"He is dying?" whispered Ruth. Yes—as he would have liked. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. A quick flush stained her cheeks. I didn't understand then, but I do now. She felt much better. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night.
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