“Feel my pulse.”

I held her wrist and took out my watch, but I forgot to count, and I forgot to note the seconds. I was gazing at her. It seemed absurd to contemplate the possibility of ever being able to call her my own.

“Am I not better?”

“Yes, yes,” I said; “the pulse is — the pulse is — you are much better.”

Then I pushed my chair a little further from the fire, and recollected that there were several things to be said and done.

“I expected the attack would pass very quickly,” I said.

“Then you know what I have been suffering from,” she said, turning her chair rapidly half-round towards me.