to give him just one moment of
full relaxation?"
"I can't do it," said Byrne. "If his heart were a shade stronger, I
should. But as it is, the only thing that sustains him is the force of
his will-power. Do you want me to unnerve the very strength which keeps
him alive?"
She shuddered.
"Do you mean that if he sleeps it will be--death?"
"I have told you before," said the doctor, "that there are phases of
this case which I do not understand. I predict nothing with certainty.
But I very much fear that if your father falls into a complete slumber
he will never waken from it. Once let his brain cease functioning and I
fear that the heart will follow suit."
They stood on the farther side of the room and spoke in the softest of
whispers, but now the deep, calm voice of the old man broke in: "Doc,
they ain't no use of worryin'. They ain't no use of medicine. All I need
is quiet."
"Do you want to be alone?" asked the girl.
"No, not so long as you don't make no noise. I can 'most hear
something, but your whisperin' shuts it off."
They obeyed him, with a glance at each other. And soon they caught the
far off beat of a horse in a rapid gallop.
"Is it that?" cried Kate, leaning forward and touching her father's
hand.
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