and tried to force a few drops between the clenched teeth--in
vain. This futile attempt frightened her, and she looked at Robin
Clifford with a wild air.

"I cannot make him swallow it," she said--"Can you, Robin? He
looks so grey and cold!--but his lips are quite warm."

Robin, restraining the emotion that half choked him and threatened
to overflow in womanish weeping, went up to her and tried to coax
her away from the bedside.

"Dear, if you could leave him for a little it would perhaps be
better," he said. "He might--he might recover sooner. We have sent
for the doctor--he will be here directly--"

"I will stay here till he comes," replied the girl, quietly. "How
can you think I would leave Dad when he's ill? If we could only
rouse him a little--"

Ah, that "if"! If we could only rouse our beloved ones who fall
into that eternal sleep, would not all the riches and glories of
the world seem tame in comparison with such joy! Innocent had
never seen death--she could not realise that this calm
irresponsiveness, this cold and stiffening rigidity, meant an end
to the love and care she had known all her life--love and care
which would never be replaced in quite the same way!

The first peep of a silver dawn began to peer through the lattice
window, and as she saw this suggestion of wakening life, a sudden
dread clutched at her heart and made it cold.