And the girl heard it, and rushed to the door; she gave one glance at the prostrate form and at the white face, and then leaped forward with a shrill scream, a scream that echoed through the little house, and that froze Arthur’s blood.  She flung herself down on her knees beside her husband, crying “David!  David!” And the man looked up at her with his ghastly face and his look of terror, and panted, “Helen—­Helen, it has come!”

She screamed again more wildly than before, and caught him to her bosom in frenzy.  “No, no, David!  No, no!” she cried out; but he only whispered hoarsely again, “It has come!”

Meanwhile Arthur had rushed into the room, and the two lifted the sufferer up to the sofa, where he sank back and lay for a moment or two, half dazed; then, in answer to poor Helen’s agonized pleading, he gazed at her once more.

“David, David!” she sobbed, choking; “listen to me; it cannot be, David, no, no!  And see, here is Arthur—­Arthur!  And David—­he is your son, he is Mary’s child!”

The man gave a faint start and looked at her in bewilderment; then as she repeated the words again, “He is your son, he is Mary’s child,” gradually a look of wondering realization crossed his countenance, and he turned and stared up at Arthur.

“Is it true?” he whispered hoarsely.  “There is no doubt?”

Helen answered him “Yes, yes,” again and again, swiftly and desperately, as if thinking that the joy of it would restore his waning strength.  The thought did bring a wonderful look of peace over David’s face, as he gazed from one to the other and comprehended it all; he caught Arthur’s arm in his trembling hands.  “Oh, God be praised,” he whispered, “it is almost too much.  Oh, take care of her—­take care of her for me!”

The girl flung herself upon his bosom, sobbing madly; and David sank back and lay for an instant or two with his eyes shut, before at last her suffering roused him again.  He lifted himself up on his elbows with a fearful effort.  “Helen!” he whispered, in a deep, hollow voice; “listen to me—­listen to me!—­I have only a minute more to speak.”

The girl buried her head in his bosom with another cry, but he shook her back and caught her by the wrists, at the same time sitting erect, a strain that made the veins in his temples start out.  “Look at me!” he gasped.  “Look at me!” and as the girl stared into his eyes that were alive with the last frenzied effort of his soul, he went on, speaking with fierce swiftness and panting for breath between each phrase: 

“Helen—­Helen—­listen to me—­twenty years I have kept myself alive on earth by such a struggle—­by the power of a will that would not yield!  And now there is but an instant more—­an instant—­I cannot bear it—­except to save your soul!  For I am going—­do you hear me—­going!  And you must stay,—­and you have the battle for your life to fight!  Listen to me—­look into my eyes,—­for you must call up your powers—­now—­now before it is too late!  You cannot shirk it—­do you hear me?  It is here!”