Bianca placed them by his bed.  The sight seemed to reassure him.  He was once more silent.

For more than an hour after this he was so absolutely still that Bianca rose continually to look at him.  Each time, his eyes, wide open, were fixed on a little dark mark across the ceiling; his face had a look of the most singular determination, as though his spirit were slowly, relentlessly, regaining mastery over his fevered body.  He spoke suddenly: 

“Who is there?”

“Bianca.”

“Help me out of bed!”

The flush had left his face, the brilliance had faded from his eyes; he looked just like a ghost.  With a sort of terror Bianca helped him out of bed.  This weird display of mute white will-power was unearthly.

When he was dressed in his woollen gown and seated before the fire, she gave him a cup of strong beef-tea, with brandy.  He swallowed it with great avidity.

“I should like some more of that,” he said, and fell asleep.

While he was asleep Cecilia came, and the two sisters watched his slumber, and, watching it, felt nearer to each other than they had for many years.  Before she went away Cecilia whispered—­

“B. if he seems to want that little girl while he’s like this, don’t you think she ought to come?”

Bianca answered:  “I don’t know where she is.”

“I do.”

“Ah!” said Bianca; “of course!” And she turned her head away.

Disconcerted by that sarcastic little speech, Cecilia was silent; then, summoning all her courage, she said: 

“Here’s the address, B. I’ve written it down for you;” and, with puckers of anxiety in her face, she left the room.

Bianca sat on in the old golden chair, watching the deep hollows beneath the sleeper’s temples, the puffs of breath stirring the silver round his mouth.  Her ears burned crimson.  Carried out of herself by the sight of that old form, dearer to her than she had thought, fighting its great battle for the sake of its idea, her spirit grew all tremulous and soft within her.  With eagerness she embraced the thought of self-effacement.  It did not seem to matter whether she were first with Hilary.  Her spirit should so manifest its capacity for sacrifice that she would be first with him through sheer nobility.  At this moment she could almost have taken that common little girl into her arms and kissed her.  So would all disquiet end!  Some harmonious messenger had fluttered to her for a second—­the gold-winged bird of peace.  In this sensuous exaltation her nerves vibrated like the strings of a violin.

When Mr. Stone woke it was past three o’clock and Bianca at once handed him another cup of strong beef-tea.

He swallowed it, and said:  “What is this?”

“Beef-tea.”

Mr. Stone looked at the empty cup.

“I must not drink it.  The cow and the sheep are on the same plane as man.”