Gregory could not tell.
At last in the evening he bent over her.
"The oxen have come," he said; "we can start tomorrow if you like.

Shall I get the wagon ready tonight ?" Twice he repeated his question.

Then she looked up at him, and Gregory saw that all hope had died out of the beautiful eyes.

It was not stupor that shone there, it was despair.
"Yes, let us go," she said.
"It makes no difference," said the doctor; "staying or going; it is close now." So the next day Gregory carried her out in his arms to the wagon which stood inspanned before the door.

As he laid her down on the kartel she looked far out across the plain.