The old man, who had risen on his elbow in an access of passion, was taken with a fit of coughing, and sank back upon the pillows.
"There's no call to be niffy," he apologised at last.

"I was on'y thinkin' of how you'd manage when I'm dead an' gone." "I reckon I'll shift." She drew a chair towards the bed and sat beside him.

He seemed drowsy, and after a while stretched out an arm over the coverlet and fell asleep.

'Lizabeth took his hand, and sat there listlessly regarding the still shadows on the wall.

The sick man never moved; only muttered once--some words that 'Lizabeth did not catch.