Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Cassandra’s as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his free hand.

“What is it? How long — ” His voice sounded thin and weak. “Strange — I can’t lift this arm at all. Tell me — ”

“Seems like I can’t. When you are strong again, I will.”

Feebly he tried to raise himself. “Don’t, oh, don’t, Doctah Thryng. If you bleed again, you’ll die,” she wailed.

“Sit near me.”

She drew a low chair and sat near him, as she had through the slow and anxious hours, and again he drowsed off, only to open his eyes