There are times when a man may actually be afraid for the want of a woman, but that is usually for the want of one particular woman.

There may be a distinct sense of fear--a fear of life and its possibilities--which is nothing else than a want--the want of a certain voice, the desire to be touched by a certain hand, the carping necessity (which takes the physical form of a pressure deep down in the throat) for the sympathy of that one person whose presence is different from the presence of other people.

And failing that particular woman another can, in a certain degree, by her mere womanliness, stay the pressure of the want.
This was what Marie did for Jack Meredith, by coming into the room and bending over him and touching his cushions with a sort of deftness and savoir-faire.

He did not define his feelings--he was too weak for that; but he had been conscious, for the first time in his life, of a distinct sense of fear when he read Maurice Gordon's letter.

Of course he had thought of the possibility of death many times during the last five weeks; but he had no intention of dying.