"Where are the water-lilies? Where are the lilies in her hair?"
Mr. Davis drew Ruth away.
"He is still rambling," said he. "But the fever has left him."
The grey dawn was now filling the room with its cold light; was
it that made Ruth's cheek so deadly pale? Could that call out the
wild entreaty of her look, as if imploring help against some
cruel foe that held her fast, and was wrestling with her Spirit
of Life? She held Mr. Davis's arm. If she had let it go, she
would have fallen.
"Take me home," she said, and fainted dead away.
Mr. Davis carried her out of the chamber, and sent the groom to
keep watch by his master. He ordered a fly to convey her to Mr.
Benson's, and lifted her in when it came, for she was still half
unconscious. It was he who carried her upstairs to her room,
where Miss Benson and Sally undressed and laid her in her bed.
He awaited their proceedings in Mr. Benson's study. When Mr.
Benson came in, Mr. Davis said--
"Don't blame me. Don't add to my self-reproach. I have killed
her. I was a cruel fool to let her go. Don't speak to me."
"It may not be so bad," said Mr. Benson, himself needing comfort
in that shock.
"She may recover. She surely will recover. I believe she will."
"No, no! she won't. But by----she shall, if I can save her."
Mr. Davis looked defiantly at Mr. Benson, as if he were Fate. "I
tell you she shall recover, or else I am a murderer.
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