in the ring. Is anything the matter with my eyes? I can't see."
"Shut them. Be perfectly quiet. The Italian poisoner will pass."
"You will give me something?"
"Not this time."
I must have slept. When I woke he was still there. I was very comfortable and pleased to see him. "Why am I not asleep?"
"You are, but you don't know it."
"You won't tell Ella?"
"Not unless you wish it."
"I've written to her. See it goes." I heard afterwards he searched for a letter, but could only find four words "Good-morning, Widow Lovegrove..." which held no meaning for him.
"Don't let me wake again. I want to go."
"Not yet, not yet..."
There followed another week of morphia dreams and complete content. I was roused with difficulty, and reluctantly, to drink milk from a feeding-cup, to have my temperature taken, my hands and face washed, my sheets changed. There was neither morning nor evening, only these disturbances and Ella's eyes and voice in the clouded distance, vague yet comforting.
"You will soon be better, your temperature is going down. Don't speak. Only nod your head. Shall I cable for Dennis?"
