At length, his servant, an old Russian retainer of the family, managed to procure the attendance of Dr. Simpson. As soon as he saw Paul, the doctor shook his head ominously.
"How is my master?" said the Russian.
"In the very extremity of the fever, sir."
"Is there no hope?" asked the servant.
"None," said the doctor, unhesitatingly, "he will be dead within the hour."
The patient stirred uneasily. Wild dreams were flitting over his sick vision.
"Is she here?" the sick man muttered.
"Who?" said the doctor.
"The idol of my life," said Paul in his delirium. "I deeply wronged her, to put my shadow on her life. She, so far above! A star unreachable! I may not die until my eyes shall rest upon her form again. Oh, Ouida, come!"
"The heighth of pathos," said the doctor, softened, though he had witnessed before, misery untold. "Oh, for a nurse to soothe his dying hours!"
And, as if in answer to the doctor's prayer, there came a gentle knock at the door, and Ouida Angelo entered.
"I heard there was a patient here," said she. "I am a volunteer nurse. Can I be of service?"
"Yes," said the doctor, and Ouida approached the couch of the dying man, and as she looked upon his wasted face, and saw death's mark there, her face turned white as marble. She forget the doctor's presence, forgot all the world, save that this was the completion of her punishment, the wages of her sin.
"Paul!" she said.
