Alec shook his head. His gaze had fallen on the basket of grapes again: he was incoherently musing of Ethel.
"Mind, I don't say there's any immediate danger," he heard the man repeating; "but I must tell you that you're not altogether out of the wood yet."
He paused.
"You ought to be prepared for the worst, Mr. Burkett."
The last phrase lingered in Alec's mind; and slowly its meaning dawned upon him.
"You mean I might die at any moment?" he asked.
"No, no—I don't say that," the other answered evasively. "But you see the fever has left you very weak; and of course in such cases one can never be quite sure———"
The rest did not reach Alec's ears; he was only vaguely aware of the murmur of the man's voice.
Presently he perceived that he had risen.
"I will come back in the afternoon," he was saying. "I'll tell Mrs.—Mrs. Parker to bring you in some breakfast."
After the doctor had gone he dozed a little . . .
Then remembered the man's words—"No immediate danger, but you must be prepared for the worst." The sense of it all flashed upon him: he understood what the man had meant: that was the way doctors always told such things he guessed. So the end was near . . . He wondered, a little curiously, if it would come before to-night, or to-morrow . . . It was near, quite near, he repeated to himself; and gradually, a peacefulness permeated his whole being, and he was vaguely glad to be alone. . . .
A little while, and he would be near God. He felt himself detached from the world, and at peace with all men.
His life, as he regarded it trailing behind him, across the stretch of past years, seemed inadequate, useless, pitiable almost; of hisown
